He could clear the rest of this table, and it wouldn't help a damn thing. Wouldn't get rid of Little Miss Oh You Speak Hawaiian? and her shining smile, her painted-on jeans, and the way her eyes follow Steve around the table, while Steve introduces them and Danny wishes he wouldn't.
It's so much harder to get rid of people once they know your name.
"Hey," he says, when she looks to him, directing a comment his way before her eyes invariably slide back to Steve, and, for fuck's sake, maybe he should just get out of here and give her the space she so clearly wants and that Steve hardly seems like he'd mind. "Did you say Lanie?"
Worse than ever in his most grating Jersey accent. He even wishes he had the tie, just to prove that he is as non-Hawaiian as they come, while she gives him a look that he knows means she's thinking the word haole even if she isn't saying it, and trying to figure out what the hell a native would be doing, playing pool with a guy like him.
Playing pool, and giving him shots, which earns Steve a dirty look, like he's cheating instead of going easy, which Danny would prefer, alright, he does not need Steve giving him handouts, he just needs to get his head back in the game and play some damn pool without letting the Beach Goddess get under his skin.
Where she already is. Itching like the sand that gets everywhere has managed to get there, too, snagging just deep enough that it can't be scratched, maddening as poison oak or a sunburn.
"That's cute," he says, in regards to the stripe left just a hair outside the pocket. "You do that on purpose?"
Of course he did. Look at that grin, shining out of his face, gleeful, like he can't keep it in, and it sucks, alright? It sucks that Steve is smiling more for this random girl than he has for any of his friends, for Danny, in a month or more. It sucks that he's ramping up to show off, and it sucks that he's enjoying it so much, and it sucks that Danny hates everything almost enough to not appreciate the fact that that smile is even in existence.
Almost.
But it goes deeper than the Lani-sand under his skin, deep into his chest, below the squeezing turmoil that is his last nerve snapping apart. Someplace that still warms, wants that smile. That is helpless in front of it.
Which just makes him hate everything even more. "What is this, a pity play? Go on, clear it out." He takes a sip, vaguely aware that his beer is now a thin scrim over the bottom of the bottle, and that's great, too.
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It's so much harder to get rid of people once they know your name.
"Hey," he says, when she looks to him, directing a comment his way before her eyes invariably slide back to Steve, and, for fuck's sake, maybe he should just get out of here and give her the space she so clearly wants and that Steve hardly seems like he'd mind. "Did you say Lanie?"
Worse than ever in his most grating Jersey accent. He even wishes he had the tie, just to prove that he is as non-Hawaiian as they come, while she gives him a look that he knows means she's thinking the word haole even if she isn't saying it, and trying to figure out what the hell a native would be doing, playing pool with a guy like him.
Playing pool, and giving him shots, which earns Steve a dirty look, like he's cheating instead of going easy, which Danny would prefer, alright, he does not need Steve giving him handouts, he just needs to get his head back in the game and play some damn pool without letting the Beach Goddess get under his skin.
Where she already is. Itching like the sand that gets everywhere has managed to get there, too, snagging just deep enough that it can't be scratched, maddening as poison oak or a sunburn.
"That's cute," he says, in regards to the stripe left just a hair outside the pocket. "You do that on purpose?"
Of course he did. Look at that grin, shining out of his face, gleeful, like he can't keep it in, and it sucks, alright? It sucks that Steve is smiling more for this random girl than he has for any of his friends, for Danny, in a month or more. It sucks that he's ramping up to show off, and it sucks that he's enjoying it so much, and it sucks that Danny hates everything almost enough to not appreciate the fact that that smile is even in existence.
Almost.
But it goes deeper than the Lani-sand under his skin, deep into his chest, below the squeezing turmoil that is his last nerve snapping apart. Someplace that still warms, wants that smile. That is helpless in front of it.
Which just makes him hate everything even more. "What is this, a pity play? Go on, clear it out." He takes a sip, vaguely aware that his beer is now a thin scrim over the bottom of the bottle, and that's great, too.