”What is?”
He’s seriously got to explain himself and no she wont excuse him because he’s wasted.
”I’m a hooker and you’re fucking slow.” The glass in her hand is discarded, and she grabs his wrist again headed for the door.

“Drinking a-and driving, obviously.” There’s a part of him that always works mechanically, even in a deprecated mental state; the part that has to be right.
“But y-y-your name,” Cedric clarifies, eyebrows furrowing. He releases a minor grunt when she clasps his wrist again.
