Spike should step back, show his throat, but be damned if he's gonna. His own fault for sitting out the first dance but his gums ache to sprout fangs; hell, his knuckles ache to split against someone's cheekbones. He's not gonna pick a fight with this bint just for the pure hell of it -- he doesn't know her that well yet -- but the just-a-harmless-puppy routine that Angel's so perfected isn't in him tonight.

He manages at least to keep the teeth back and let the fists go. "Hello, l-" love, he starts to say, then snarls -- his unknown rival has cornered the pet name market tonight. "You're new in town." It isn't quite a question.