[Emily Littleton] Jarod could be damned persuasive. Emily had known from the first time she'd met him that he was wildly manipulative, charismatic, dangerous. She'd known that his debonaire charm would lead her astray the first time she went home with him. She had never imagined that the trouble they'd be headed for, hand in hand, was her flat and its gaggle of roommates.
She'd all but pleaded with him to stay this course of action. She'd offered to show him her lab instead, with all its shiny robots, servo motors, fascinating tools and snazzy computers. Where she worked, where she studied, where abstract pieces of the extant world became part of her grey matter, filed away and understood in alarming detail. He didn't bite. Jarod, in his insistance on seeing where she "lived" had missed the bigger opportunity to get to know Emily.
She had roommates, she insisted. They were uncouth, unkempt college roommates. He wouldn't like it. Jarod had insisted. At some point she'd stopped making excuses and taken the fine, but you've brought this upon your own head tack with the argument.
At last she acquiesced, but the set of her mouth was less than entirely pleased. Emily led him not onto campus, but to a house a little ways away. The streets here were cluttered with cars, as the college kids lived too many to a house and took up all the available street parking. It was a decent neighborhood, in that no one was actively peddling sins and stray thoughts on the corner. It needed some maintenance. Here and there a streetlight flickered angrily, neglected and unmended. Their house was similarly maintained, and no holiday decorations festooned the exterior.
As they approached the front door, Emily looked over at him one more time, giving him one more out if he wanted it. The lights were on inside and he could hear voices, muddled and muffled from behind the door. More voices than the house would usually support. Emily had pulled out her keys, but she tested the door instead. It was unlocked.
She shoved the door with her shoulder, having to force it a little. It was either out of square or had swollen due to fluctations in temperature or humidity. As the door bumped free of the friction and swung open, the luke-warm air inside the house spilled out and what had been barely contained voices flooded out immediately after. She looked over at Jarod, lifted her eyebrows meaningfully, and stepped in.
The living room floor beside the door was a sea of shoes, boots and socks. Emily slipped off her shoes, but didn't leave them there. She set them on one of the lowest stairs of the staircase to the upper level. The living room held an odd assortment of hand-me-down seating, and a brick-and-board entertainment center. Someone's computer was plugged into the TV, playing music videos. Further in, people were gathered in the kitchen or milling about with red solo cups (booze [farewell to finals week]) in their hands.
"Little's home," a sandy-haired young man called toward the back of the house in an over-loud voice. Clearly tipsy, or worse. Then he saw Jarod, and added, ineloquently, "Whoa... she's got company."
[Jarod Nightingale] Whatever Jarod's motivations had been for insisting that he saw where Emily lived, he wasn't about to be put off this time around. Part of it was practical. (It really would be better if he knew these things... for her own protection.) But it was possible that the very fact of this being something that she fought so hard to keep from him was the very reason he felt he needed to see it.
He could be a bit sadistic, in a delightfully pleasant sort of way.
He had, of course, been prepared for a sight rather like the one that met his eyes when he pulled up on the street and stepped out of his car (which, in its own right, was likely to draw attention here if anyone saw it.) Just because he lived in luxury now, didn't mean he wasn't familiar with the typical college-student lifestyle. So he was on his best behavior as he eyed the house and followed Emily in through the front door. Despite the cold, he'd left his coat in the car (possibly because he didn't trust what might happen if he brought it inside), so he was dressed in a pair of black pants, with a matching suit-jacket and a white buttoned shirt underneath, hanging open casually at the neck with a few buttons left undone.
Probably not quite the same sort of get-up that the rest of the party-goers would be wearing. He followed Emily's cue once inside and removed his shoes next to her own, glancing around the place with open (and slightly smirking) curiosity. "Roommates having a party?"
[Emily Littleton] "Oi!" Emily had chided in response to the slightly tipsy greeting. She tossed the co-ed a look of mock frustration (or was that actual frustration), before turning around to make sure Jarod got in the door safely, and didn't spontaneous combust by letting his pristine socks touch their... questionable... carpetting. Emily wasn't sure when it had last been vacuummed, or if that mattered any more. The flooring might have attained sentience since she last heard of it being cleaned.
The blonde had piqued the attention of whatever (mob) crowd had gathered. A chorus of voices called out to welcome her ("Em!") and her guest ("And Friend-of-Em!") more or less in unison. Well, to be honest, less.
