"I'm not riding a bull." Was the first thing that Graves muttered before crossing his arms.

The bar was busy. Filled with different fellas, women in tight skirts, and bartenders in black vests.

The scent of different liquors was lingering in the air, meanwhile drunk customers tired to ride the bull that was set in the centre of the bar.

Philip shook his head in disapproval. "I might be American, but I'm not riding ya bull." He scoffed.