Jemma found herself licking her lips again, her teeth catching her lip without concious effort. "You-" it hadn't escaped her attetion that he was still holding her wrist.
"Its early... very early," she said quietly, making no move to pull her hand back either. She had a feeling she was supposed to be the sane one here, the one who stopped whatever it was that kept their eyes together. It was so hard to remind herself that this was her best mate who thought of her as just that when he kept looking at her like that. Suddenly she was fourteen again, on the dance floor with him, unable to look away.
She knew though- no matter how badly she wanted to kiss him- no matter how badly she wanted to pretend that he wasn't her best mate and just some other guy- she couldn't do that.
"You... shouldn't go."
Those weren't the words she meant to say! Her mutinous tongue betrayed her. And yet she didn't feel inspired to take them back.