“What, can’tya put on a show, Clint?” Firefly asked through a lewd grin.
“Think of it,” her friend added encouragingly, her expression similarly suggestive, “as more of a preview. We want to see whatcha got.”
Flitch, meanwhile, snorted softly into her beer when Crowe said he wouldn’t hesitate to knock a few drunk cats around. “Tch. Lookin’ for a fight, Crowe? Let’em have their fun, I say. They go overboard, they’ll get enough of a knock back into shape tomorrow when the hangover hits ‘em. Tomorrow’s the day fer not gettin’ complacent. No point in havin’ a party if yer not going to enjoy it. Bad for morale. Speakin’ of enjoying it, this,” she waved a hand at Clint and the girls, “is gettin’ painful. And boring.”
Instead of interceding to help Clint, though, Flitch gave Crowe a wink then cupped her hands around her mouth and called across the room, “C’mon, lad, show’em what ya got! Don’t leave the girls disappointed!”
That got everyone's attention. And all eyes were on Clint now.