Well, Lourdes is an exception on the attention front. He keeps trying to pull him into the conversation, like it isn’t obvious that no one, David included, wants David involved in it. He’s dropped his arm from David’s shoulder, but left it between them on the booth, thumb brushing the outside of David’s knee, distractedly, once in awhile, until David can’t focus on anything else, wouldn’t be able to focus on the conversation if he wanted to, cheeks flushed, hard in his pants. Romano asks if he’s had too much, faux-concerned this time, and David’s next beer goes down like silk.

David’s three beers in to everyone else’s four when a group of girls comes in, pretty enough, and Romano nudges Benson’s side. “Think we need another round,” he says, even though there’s still more than enough on the table.

“Don’t look at me,” Benson says. “You know I’ve got a girlfriend, dude.”

“So be a decent wingman for once,” Romano says, and Benson rolls his eyes but slides out of the booth, Samuels following.

“Coming, Jake?” Benson asks. “Chaps can hold down the fort, he’s not doing anything else.”

“Nah,” Lourdes says. “Wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

“Ladykiller Lourdes?” Benson asks sceptically.

“I mean, if you think you can handle the competition…” Lourdes says, raising his eyebrows, and Benson snorts.

“Suit yourself, man,” he says, ruffling Lourdes’ hair, which he just takes with a smile, and leading the way over to the girls at the bar.

“Hey,” Lourdes says. “You want to get out of here?”

David gives him a flat look, which just makes Lourdes laugh.

“I mean with me,” Lourdes says.

“You want to come over,” David says, less of a guess and more of a statement, because the hand nudging David’s leg hadn’t been subtle, and Lourdes has thrown away even the last bit of subtlety, putting his hand on David’s knee. It’s under the table, at least, hidden, but it’s not exactly something David can ignore.

Lourdes laughs again. David’s not sure what makes him laugh, but it seems like everything does, so he’s sure it’s nothing particularly funny. “Yeah, dude,” he says. “I want to come over.”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a fucking stupid idea, and the whole point of last time was getting it out of his system, but that twist of anger and lust is still running through his veins.

It’s a bad idea, but David’s had three pints, Lourdes’ hands on him, and the inane chatter of assholes in his ears all night, and if he turns Lourdes down, goes home tipsy and smelling like him, he’ll probably like himself better in the morning, but he’ll hate himself all through the night.

“Okay,” David says.

“Okay,” Lourdes echoes, grinning. “Okay, lemme just tell them we’re heading out and give them some cash for the beer, can you catch us a cab?”

David nods, gathers his coat. He wonders, after a minute, if Lourdes is just going to stick around inside with people that seem a little more like him. Maybe he’ll crack them up with how easy David is for him, so that the jibes in practice can strike home better than Samuels’ stupid robot voice, but Lourdes comes out after a couple more minutes. “Sorry,” he says. “Taylor talks a lot.”