"When aren't they?" Emily muttered quietly to Jarod in response. She was not comfortable with this, with him being here, or the party. It rankled her, and that unsettledness slid beneath her skin. Maybe because he'd seen so much of her so recently, or maybe because Jarod was keenly aware of things he ought-not-notice, he could all but feel the shift when Emily started toward the kitchen. He could feel how far she'd withdrawn inside herself, when she looked back over her shoulder with a cheeky grin and asked him if he was coming with.
The kitchen was festively decorated in red, red, and booze. The roommates had bothered with some cookies, crackers, and what looked like it might have once been sandwiches, and then gone on to booze, booze and booze. Everyone in the kitchen was somewhat red-faced, bright-eyed and otherwise uninhibited. Everyone except a short, keen-eyed blonde who tracked Emily intently when they entered.
Emily pretended not to notice. Her smile was bright, her body language affable. She was pretending, valiantly, to be a-okay with all of this. "Wow!" she said to one of the other girls there, another brunette (caramel colored [green eyes] nice smile) "People." She looked around the room, quickly, not letting her gaze land on anyone.
"Happy... ah... Wednesday, then," she said, as if celebrating Wednesdays were terribly normal. "I'd like you all to meet my mate, name's Jarod," a small flourish, pointing him out, as if he wasn't painfully obviously the new person in the room. "And Jarod... I'd like you to meet... well, people." A broad gesture, indicating the room.
"Lessee. We've got ..." she pointed at each in turn, reciting first names or nicknames (the loud blonde was Duck, for an undisclosed reason) from memory. The blonde took her eyes off Emily just long enough to give Jarod an apprising look. Then back to Emily, Emily's left arm, Emily's seeming okay-ness after the previous night. The blonde's name was Marissa, and she did not say hi to Jarod or wave like many of the others.
Duck offered him a drink. Duck offered Emily a drink, but Marissa took the cup out of his hand before he could pour for her.
"Ah, right. Thanks 'Ris," Emily added quickly, before Duck could argue. "Still on those meds," she clarified, looking somewhat sheepish. "No mixing!"
Jarod, though, knew she wasn't taking anything of the sort.
[Jarod Nightingale] Even the smallest glance was enough to register just how painfully much Jarod stood out amongst this crowd. He was older by nearly a decade, for one. He was dressed far too nicely, for another. And even in the most luxurious of environments, Jarod stood out. Tall, blue-eyed asian-american halfbreeds who looked like models weren't exactly a common occurrence. But rather than be bothered by the way he stuck out, Jarod simply behaved as if it was of no concern to him. (Aloof, as usual. As if he lived up on a pedestal somewhere and was looking down at all the mere-mortals with reserved amusement.) The place was dirty. He could see it. He could smell it. And yes, it bothered him, but not enough yet to send him fleeing. He was too curious. So as they threaded their way into the kitchen, his only outward reaction was that he was rather careful not to touch anything.
Then Emily introduced him, and all of a sudden his demeanor changed. An absolutely radiant smile traced its way onto his features, and he glanced at Emily with a glitter of teasing humor in his eyes, responding to her introduction with an dead-on perfect London accent. "Oh, am I your mate now? I didn't realize." He dropped the accent just as quickly, turning back to the assembled group and noting each face in turn as Emily introduced them. A light nod was offered to the group in general. "Nice to meet you."
(See? Best behavior.)
When the booze was offered their way, Jarod gave a shake of his head, as if to imply that he didn't really have time to stay and get drunk, though the truth was really closer to: I'm not drinking cheap college-party booze. His eyes passed between Marissa and Emily, noting the exchanged looks and the interaction.
(The whole thing was rather oddly fascinating, really.)
[Emily Littleton] Jarod mocking her diction elicited laughter from more than one of the gathered. A pair of girls on the far end of the kitchen retreated into shared whipsers, titterings, which ultimately gave way to more laughter.
"Speaking of," someone said, rummaging around on the counter for a moment and then bringing forth a post it note (worn [been there for awhile]). "Your dad said to call the Embassy and renew your..." he squinted at the handwriting. "Fffff-something expert's license? Before your flight. If you can. Whatever that means."
