He smiles at her creepily and questioningly for a microsecond, like he's asking if he can stick his tongue in her ear on the first date or something, and she rapidly if hesitantly changes course. "Is that something you'd...be into? Or..." He gets kind of snarky about how totally not fun it would be to fuck two chicks, how much that would totally suck. He's going for sardonic, but his face is kind of swarthy anyway, and he's wearing a kerchief doo-rag, and it's all too much and he just seems kind of drunk and weird. The whole time he's saying that she's laughing about how he's "such a punk," and it's cute. It's awesome how utterly fun-married these people are. At this table. Before we go any further. They seem like a great couple. "Could you see yourself doing something like that?" asks Maya, and Chris gives the fucking excellent answer: "I could see myself checking it out...on a website," to which she responds that he is a pervert. I actually feel, having watched this scene about six times already (yes, send donations to "Promises" in my name, I'm sure I'll be there by this time next week), that they're kind of daring each other: by asking him over and over, she's giving him the okay, and by denying it over and over but not quite, he's giving her the same, so they kind of feedback off each other in a cute, married, boring, funny way.
The incredibly fucked-up Trash Heap, minus the now-much-enriched Kristin, can barely stand up at the blackjack table, and they're continuing to bet. It's never good when you can count more cocktails on the table than there are people at the table. Up in Surveillance, Tom points to the monitor. And everyone applauds: Tom has located the monitor. "Where's your nose? Where's your nose, Tom? Who's got your nose?" Everyone is making total fun of the Trash Heap and how they've managed to lose $50,000 in a single hour. God, they must be totally retarded. I can't believe any "shoe" could ever get that "streaky." Go back to Riverside, you bitches! They drunkenly try to figure things out. Tom makes his way down to the blackjack table, eyes, as usual, at half-mast, to introduce himself, just as Bryan and the other guy are yelling at Geoff for requesting another $10,000 marker twenty minutes before dinner and overriding them with Tommy Sunstrum after they said he was out. Tom struggles to interview to us without falling over or falling asleep that the Nugget is "out to make money," but that when the "customer loses his shirt, he may never come back." Tom, if Geoff Mills loses his shirt? No one will ever come back. The Nugget will be deader than your Percocet stare. He gazes at -- make that towards -- them and mumbles something to the effect of, "Why don't you get away from here and sober up and have something to eat," but he sounds like a sleepy eight-year-old babbling and offering to show you his comics. "You guys...you want...you guys, you want some...steaknlobster? I'll...I'll set up a...I'll set up a table for you guys at...uh...table at...uh...table for you at Zax, for you. Guys."