[ A muscle in her jaw flickers, there and gone again, as she meets that look he's giving her without giving anything back. He's a detective – and she thinks he's actually probably a pretty good one – but she's been staring down cops, detectives, agents, and worse since she was twelve years old. She shoves everything else into a trunk in her minds' eye, closes the lid, turns the key, and sends the whole thing careening down into a bottomless mental pit.
It doesn't matter if she remembers how his fingers felt in her hair, or how when he looked at her it was like he's the only person in this whole fucking place who actually sees her. ]
Yeah. I mean, it was fun.
[ She tosses that out lightly, like it's not a grenade designed to get him to back off even further. It was fun, so casually. Like they'd been playing cards instead of desperate to get their hands on each other. ]
But it was just that night. And the booze. That shit is strong as hell.
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It doesn't matter if she remembers how his fingers felt in her hair, or how when he looked at her it was like he's the only person in this whole fucking place who actually sees her. ]
Yeah. I mean, it was fun.
[ She tosses that out lightly, like it's not a grenade designed to get him to back off even further. It was fun, so casually. Like they'd been playing cards instead of desperate to get their hands on each other. ]
But it was just that night. And the booze. That shit is strong as hell.