Emily nodded. She didn't say much more than, "Thanks." She didn't want to elaborate on what a foreign expert's license is, why she'd have one, or where she was going. Jarod more than likely knew what the government paperwork was for, anyway. Her housemates, however, had only ventured outside of US borders for a collective three weeks.
After a few minutes of affable helloes and points of order, the Others started to go back to whatever they'd been up to before. Emily was quickly left out of all but Marissa's intent attention. She lived with these people, but they were not her pack or coterie. They were just people. Mundane people. Unawakened and largely uninteresting to her.
Jarod continued to be a point of interest. Some of the gathering bypassed talking to Emily all together, so they could (coyly) get to know him better. Ask about that impeccable accent. (That impeccable ass.) They wanted to know how he'd met "their" Emily (though the possessive was not spoken with any fondness). Some wanted to know more, and barely veiled their queries in entendre.
While the mob attention was focused elsewhere, Emily started collecting cups and pouring out their contents. She began shoving empty bottles into the box for recycling. Anything to keep her hands busy, and attempt to straighten up. If Jarod was more than passingly polite, the group would eventually separate him from Emily, leaving her to have a taut and unpleasant looking conversation in hushed sentences with the blonde, Marissa. If that went on more than a minute, Marissa would grab for Emily's arm, Emily would pull it away before Marissa could touch her, and what had been a controlled but intense moment would end in a slammed cupboard door, and awkward hush across the room, and Emily muttering, "Sorry."
If. There was always a chance it wouldn't go that far.
[Jarod Nightingale] Nice though it always was to be admired, Jarod's idea of interesting conversation didn't generally include inebriated co-eds. That said, he was a seasoned party veteran, and knew how to handle himself in a crowd. This was the first time that Emily will have seen him in his social element, if she happened to glance over and watch him while she busied herself cleaning up. Despite the fact that he couldn't have been entirely comfortable (he was still maintaining a safe distance from anything that looked even vaguely dusty or cluttered, which was a rather impressive feat considering that he never gave the impression of actually working towards this goal), he smiled at all the appropriate moments, and otherwise comported himself with seemingly effortless charm.
And he did allow himself to be separated from Emily for a time, going with the flow of the crowd and conversation as it turned to questions of himself and his relationship to Emily. Their Emily, they said, though he doubted as much. He told them that he'd lived in London once, among other places (though he wasn't terribly specific with details) and that he'd met Emily at a coffee shop (which was true) a few weeks ago. If they'd been hoping for juicy gossip, however, he didn't provide any, and if directly questioned about what the two of them had been doing together, he'd simply raise an eyebrow knowingly and shrug.
(Which, of course, would only serve to ignite rumors. But perhaps that was the intention.)
As far as flirting went, he humored the co-eds just enough to keep them interested. Once, he reached out to brush a lock of hair behind one girl's ear, his eyes luminous with wicked humor, but that was when the hushed disagreement came from the kitchen, and Jarod looked over to see the interaction play out between Emily and her roommate with a carefully guarded expression.
When it was over, he broke away from the flock and appeared at Emily's side, leaning in to ask quietly... "Can I see your room?" (Which was probably code for: let's go somewhere private and talk.)
[Emily Littleton] The co-eds were used to dealing with Emily, so Jarod was practically gushingly forthcoming in comparison. He was suave and intriguing. He answered without fully answering... He had a decade on them in this game, and it was showing. One of the brighter ones asked him "Oh, in which city?" when he mentioned meeting Emily at a coffee shop.
The group let him go to her without impeding him. Perhaps Jarod was just too ethereal to touch, to restrain with their attentions. Perhaps it was that he had a certainty to how he moved (predatory [graceful]) that they instinctually avoiding interfering with. Oh, or maybe it was because some was getting ready to pour another round of something.
Emily's body was rigid when he leaned in to speak to her quietly. The tension extended to the lines around her mouth and eyes. Her right hand rested carefully on her left forearm, holding it similarly to how she had that night earlier this week. Before he'd taken care of that conspicuous hurt. My roommate freaked out... she'd said.
She nodded in response to his question and exhaled slowly. Willed her shoulders to relax, by degrees. Emily could not get comfortable in this house, and it had very little to do with what had transpired in recent moments (days).
"Sure thing," she said, with that same too-bright, too-shallow smile in her voice and on her features. Emily tangled her fingers in his (mine [back off]) and led him through the gathering again. Touching him was more for the others, so they weren't followed, so it wasn't contested. Right? It wasn't just to touch him, feel the warmth of his skin. Right?
