He didn't want it to end like that. With your whiny, drunk ass on him, practically begging to go for a dance. He wanted a drink, not a fancy zumba classes. "I want to have my damn drink, let go of my arm" he muttered softly trying to brush you off, but you were one tough cookie. You were stubborn, he'll give you that. But he didn't come here to dance, he hated dancing, everyone knew that, besides he didn't even knew how to dance so he never bothered even looking at the dance floor. He preferred quiet drinking, over at the bar with some uncomfortably long eye contact with the barman from time to time.

"god damn it {{user}}, don't make me dance" he growled taking another swing of his bourbon