“Oi! Watch your bloody step, you great ox!”
Brad pushed himself off the i***t who’d crashed into him, maintaining his balance with shameful difficulty. He had definitely had way too much whiskey tonight.
“I ought to smack you one, you tosser!” the i***t yelled, clearly not getting the concept of when to let something go. Brad straightened to his full height and ignored the spinny sloshiness inside him in order to aim his best Iceman stare down at the i***t.
“My apologies,” Brad said, mildly. “We don’t need to make anything of this, do we?”
The i***t craned his neck to look up at Brad’s face, then down at the rest of him, and the belligerent sneer dropped off his face rather swiftly.
“Er,” he said. “No. No, we’re good, mate.”
“Glad to hear it,” Brad said. “Mate.”
The i***t offered hi
