McClane preened, which was a sensation not unlike touching a fluffed-up rooster. With your insides. Riley shuddered a little and thought very hard at McClane that he was to never ever do that again.

“Never said I wasn’t good,” Riley said mildly, flipping the knife in his fingers just to show off. The effect was spoiled a little when he tried to lean back against the wall and misjudged the distance. Maybe he should’ve passed on that last shot. Tequila tended to creep up on him and he’d chosen

the good stuff tonight, because he didn’t drink cheap booze when he had company. Even if the company had invited itself.

I’m not apologizing again, the company in question grumbled and wriggled a little around the base of his spine. Huh. I think we’re drunk.

“Think you can repeat that?” the biker asked, raising a brow at Riley’s undignified stumble. He nodded at the dartboard.

Riley’s smile widened despite his embarrassed flush. Tequila also tended to make him cocky… and the wriggling tickled. “Question is, can you?”

“Twenty says I can.”

Riley should’ve known where that was going, but, well. He’d had a stressful couple of days. Also, tequila. And an alien in his head. It was a lost cause. So of course he took the challenge. Unsurprisingly, his opponent rightly assumed Riley was shitfaced and then jumped to the erroneous conclusion that a plastered Riley was easy pickings. This led to bad blood when he found out Riley could still hit what he aimed for even when three sheets to the wind. Also, maybe Riley shouldn’t have called him “Blondie”

when he collected his winnings. It had been a slip of the tongue, but it wasn’t received well. He ducked the punch meant for his face and stuck out a leg, which made the sore loser crash into a table, which got a few none-too-sober bystanders involved, which led to accusations of cheating from Blondie and one or two choice replies from Riley, and before Riley knew what hit him, his relaxing evening had turned into a bar brawl.

“Stay out of this,” he ordered McClane, because he had no idea what exactly an alien armor system might do in a fight, but he suspected it wouldn’t help de-escalate the situation. McClane didn’t say anything back except for, Duck!, and Riley—once he’d dodged the bottle flying his way—

assumed that was that.