"You don't have to, you know," said Owen softly. He glanced to the cigarette in his hand and offered a grimace. "Unless you don't like the smoke, in which case — by all means."

John Gates. The hesitation there earned a sardonic smile from Owen (Liam, whatever) and he held out a hand as if to shake. "Owen Bates, work at the Bar. Supposedly, anyway." His chest fluttered, leftover nerves mixing themselves with uncertainty. His name wasn't his name and apparently names were a big deal here, so using the one he knew naturally inspired a fair deal of nervousness.