[Jarod Nightingale] There was an unintended consequence to the magical healing of wounds: most people did not believe that wounds could be healed in this way. Jarod rather hoped that Emily would be able to keep people from prying up her sleeve to take a look at the wound that wasn't there anymore.
She agreed to show him her room, and he allowed her fingers to tangle amidst his own (to possess, even if only briefly) as they threaded back through the crowd. His attention was entirely on her now, though if he was concerned, that much did not show in a way that the assembled party-goers would be able to easily detect. (The hand-holding was plenty indication enough to anyone who really knew him, though Emily might not yet have figured out that he didn't usually do that.)
And to top off the image (and really give the roommates something to talk about), he leaned in close as they walked, as if to whisper something in her ear, but pressed a small kiss there instead, along the sensitive outer cartilage. Anyone looking on would think they were probably going upstairs to fool around. (Well, people Jarod's age didn't really bother with fooling around, did they? To have sex, perhaps, or at least to do something along those lines.)
[Emily Littleton] Yes. The assembled housemates and houseguests would have plenty to talk about. For weeks. And that wasn't helped at all by the way that Emily's smile softened when he kissed her ear, or how her eyelashes fluttered shut for a moment. No, no. Their Emily had never softened like that before their very eyes. One or two of them might have imagined she had the capacity to... but seen it? No, none of them had. Jarod was curious, and curiouser yet was Jarod and Emily together.
Leaving them behind in the kitchen, Emily led him away from the gathering. Away from the pile of shoes in the living room. Up the stairs and into the second bedroom from the left. The room was a moderately sized bedroom for a house of that age, and it was clearly divided into two disparate separate spaces. One side had furniture, clutter, pictures of the blonde (Marissa), her friends, family, a class schedule (and Masters' swimmers practice times).
The other side was sparse, impeccably organized, and clearly Emily's. She had a futon, and it was folded in thirds and placed in the corner. Her bedding was folded, neatly, and stacked atop it with a pillow as the crowning element. Her side of the closet was entirely built in in shelves, with everything from a very small assortment of clothes (his guest room probably had a more complete wardrobe), her school books, and a few odds and ends tucked away without clutter. At the foot of where her futon would rest, there was a small bookshelf, with places to put her laptop, cell phone, etc, to charge for the evening. From what Jarod could tell, Emily essentially lived out of a space the width of a twin bed.
Maybe she hadn't been kidding when she said she'd spent a lot of time in Asia.
There were no pictures tacked to Emily's wall. She had a small, framed picture of her with her parents on one of the closet shelves. A single dried rose hung upside down from a satin ribbon, and this was pinned to the wall with a fabric-covered pushpin. Her side of the room had been vacuumed recently. Even her dirty laundry had been folded into its basket.
Sitting on one of the shelves, plainly in view, was a printed travel itinerary and a small maroon booklet with a gold-leaf design on the front. (Passport [British]).
She stopped, a couple paces into the room, and sort of shrugged as if to say This is it. So, you've seen it. Emily didn't, though, voice any particular sentiment. The party downstairs was far enough away to be indistinct. Finally, the tension in her shoulders began to earnestly give way.
[Jarod Nightingale] It was funny how he could appear so calm sometimes, even when he was anything but. No one would have noticed a rigid set to his shoulders downstairs, but as the pair of them entered the room that Emily shared with Marissa, and Jarod crossed over to the neat half of the room (Emily's half), he did seem to... relax. Just a little, but it was there.
His eyes gave a slow, detailed scan of the room's contents, noting in particular anything that might have seemed even vaguely informative or unique. You could almost see him processing it all and filing it away in his head.
"So what was your roommate so upset about, down there?"
Yes, he'd noticed. He hadn't simply dragged her up here to try and relive his college escapades. His eyes settled upon Emily's. Curious. Perceptive. Perhaps even.. concerned. And he moved to sit down on the edge of her futon as he waited for her answer.
[Emily Littleton] Emily positioned herself so that, if he turned just so, he wouldn't have to see the anxiety-inducing clutter of Marissa's side of the room in any direct way. It could flutter about in his peripheral attention, but that was far less distressing. Maybe he would understand, now, why this was the place that she lived but not Home. Why she carried Home on a chain around her neck, rather than investing it in a place like this.
