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"Yes, Boss!", he laughs a big time. "But we finished..."
"I can notice that. Bathroom talk?"
"Yes! Ryan was telling me he likes you!"
"Is that so?", Peter looks at you. His emerald-green eyes and a bit drunk mood checks your whole body again, but this time slower. His look is so profound you couldn't say a word. He smiles and gets back to his own business. "Tell ya what, after you two love doves finish, come meet me outside at the alley. I need to smoke and some company is nice"
"He sure'll go, boss!"
"Good", nor Peter, nor you, nor James say a word. Just three men sharing a moment of silent. You can't say if this is a relaxing moment for them, because for you you can fell pressure. Doesn't take long for Peter to finish and he's out of there.
Some moments pass and James breaks the silence. "Just go, bro! I'll be fine here"
"You sure?", you respond to him automaticaly. You can't even find your thoughts now on how to react.
"Sure!", he leans his head on the wall, "I can find my way out here...", he awkwardly starts to dress his pants again and you know it'll take a while. "Hey, I told you to go!"
You ignore him. It took some minutes for James to put his pants back. Dumb, drunk motherfucker. You leave to the alley.
For your surprise, it isn't raining anymore. A chill breeze welcomes you to that dead end alley outside the Wise Fools Pub. People smoking, eating, talking, pretenting to not shot themselves with some drugs. A nice place to be.
Peter was right there, alone, leaning on a wall. You both exchange eye contact and he waves his hand. You go to him. He had a serene and invinting smile at his face. He takes a metallic cigarrete case out his jacket and you see it seems pretty old, but well preserved. Many celtic details running over it and a heraldry of a deer head with a crown around its neck on the middle. "Smoke with this old man, please? I make my own cigs", he puts on on his mouth.
"Heard you talking that to Grace"
He looks at you. "I'll take that as a 'yes'. Here. This one tastes like scotch and a bit of orange and mint", you take one and he takes of an also old metallic lighter out his jacket with same celtic motif. He lits his cig first, but doesn't handle you his lighter. He put pack into his jacket, he approaches you very close and lets you lit your own cigarette with his. It takes a while and you notice he doesn't stop looking at you. You feel a pressure from his presence, but it was... Calming of some sort? You don't feel bad around him nor pumped nor overwhelmed. Just chill same way Chicago throws you that cold, chill breeze.
