James returned to their table with several shots in tow. It was quarter night and James had no concept of moderation. So what if Bryson had to work the following morning? James didn’t. So of course he’d wrangled the man into accompanying him to Nightingale, drinks on him. He was a dick, sure, but never let it be said he wasn’t a generous one.
“Cheers,” he said, already downing a shot without waiting for Bryson to join him. He did, however, slide one his way. He winced as he swallowed, the burn of whiskey familiar, a vice that bit back.
“You gonna smile, Rollins? ‘Cause at the rate you’re goin’ you’re gonna scare away all the pretty things in this place.”
@brysonrollins














