Foreman's good humour only grew as Amber got out of the car and slammed the door--he nearly asked was his poor car had done to her. She looked like the only striking she wanted to do was her fist to Thirteen's face. House must have seen that. There was no way keeping both of them hadn't been deliberate. Foreman wouldn't be surprised if visions of foxy boxing regularly floated through House's mind when he put on his expression of being 'deeply studious'. There was definitely something hot about imagining the two of them confronting each other, not that Foreman was going to say a word about that. House was the chauvinist pig; Foreman knew better than to open his big mouth.

Amber took his arm, trying to guide him back to the conversation she wanted to have, but Foreman wasn't going to make it that easy on her. He turned towards her, wrapping his free hand around her waist, squeezing her hand a bit with the other. "If I didn't know it was professional concern, I'd worry that you were jealous," he said, smiling slowly, lazily meeting her eyes. He drew her closer, taking his first opportunity to really look at her since their abortive date on Friday. Other than a few slips today, he hadn't allowed himself the luxury of seeing her, because he hadn't needed to rub it in his own face how much he'd cheated himself out of. The lights from the restaurant behind him picked up highlights in Amber's hair, made the irritated spark in her eyes shine brighter. The sidewalk wasn't busy, and Foreman felt more than warm enough with his body pressed against Amber's that he didn't mind lingering. The contrast between his front and the cold air at his back made it all the better. "She's only lobby art to him unless she's got something to prove."