"You miserable whoring bastard!" said a very angry, small blonde woman as she thundered through the bar, ready to throw her drink in Dean's face.

Dean spotted her, sized up the situation and opened his mouth with a grin.

The blonde lowered her arm, back-pedalling from her windup in confusion.

The demon pouted in dismay. "I thought I had a drink comin' to me. Be a shame to waste it."

"Do you even care about what you did to me?" she asked, trying to regain her anger.

"What? Nailed you until you were a giggly mess and couldn't feel your legs? You're welcome."

"You know what I mean. What this I hear about you having sex with some waitress?"

"I had sex with the waitress. If that made you feel left-out, I can always invite you next time."

"There won't be a next time."

"Your loss," he replied with a shrug. He turned on his stool, going back to his whisky.

She grabbed his shoulder and spun him back toward her. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?" she demanded.

Dean looked at her, smiled and sighed. "What's your name again?"

"It's Michelle, you prick!"

"Well Miss Yuprik, I should explain something to you." He patted the bar stool beside him indulgently, and she plunked down with a scowl. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Monogamy is flawed. It's not for everyone. It's certainly not for me, and that's just your fault for assuming that it's everyone's default setting."

"You said we had a connection."

"We did. Shall we 'reconnect'? What are you doing right now?"

"You're a pig."

"No, sweetheart. What I am is finally free. Feel free to stop hooking up with me, if you want to. Rrgh! That'll show me! Because I'm not going to stop hooking up with other people myself. I'm just not."

"How would you feel if I went and banged the next guy here, then?"

"If it were anyone but my brother, I'd volunteer as backup pitcher. Haven't you ever wanted to get it from both ends?" Michelle flushed and lowered her gaze and Dean craned his neck to follow her, trying to figure out if she was blushing or getting angry. "Are you really telling me you don't want any more? That you won't miss getting legless in the best way possible?"

Michelle wound up again, this time threatening a slap.

"Don't hit me," said Dean, picking up his glass. "You'll hurt your hand."

He swallowed his drink and Michelle picked her up bitterly. "So what happens now?"

"What happens now that you found out I'm using you for sex? You could turn around and use me right back. Or not. It's a free country. I wasn't lying when I said you're pretty and I like you. You're just not my one and only. Never said you were." Dean turned to her and looked at her earnestly. He raised his eyebrows.

Michelle looked like she wanted to be outraged but couldn't muster the indignation. She sighed, the wind completely gone from her sails.

Dean leaned toward her warmly. "I'm sorry your feelings got hurt, or whatever. I know what'll make you feel better. What do you say you and I get out of here and find out just how many orgasms the female body can withstand? We can at the very least beat our last record."

Michelle blushed again and Dean knew he had her. "Let's play a game," he continued, turning away from her. "I'm gonna be a snail." He bent his knees, hooked his elbows and turned his face back toward her. "Now, where's m'shell?"

She laughed despite herself, hopped onto his back and he piggy-backed her toward the exit.

On the way past Anne-Marie, Dean stopped quickly. "Hey, when you finish tonight, why don't you give my door a knock? We're in Room 117."

"It's nice to meet you!" blurted Michelle as Dean whisked her out the door.