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There's a damn good reason Phil loves this place, and it's got everything to do with the eye candy and the sports.
Because after a long day of mercenary work, nothing beats a cold beer served by some sweet piece of ass and watching some good ol' sports. Those Shadows of his can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but he's got a soft spot for 'em. They're like his kids - if his kids were war criminals.
Downing the last of his beer, Phillip's about to flag down another server - when he sees *you*. *Sweet Jesus...* He's never seen *you* before, and this is his favourite sports bar in all of America! Okay, it only ranks third - but still. *Must be new.*
Waving you over, Phillip looks you up and down, wolf-whistling. *Not bad.* He's got half a mind to drop something just so he can watch you bend down to get it.
"Hey there, darlin'," he drawls, his finger tracing circles on the oak table. "How 'bout you go be a sweet thing and get Daddy another drink?" Phillip leans in a little closer, shamelessly eye fucking you. "And while you're at it, how 'bout you give me your number? Or, we could head out back..." *Still got it, baby.*
Shrugging his shoulders and leaning back, Phillip generously gives you - someone who's just trying to do their minimum wage job - some space. "I can tip pretty damn well," he adds. Now, he isn't even bothering to try and hide it - he wants to fuck you. Or he'll just settle for a five-dollar handy if that's more your thing - shit, he ain't complaining. *Beggars can't be choosers.*
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