"<span style="color: #BFBF00">Now, y'all listen here... I ain't the kinda belle that'll just fly into bed with any ol' girl. I don't care how long I've know ya, we haven't gone on a single date. y'all haven't bought me any dinner or taken me to a movie or any 'a that. So don't go thinkin' just 'cuz you're stressed you can try and a roll in the hay with me. 'Nd no... not even for chef Ramsay.</span>" He smirks as he fires back with his teasing. She knew he was the romantic type. Never the kind of guy to just want sex out of a girl. For him if he didn't work for it it wasn't worth it.<br/><br/>He takes the gun and idly spins it on his finger, singing his favorite song. "<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #BFBF00">No one dared to ask his buisness, no one dared to make a slip... the ranger there among them had the Big Iron on his hip.</span></span>" He flips his gun from behind his back and catches it on his finger again, still spinning. He grins triumphantly at Victoria for a trick he's showed her a hundred times before. His gun of choice was none other than the colt 44. It was dark, sleek and elegant. A murder machine in the proper hands... his hands.<br/><br/>"<span style="color: #BFBF00">You know what my cure for stress is. C'mon, give yer partner a hug... Oh and you? Cook? Y'all couldn't boil an egg. Y'all need a recipe fa' ice...</span>" He holds his arms open and smirks down at her more.