So nervous, so excited. Like a kid sneaking in a puppy hidden under his coat. Amber couldn't help laughing, and how good that felt, the near snort lighting everything up. This was how it should've been, them misbehaving together and finding only the joy in it. None of that guilt and embarrassment.
However, Amber did give credit where it was due: Eric's reflection revealed no misplaced amusement, just excessive seriousness for a man walking out of a bathroom. That poker face had probably been developed not just while working House, but from his experiences as a kid. As a teenager, the stealing he'd told her about.
It made her think, as she leaned her palms against the sink's cold, polished marble. Maybe this stint had been more than a game to Eric. He'd almost landed in jail, came this close to losing the life he had now as an accomplished, albeit career-frustrated, doctor. To her, getting it on in a public space wasn't anything more than a kinky prank; she'd never expected any retribution more severe than expulsion.
The soft rap distracted from her thoughts, and once more Amber laughed. He really had knocked; would he have hit the door twenty times, had the coast not been clear? Biting her lip, her smile grew. Now there was a sight to imagine, Eric becoming increasingly conspicuous as he tapped repeatedly.
Amber took a minute to run her fingers through her hair-- it needed more attention than that, but she'd left her purse, and the comb in it, at the table-- then opened the door imperiously, as if she owned the place and had the right to do whatever she wanted, wherever she pleased. No one seemed to even notice. What a pity, all that drama and no one cared!
Aiming herself towards where they’d been sitting, Amber looked for Eric, curious to see how he was faring, now that he was back under public scrutiny. She hadn’t forgotten the streak of worry that had perturbed her, as to how she’d reacted to Eric’s disapproval, but all in all, she felt back in place, her skirt swaying slightly as she strode back to the table.
no subject
However, Amber did give credit where it was due: Eric's reflection revealed no misplaced amusement, just excessive seriousness for a man walking out of a bathroom. That poker face had probably been developed not just while working House, but from his experiences as a kid. As a teenager, the stealing he'd told her about.
It made her think, as she leaned her palms against the sink's cold, polished marble. Maybe this stint had been more than a game to Eric. He'd almost landed in jail, came this close to losing the life he had now as an accomplished, albeit career-frustrated, doctor. To her, getting it on in a public space wasn't anything more than a kinky prank; she'd never expected any retribution more severe than expulsion.
The soft rap distracted from her thoughts, and once more Amber laughed. He really had knocked; would he have hit the door twenty times, had the coast not been clear? Biting her lip, her smile grew. Now there was a sight to imagine, Eric becoming increasingly conspicuous as he tapped repeatedly.
Amber took a minute to run her fingers through her hair-- it needed more attention than that, but she'd left her purse, and the comb in it, at the table-- then opened the door imperiously, as if she owned the place and had the right to do whatever she wanted, wherever she pleased. No one seemed to even notice. What a pity, all that drama and no one cared!
Aiming herself towards where they’d been sitting, Amber looked for Eric, curious to see how he was faring, now that he was back under public scrutiny. She hadn’t forgotten the streak of worry that had perturbed her, as to how she’d reacted to Eric’s disapproval, but all in all, she felt back in place, her skirt swaying slightly as she strode back to the table.