"Come on, Gabe!" Monica wheedled, throwing him puppy eyes like they'd make a difference.
"Don't call me that," Gable snapped, irritated because she frequently insisted on shortening his name by one fucking syllable when she knew he hated it. His gaze drifted off her and over the rest of their group, falling automatically on Baxter. Fucking pretentious cockhead. He was the only thing Gable found more frustrating than his name being abbreviated... and it totally sucked that the guy was smirking knowingly back at him, already eye fucking him. Fuck him. Gable didn't need him and his pouty mouth anymore; he'd see Win the next night.
"Gable, then," Monica huffed, shoving the karaoke song catalogue across the table towards him. "Come on, you know you want to sing with me! We make such beautiful music together," she purred huskily, drawing his attention back to her.
It wasn't that Gable didn't want to sing so much as it was a different crowd on a Thursday night, not the usual boisterous, welcoming Friday crew. On Thursday, there was still a day left in the working week and people were here to gird themselves into powering through to that hallowed finish line, rather than relax and openly enjoy themselves. The whole bar was pretty uptight and shifty-eyed, not to mention Baxter was here. Gable wasn't giving that asshole any more ammunition against him than he already had.
"Nah, not tonight," he shook his head at Monica and got up from where the town council group had pushed together three tables for them all to be able to sit together. He wandered over to the bar, trying to decide what he wanted food-wise once he got there. Just as he finished paying for his order of a scotch on the rocks with a beer chaser, a large plate of buffalo wings and a serve of waffle fries, Baxter slithered up beside him. "What the fuck do you want?" Gable sighed impatiently, looking down his nose at his pretty, blue-eyed, fair-haired co-worker. Considering the guy had a few inches of height and easily as much muscle mass as him, it was a feat to look down on him.
Baxter smirked. "Just coming to see what you ordered," he replied innocently.
"Uh huh," Gable grunted.
"No. Really. What will you be putting in your mouth tonight?" he grinned, striking a flirty pose.
"Not your dick," Gable deadpanned, taking the scotch he was served and pushing off the bar to go sit back down and wait for his food to be delivered. He didn't need to be encouraging Baxter, he always regretted their sojourns (he'd got wasted and fucked his pretty mouth way too many times for their relationship to just be enemies at work anymore. It sucked, because Baxter was a fuckwit).
Gable strolled back to his seat, oblivious to the eyes on him and making small talk with his colleagues. He ignored Baxter trying to worm his way onto a seat closer to him and also Monica's repeated pouts and bribes to sing with her. When his buffalo wings came, he didn't bother sharing them out but huddled over them with one hand shielding them like someone was about to take his food. The conversation continued without his input but he didn't care. The wings tasted amazing.