She's challenging, waving a fork of her own, eyes sparkling and light, brows arching in coy amusement. "Are you kidding? You're such a cheapskate. I'm onto you, Steve. You and you're ' you have to bring something.' Are we in college? Did I miss BYOBs becoming a thing again?"
When the truth is, she's delighted to even be invited. It's like a tacit agreement that things are back to they way they should be, back to friendship and having each others' back, and that's a good thing. If it comes with some time spent with his team, all the better -- she could use a few friends who are used to a different kind of uniform.
"Besides, that would never work. Kamekona is putty in my hands. All I have to do is smile."
And try not to laugh too hard at the over-the-top flirting he lays on, thick as cement with a trowel, but she likes the big guy, and he never means any harm.
Neither does Steve, and it's nice to be sure of that, to feel the evening slipping away under a dusky sky, steaks and beers going down without a hitch, leaving her too full even for shave ice or coffee.
And it's good to walk back out with him, towards her little 'vette and his truck parked nearby; to wrap her arms around his neck and press into him, feel his warmth and solidity and it's good, yeah. Maybe not the flash and bang of before, but still something to treasure, the way she can kiss his cheek and eye him until he gets the picture and opens the car door for her.
Besides. Getting him more often is better than just getting him in bed, isn't it?
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She's challenging, waving a fork of her own, eyes sparkling and light, brows arching in coy amusement. "Are you kidding? You're such a cheapskate. I'm onto you, Steve. You and you're ' you have to bring something.' Are we in college? Did I miss BYOBs becoming a thing again?"
When the truth is, she's delighted to even be invited. It's like a tacit agreement that things are back to they way they should be, back to friendship and having each others' back, and that's a good thing. If it comes with some time spent with his team, all the better -- she could use a few friends who are used to a different kind of uniform.
"Besides, that would never work. Kamekona is putty in my hands. All I have to do is smile."
And try not to laugh too hard at the over-the-top flirting he lays on, thick as cement with a trowel, but she likes the big guy, and he never means any harm.
Neither does Steve, and it's nice to be sure of that, to feel the evening slipping away under a dusky sky, steaks and beers going down without a hitch, leaving her too full even for shave ice or coffee.
And it's good to walk back out with him, towards her little 'vette and his truck parked nearby; to wrap her arms around his neck and press into him, feel his warmth and solidity and it's good, yeah. Maybe not the flash and bang of before, but still something to treasure, the way she can kiss his cheek and eye him until he gets the picture and opens the car door for her.
Besides. Getting him more often is better than just getting him in bed, isn't it?