Her lips press into a smile as she takes the bottle, unscrews the cap. "Depends on what Round Two entails."

Not going back up the mountain, but she can think of better uses for all the energy flooding her system right now, that's only a little sidetracked by the way he jerks his shirt up to wipe sweat and grime off his face. She pulls a little grimace at it, though -- like this is a locker room, and she's one of the guys, which she patently isn't, and the sweat-soaked shirt that comes back down isn't what she'd call a hundred percent attractive, either.

Really, it's sort of gross, and she wonders, idly, how hard her past self would smack her present self for thinking of Steve McGarrett, in any stage of undress, as gross, but there it is. Maybe it's been too many years, but she has officially reached the 'too-comfortable' point with him if that's the case. Except she really can't complain, and the pros far outweigh the cons, so in the end, who cares?

There's a faintly resigned cast to her eyebrows, distinctly unimpressed, though she notes with a half-shade of attention the fading bruises briefly visible on his torso.

"Didn't you bring a towel for that?"

She could use one, too, if only so she doesn't sweat all over his upholstery.