That was all he'd wanted: confirmation. Watching his happiness grow was day break, warm and bright and promising. It was impossible not to smile back in return. It was so simple! An hour ago, too, he'd asked just for an apology. Amber was a trained manipulator and she'd long since learned the usefulness of flattery and adulation and sucking up. Eric had never been a tool to her so she'd avoided applying those same principles to him-- she'd assumed somehow that to compliment him would be a trick, just like flirting with that intern boy or goading House into imagining her in bed.

He should've known that she wouldn't be here if she didn't think him worthy. Amber didn't waste time on the hopeless, she had better things to do. Maybe he did know. Because it was true, she really did believe in him. And maybe hearing it out loud, from her own lips, made all the difference. Eric seemed like so independent and self-confident, but he still craved the high opinion of others-- the other wanna-bes. House. Amber.

Amber's pancakes had gone well past lukewarm, her coffee would be thick and disgusting, and all she wanted to do was grin back at Eric, playing with his hand. This feeling of satisfaction and pleasure and excitement was why she'd invited him here. She’d remembered how good Eric could make her feel and she'd wanted that again. Well, she'd gotten it.

Eric performed the least subtle topic switch in the history of ever, but Amber rolled with it. So it'd been his own insecurities he'd been queasy over and not her non-discriminating taste. "I didn't date," Amber said. She'd barely tolerated seeing anyone more than once, didn't matter the sex. Women weren't Amber's favorite, but she wasn't going to dismiss half the human population without at least experimenting first. "And no, I wasn't always drunk. I wasn't the first time." Amber innocently popped a soggy bit of pancake into her mouth, smirking as she teased by not explaining about that 'first' time.