Move Over, Casanova
"Move."
"Move where? All the other seats are taken."
"Oh, so you're aware," Syrenne bites out through gritted teeth; the agitation of evening hours has her hackles up farther than usual, in a strange bar. "Now go on, get up."
"But I like it here," Lowell returns, pout patently false. "In fact, I think I'd like it better if I...well, if I stayed."
Now the crooked teeth clench. "I am not. Sitting on your lap. Get. Up."
"Syrenne..."
"I'm serious! Get another girl, if you're so hard off!"
"Syrenne, Syrenne, Syrenne. You know you're the only girl for me."