"She's just worried," Emily said, shrugging her shoulders. She frowned, though, and stared at his feet instead of meeting his eyes. "I checked myself out of Student Health and didn't come back." Because she'd been at his place, asleep on his couch, beside him. "She wanted to see my arm. I guess she thinks I won't take care of it."
Emily slid the fingers of her right hand over her sweater, where it covered the newly mended skin. "I didn't want her to find out." Her expression shifted, as if she'd encountered something vile, when she said: "And I don't like to be grabbed at."
Emily hated to be anything resembling manhandled. Even when Jarod was aggressive, he had never pushed that boundary, never grasped for her the way Marissa had in the kitchen. She loathed it on a visceral level.
[Jarod Nightingale] "I'll try to remember that," Jarod mused thoughtfully, and the ever-so-faint glimmer in his eyes was the only indication that he might be thinking of anything less innocent than grasping for her arm. Truth be told, he probably didn't even need to be told. The entire time he'd been with Emily, he'd proven himself extremely (uncannily) good at reading her body signals. As he'd mentioned to her once... he could feel her heart beating across the room. And at the least, as odd as that thought may have been for her, it meant that he knew right away if he was doing something she either did or didn't like.
It meant that he never pushed, or hurt, or neglected. (On the contrary, he was extremely attentive.) In the end, that might have only made things more difficult, though. It was hard, sometimes, to reconcile the physical Jarod with the emotional Jarod (or rather, the seeming lack of it).
His eyes flicked down to Emily's healed arm, then back up to her face. To her eyes. And something... dislodged. His own eyes softened. "You're really tense. Is everything okay?"
[Emily Littleton] "It's just that..." Emily's expression turned thoughtful and she shrugged a bit. "I don't really live here." She finished the thought softly. It didn't upset her, or feel odd to say aloud. Emily spoke it plainly, like a well-worn fact. "Some times, most of the time, I sleep here. I get mail here. I have things here, but I don't think of it like home or anything."
Her eyes flicked over to the closet shelves and then back to him. Emily leaned her shoulder into the wall, folded her arms loosely across her middle. She shrugged again, and regarded him coolly. The tension had flowed away from her surface expressions. It was less immediately evident, but not gone.
"I... don't know what you hoped to find here, but I don't even have kitchen privileges." She chuckled, but it was somewhat empty. Not sorely so. Just empty. Most of the "homes" Emily had known were likewise empty. If Jarod's spatial reasoning was strong enough, he'd figure out that she could get everything she owned into the three cases she could take on an international flight. She could up and leave without so much as shipping anything onward. Emily could be gone in the morning, leaving behind an unusually clean footprint of where she'd once lived.
[Jarod Nightingale] "I hoped to find out where you lived," he responded rather matter-of-factly. As if this was all the reason anyone ought to need. "Or, ... slept, at least." As she'd put it. "Is it really that unbelievably shocking when I want to know the simple details of your life?"
Perhaps it was.
"I'd like to see your lab, too, if you'll show me. Since you say you spend so much time there." But he'd come here first. Which probably had more to do with Emily's own protests than he'd care to admit. Or... maybe simply because it made him feel more at ease to know where she slept. To have some idea of where she might be located at particular moments. (Everything in its place. Like his immaculately clean and organized apartment, where he knew exactly where every single one of his possessions could be found.)
"Besides, I had to let you show me off to your roommates. What kind of person sleeps with a model and then doesn't bother to use him as arm candy?" He was teasing, of course. Attempting to lighten the mood a bit as he leaned back on his elbows and tilted his head to one side, looking over at her with an expression that could only be described as... extremely kissable.
[Emily Littleton] Emily was not one of his possessions. And it would be difficult for Jarod, with his gifts and voids, to have a way to predict where she was at any given time. Fate had brought them near enough, time and again, that either might suppose an almost preternatural predictive tendency... but it was likely on Consquence at work, and nothing deeper. Emily could be found wherever Emily was, which had little to do with where she (often) slept.
"Another time perhaps." It was not no, but Emily was not offering another round of show and tell tonight. "And yes," she stated plainly. "It is a bit shocking that you'd want to know where I live." There was a little pause and then she added a bit, gently, to soften the edge of honesty in that... "You've been to University. London, right? There is nothing special about American college flats, or dorms, I promise you."
