She shakes her head with a small sigh, but soon a small grin makes it’s way to her features. "You’re lucky we’re friends and I like you enough that I won’t mind a little blood on my seats. That being said, you still need to try your best not to get any on my seats if you can.”
"No promises," he says, a wide grin spreading across his face now. It's a little hard when you can't even tell where the fucking blood stops. At least it's drying (uncomfortably). He shouldn't make too much of a mess and he'll sit on a blanket or something-- fuck. That plan vanishes the second he remembers he has no money on him. "I'll clean it up if it gets dirty. Promise."















