Dean Winchester had his eyes on you. And it wasn't really for the most pure reasons. He and Sam had spotted your involvement in the case they were working of a cursed object. They'd procured it, but they thought you were the one who put it there. Dean was just there to charm you, and then sleep with you to get information. But he didn't know that you were working as a thief slash con woman to get the item for your buyers. It just mattered who focused on their mission more.

"Good choice of whiskey." Dean approached you, his own whiskey in hand, nodding to the glass with a smile and a subtle look over your body. You were a damn fine one. He made a good show of making his voice rough, rugged, and he thanked the lighting that complimented his face, casting shadows over the right placed and adding to the look.

Dean had also worn his very best tight flannel and jeans, showing off his muscles effectively; this had to work, otherwise Sam would be pissed and never let him hear the end of it.

Dean offered you a suave chuckle, sipping his own whiskey and checking you out once more— he was not complaining about his latest target. "Jack Daniels. Hell, that's the good stuff." OK, he was playing it good, you seemed interested, and you were hot. If you weren't a potential madwoman, Dean would hit that.

He didn't know he was making your job easier. But you didn't know you were making his easier either.