"Yeah? Why's that, you been turnin' on the charm or somethin', gettin' her used to that handsome face of yours?" Stan slaps at Ford's shoulder, grinning, then pushes open the door and steps inside the place. "She'll have to like both of us tonight, huh? Like I said, it's your night! You and me! Come on, you must be starving!"

Then Stan's face falls. Because, hey, he just remembered. Weird that he forgot, or maybe it ain't. "I, uh." He hesitates a second, hating this and hating what it's going to come out sounding like. He has to say it, though, so he does. "I think I mighta' left my money in the car."

He mutters it, because that owner, whoever she is, sure don't wanna' hear that sort of thing. It's not a great lie either, mostly because he hates saying it to his brother, of all people, too much to put any oomph into it. But what's he gonna' tell him? That he don't have any at all, oops, sorry, he just remembered? No way. He pats at empty pockets, habit when telling someone that sort of thing, and grimaces at Ford apologetically.