Oliver peered out into the restaurant. Even if they weren't open yet, people still seemed to gather at the window and peer inside. He hated that and he thought that if nothing else, he might at least have a little fun with the bloke. Oliver scampered to the window, out of the man's view and had undone his belt, fully intending to give the stranger a lovely look at some pressed ham when he realized that it wasn't a stranger at all. Instead it was Warrington, the prick Alicia had hired to work in her store
( ... )
Clint refrained from rolling his eyes. Bloody arse was so full of himself. He gave a cursory glance around the restaurant and had to refrain from making a remark about how cliché it was for an ex-athlete to open a bloody restaurant. As much as he hated to admit it, Wood was an exemplary Quidditch player and he was wasting himself doing something so mundane
( ... )
Oliver could see the hint of disdain in Warrington's eyes and wondered what the bastard with thinking about. He tried to consider one reason why Clint would be here but he really couldn't other than to harrass Oliver somehow. He really didn't know much about the man other than he was a lazy sod who took a hell of a lot of time off from his job, leaving Alicia in the lurch
( ... )
Clint gave an appreciative laugh at Wood's attempt at witticism. "Been saving that one up Wood?" he asked, sitting in the proffered chair and reaching for the ale. He took a slow swig. The bitter ale was quite good and he raised his bottle in silent toast to its quality. "Not bad
( ... )
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