She smiled, and it was warmer somewhat. But Emily did not really know why he would want to muddy himself with the mundanity of her life. She wasn't really sure why he had seen her (at all) more than once. It was... strange. On some level, it made her happy. Happy was enough to keep her from asking too many pointed questions.
"So you model?" Emily did not verbally acknowledge the arm candy remark. but she did quirk an eyebrow at his occupation. "Aiya..." she breathed the word out gently.
Pushing away from the wall, Emily crossed over to where he was sitting. She finally bridged the distance between them so she could stand close enough to touch him. Rather than kiss him, and doing anything other than kissing him was difficult when he looked like that, Emily trailed one fingertip along his jawline. Touched it lightly to his lips. Gently withdrew it. "They're never going to let this go," she said, very softly. "But you knew that."
[Jarod Nightingale] She thought it was shocking that he'd want to know where she lived. (Slept. Kept her things.) There were many things that Jarod did and had done which most people would consider shocking, so perhaps it amused him a touch to imagine that something so simple could be so high on the list. Emily mentioned University, and he corrected her assumption with a brief interjection. "Oxford." For school, at least. (An amusing image, perhaps. Jarod wasn't exactly your classic Oxford student stereotype.)
"And... yes, I know. A dreadfully silly and superficial career. My family is forever horrified. But it pays for the apartment, and the car." And he was probably very good at it. He looked like he was about to say something else, but whatever it was, it died on his lips the moment Emily's fingers touched his jaw. He looked at her for a long moment, then he grinned.
"Of course they won't. Admit it... you like knowing you're the source of juicy gossip. Suddenly you're this mysterious person living a life that none of them will ever fully comprehend, and that they all wish they had."
[Emily Littleton] Emily looked at him oddly for a moment. The her mouth twitched, its corners reaching upward, tugging, tugging until she broke into a broad smile. It touched her eyes, brightening them noticeably. And then, Emily laughed. It was short, but she laughed like he had said something horribly funny. And it was only fair, given how often he had laughed at her.
"Oh, Love," she said, tossing out the endearment without even really noticing it, "I have my hands full with being baffled and seeking center. I have no time at all to worry about what they're wishing."
That word, the one she hadn't noticed she'd said, it had an enviable warmth to it. It came from some place deeper than her laughter and was utterly unburdened.
She leaned down and placed a kiss at his hairline. Affectionate. Not entirely chaste, but not segueing into anything more. Her laughter no longer rang in his ears, but it lingered in her eyes for a long moment. Even after she had straightened back up.
"I don't think I have an opinion on modeling as a career," she mused, having thought about that bit of their conversation a little more now. It was an interesting thought form. She didn't have enough information to evaluate model as a valid career course, or enough of an idea of Jarod's metrics to measure it. If it suited his purposes, then it was, for lack of a more compelling argument, valid.
[Jarod Nightingale] She laughed at him, and then she called him Love, and the latter of these was rather more troubling, though it could easily have been of little meaning. (His agent called him "love" on a regular basis.) At the least, he didn't seem terribly offended (or even, offended at all.) But he did get rather quiet and pensive, as if he had a lot on his mind.
Emily told him she didn't have time to worry about what other people might be wishing, and Jarod rolled his shoulders in soft shrug, as if to say that these sorts of details didn't really change his opinion on the matter (that Emily deserved, at least for a moment, to know that she was worthy of gossip - and had a right to enjoy it), and that, anyway... it wasn't all that important. When she kissed him, he closed his eyes briefly, but it was over soon enough, and once again his gaze followed her back up.
"No? Well, that's refreshing." Most people had an opinion, one way or the other. And after a pause of consideration, he glanced briefly towards the closed door, and then back up again.
"They'll be expecting us to stay up here for awhile, which means you have one of two choices: submit to tedious questioning, or kiss me for real. I leave the choice up to you." The corners of his soft lips twitched up just slightly.
[Emily Littleton] "Two choices?" Emily looked down at him with the echo of a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Willing her to smile more completely. "And here I thought you were far more creative than that..."
She didn't wait for him to follow up with some witty new suggestion, or a way to really give her roommates something to talk about. Of the two proferred choices, Emily vastly prefered leaning down to kiss him again. For real. And that's precisely what she did.
