“Suck my dick, Van Doren.” He seethes, pressing the tip of the bottle to his lips and guzzling down a mouthful of liquid before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Get out, or the police can make you. Your choice.” “You’re not my type, man.” Rook shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I’ve got a real hard-on for redheads. Maybe try some hair dye and we can circle back to this?”
