[ maybe. or maybe she's playing it up a little too much. the thing is - her tolerance is much higher than is really needs to be. she's certainly not sober, by any means, but she's not sloppy. not fully out of herself. if anything, she just... feels a little bit like she can let go. a little bit like she's not over thinking, a little bit like she can just. forget. for a little bit.
logan makes it easy, to think that this is just a normal thing. just a little flirting, a few drinks, maybe feeling like she can just be a little loose with it all. she feels safe with him, here, and that's not nothing. she recognizes that's not nothing. not when the list of men who have actually made her feel that way is as small as it is.
he hands her the bottle, and she does not look disappointed, though she is very acutely aware of their way their fingers brush. he also stands and follows after her, barefoot, and she leads - her glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. when they duck under the next hut, she sets the bottle down on the closest table, heading into the room like she knows where she's going (she doesn't - this was not one of the huts she's looked through before now).
there's an open suitcase on the other side of the bed that she moves towards, starting to rifle through whatever odds and ends might still be packed away, when he speaks up. what else can I pull of? she glances over, sees the string bikini in his hands, and barks a laugh - her hand coming up to cover her mouth. ]
I mean- I don't know if it'd cover everything, but it's a fashion statement. [ she turns back to the suitcase, pulling out a really ugly, really poorly color blocked hawaiian shirt - just like he'd been referring to before. it's an obnoxious yellow, with leaves and flowers and a kind of terribly shaped hulu girl somewhere in the pattern. as she holds it up, she tilts her head back and forth, like she's actually considering it. ]
You seem like a yellow kind of a guy. [ she is absolutely joking. ]
no subject
logan makes it easy, to think that this is just a normal thing. just a little flirting, a few drinks, maybe feeling like she can just be a little loose with it all. she feels safe with him, here, and that's not nothing. she recognizes that's not nothing. not when the list of men who have actually made her feel that way is as small as it is.
he hands her the bottle, and she does not look disappointed, though she is very acutely aware of their way their fingers brush. he also stands and follows after her, barefoot, and she leads - her glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. when they duck under the next hut, she sets the bottle down on the closest table, heading into the room like she knows where she's going (she doesn't - this was not one of the huts she's looked through before now).
there's an open suitcase on the other side of the bed that she moves towards, starting to rifle through whatever odds and ends might still be packed away, when he speaks up. what else can I pull of? she glances over, sees the string bikini in his hands, and barks a laugh - her hand coming up to cover her mouth. ]
I mean- I don't know if it'd cover everything, but it's a fashion statement. [ she turns back to the suitcase, pulling out a really ugly, really poorly color blocked hawaiian shirt - just like he'd been referring to before. it's an obnoxious yellow, with leaves and flowers and a kind of terribly shaped hulu girl somewhere in the pattern. as she holds it up, she tilts her head back and forth, like she's actually considering it. ]
You seem like a yellow kind of a guy. [ she is absolutely joking. ]