(And of course, he acts cute about it. It's the dichotomy that fascinates her, now that she knows a little too much of what happens when he's hot, bothered, and lonely. Her finger moves to boop his nose, a grin on her lips.)

Whose fault is that, anyway?

(Hers, with impatience boiling her every cell, but blaming him is more fun.)

I'm patently fabulous, I know, I know. Still, point stands, I think you'd still be going if I had jumped you earlier.