He flicked the screen, attention only momentarily diverted to the fingers pressing into the skin of her stomach, when he's flipping screens. No missed calls. Which means there isn't a reason he stares at the green icon with the little white phone for an unnecessary longer second. No calls is good. Right. Obviously.

It means everyone is where they are supposed to be, and that nothing has gone wrong, or even more wrong than it was. So. Right. It's good. Everything is good. Which is why he's shoving it into his pocket, stretching his shoulders like something oddly mishappen hadn't squeezed itself between his shoulder blades for a moment there.

When it's easier, to flick it away, brush it off. It's nothing. Right. Toss his head back in the game.

"It's not my fault you didn't come prepared," Steve shot back, capping his water and tossing it into one of the cup holders between them, while focusing more wholly back on her. "You had a whole bag, and the running thing-" With a gesture of his hand, out the window, like the mountain is something silly and simple like the beach.

Smile slipping back out, goading and bright. "-was your idea to begin with."