Déjà-vu washed over Amber as she entered the car, taking in the scent of leather mixed lightly with Eric's. The first and last time he'd driven her anywhere, she'd expected fun, flirting, fucking; instead, she'd ended up on a bus. That, in a way, had been her own doing. She'd been self-righteously furious, offended at Eric's manipulation. Disappointed that the guy she was into had screwed with her so much, Amber hadn't cared to consider his side of the story. And, sure, he'd done a terrible job coming clean to hear, messing up in his timing and method, but she'd understood and forgiven him, and that was that.

She'd just better not wind up on the curb again. If it happened a second time, she wouldn't be nearly as forgiving.

At the moment, though, Amber's mood was still headed upwards, floating, floating. Eric was laughing at himself, making jokes about taking orders, a subject that had him tied up in knots just minutes ago. Amber wanted to kiss him, him and that good humor. But then she'd want another kiss, and more besides, and while House might consider live porn more incentive to hire her, Amber did want that dinner.

So she settled for nestling in her seat, heating herself up. “Sometimes,” Amber conceded, thinking back to how he'd followed her lead on Thursday, in accepting her offer for drinks and obeying when she'd ordered him to make her come, against the wall. But he didn’t give in to all her whims; she’d been serious about finding a secluded spot in the bar, a bathroom or something, and having each other without the pesky wait. She was still sorry he’d refused. "When it suits you. Otherwise, you put up a fight.” Amber raised an eyebrow, playfully defying him to contradict her. “But since you’ve officially made me the captain, it’s on the main avenue downtown, Washington.”