“Awful man,” Byron said. “I shudder to think of the two of you petting each other over my inebriated sprawl.” “We absolutely did not do that. I fully admit to pouring the rum, but I wasn’t trying to poison you. How was I to know mechanical stags are allergic to liquor?” “I thought we were friends,” Byron said in a voice that shivered with emotion. “I thought we were sharing a drink. I was flattered. I didn’t know I was in the way. You could’ve just asked me to leave, to look the other way. Instead you had to humiliate me.”
