Bet Your Ass

Excerpt:

Serendipity grinned, the white of his teeth practically glowing against his skin in the dimness of the room. "Speak for yourself, Uri. I c'n get whoever I want in here t' take me home t'night," he asserted confidently, plucking the necklace from his friend's hands and tucking it into a pocket somewhere on his person.

"Whoever you want, huh?" Uri echoed dubiously.

"Whoever I want," Ren confirmed easily, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of his diminishing ale.

"Anyone, huh?" Uri mused, grinning wickedly, "Money where your mouth is, then. Tomorrow's tab says I can pick someone in here you can't pull." He lifted his brows slightly to punctuate the challenge.

Serendipity arched a brow in reply. "Said whoever I want and I meant whoever I want," he retorted almost haughtily, and then grinned again, leaning forward. "But bring it on, foxy. Who's our target?"

"Don't call me that," Uri protested again, making a face, and looked around appraisingly. "...Him," he decided, smiling maliciously as he pointed to a fellow patron from behind his mug, "that's your target."

Ren's gaze followed the pointing finger to a large man several tables away. A very large man, actually, with a habitual-looking glower and a table-full of equally unappetizing mates, all well into pitchers of something or other. The eyebrow quirked higher. "Tall-dark-'n'-threatening over there?"

Uri smirked. "You said-" he began.

Serendipity waved a hand, cutting him off. "Know what I said. Just settle up our bill, yeah?" he said, pushing up to his feet, and grabbing hold of his mug. After a split second's thought, he grabbed Uri's mug as well, and emptied its contents into his. "I need this more'n you."

The blond didn't have time to make an effective protest before Ren strolled off, and settled for trying to drink the few drops that yet remained while he beckoned a waitress over to handle the bill. He didn't bother to hit on her; she'd already turned him down twice that night and he wasn't feeling like a hat trick, even if Serendipity would tell him third time's the charm. Anyway, he had a show to watch.

By the time Uri had dealt with the cash situation, Ren was leaning against his target's table, chatting him up. Uri suspected, from Ren's body-language and the way the guy's mates were looking at each other, that Serendipity'd gotten to the heavy flirtation part already – not that it usually took the coyote-kin long in any case. The mark, it seemed, was slower on the uptake than his friends; he looked seriously confused and a little uneasy, glancing from the newcomer to his tablemates and back again and sipping at his beer for comfort.

Ren leaned in and murmured something to the man, whose eyes widened, expression dumbstruck, before his face flushed red and things started to happen faster than Uri could keep track. The guy swung a ham-sized fist, which Ren managed to dodge agilely enough that one'd almost think he'd expected it, and all three of the tablemates stood up, and by the time the barman arrived with his banded bat to break it up, one of the chairs was in pieces on the table and the contents of one of the pitchers was mostly soaking the kin.

Several safe steps away from the bruiser and his buddies, Serendipity shook off some of the ale and smoothed his hair back into place, retying the leather thong that held his ponytail. "Y'know," he remarked in the sudden quiet that had descended on the place, "A simple 'no thank you' woulda sufficed."