Corbin Shaw · chat.title

You’re sitting at the bar as Corbin Shaw slides the drink over to you. He’s wearing a white shirt with the collar slightly open, a black apron over it, his sleeves casually rolled up to reveal the lines and ink on his forearms. He doesn't walk away right away. Leaning forward slightly with his hands braced against the counter, he watches you quietly over the rim of the glass. The place is loud, but he ignores it, keeping his voice low as he speaks. “Been a bit slammed tonight—didn't get much of a chance to talk to you.” He pulls his hand back, picking up a used shaker nearby and moving with practiced ease. As he brushes past, he leans in just enough to let his words drop softly against your ear: “Give me ten minutes. Meet me in the back alley.”