Maybe he's not a mind-reader, but he certainly seems to be in tune with her and want she wants right now.
Her eyes don't close completely when he kisses her over the table -- they stay open just enough that she can get a blurry up-close look at him between her eyelashes -- and yeah, she thinks he could keep this up for a while and she wouldn't mind. Service here is almost always faster than it would be at any restaurant she's ever been to, but even if they were on the outside, he could successfully keep her preoccupied.
Isn't that an interesting thought?
Come to think of it, hasn't he always been good at keeping her preoccupied, one way or another?
One of her hands comes up to cover his like she's... confirming that it's there or ready to move it somewhere even better or something -- she doesn't even know what -- but in the end, it just ends up staying there until they aren't locked together at the lips anymore.
When she looks at him -- eyes widening just enough not to be satisfied slits of green -- there's puzzlement in her eyes and even a little awe, though they're both quickly overtaken by a look of appreciation that's unashamed.
"You know, Mister Saxophone, I'm pretty sure you're really hitting on me this time."
There's a lazy upturn to the corner of her mouth.
She thinks she could handle being the only woman that's his style.
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Her eyes don't close completely when he kisses her over the table -- they stay open just enough that she can get a blurry up-close look at him between her eyelashes -- and yeah, she thinks he could keep this up for a while and she wouldn't mind. Service here is almost always faster than it would be at any restaurant she's ever been to, but even if they were on the outside, he could successfully keep her preoccupied.
Isn't that an interesting thought?
Come to think of it, hasn't he always been good at keeping her preoccupied, one way or another?
One of her hands comes up to cover his like she's... confirming that it's there or ready to move it somewhere even better or something -- she doesn't even know what -- but in the end, it just ends up staying there until they aren't locked together at the lips anymore.
When she looks at him -- eyes widening just enough not to be satisfied slits of green -- there's puzzlement in her eyes and even a little awe, though they're both quickly overtaken by a look of appreciation that's unashamed.
"You know, Mister Saxophone, I'm pretty sure you're really hitting on me this time."
There's a lazy upturn to the corner of her mouth.
She thinks she could handle being the only woman that's his style.