It didn't take long to hook his dress shirt and pants over a hanger. For lack of anywhere better to put them, Foreman hung them up in Amber's closet, making a mental note to remember he'd left them there. He didn't want to think about it, but there was a possibility that another argument like yesterday's could break them up entirely. While he'd be willing to lose an old pair of jeans, he wasn't going to risk a suit he liked. Leaving his stuff here, beyond the easily-replaceable shaving gel and toothbrush, was an act of faith, one he hadn't doubted in the least on the weekend, but now felt more tenuous.

Not worth him getting knotted up over right now. Foreman took a deep breath, glad of the easier fit of his clothing, and the easy relaxation filling him because of it. Turning back to Amber, he smiled, a bit smugly--but hell, why not, since she'd complimented him?--and advanced toward her. She was wearing a loose sweater, too, but somehow that was more enticing even than the carefully-chosen blouses that showed off her figure. Maybe it was the fact that he knew what was underneath. Maybe it was teasing himself with knowing how easy it would be to slide his hands up under the loose hem of the sweater, palms running up her stomach to her breasts.

He wasn't going to act on that, but the idea that he could was good enough. "Hey," he answered quietly. "Me too." Stepping closer, he rested his hands on her hips, so that they were close as they'd been to dance. That moment that had started it all. Watching Amber--her eyes, her lips--Foreman couldn't help the warm surge of feeling for her, how deeply he cared, how glad he was that he was here. He knew he could probably kiss her and she wouldn't object, since she hadn't in the diner, but it was almost better not to. His chest tightened, and he couldn't stop studying each of her features. "You said something about TV?" he said, without making any move in that direction.