#sancmsayar

where: city brew pub

With a fresh stack of hundreds burning a hole in his pocket after hustling half the night to move some product to the douchey Wall Street types who he knew he could overcharge, it was a good night for Silas Cody. He’s only a line deep himself when he orders his third whiskey of the night, his attention drifting to a figure across the bar that looked familiar to him only by sight. 

He didn’t know her personally, but he’s seen her in before and decided he’d like to. 

Calling the bartender back over, he adds another drink onto his order and waits for both to be given to him. When they were, he takes one in each hand and not-so-politely tells one of the men who he sold to earlier to move the fuck out of his way so he could seat himself in the empty seat at her table. From what he gathered, there was no one there with her and if he was mistaken and there was, he didn’t particularly care about that. 

“Moscow Mule, right? Got this for you.” He tells her as he slides that very drink over to her, a warm smile on his face. 

He knows it’s a brazen introduction, but those were the only ones he ever did, and if he ended up getting swiftly told to fuck off then at least he could say he moved with no second guessing or regrets.