"Bad time?" The question trailed off cluelessly, as if James didn't realize she was hardly dressed for company. Of course, considering what she wore for planned company, the boxers and wifebeater of the moment probably covered more.
Some golden fruit juice rolled down the subtle carve of her chin, and James wiped it away with the belly of a thin wrist. The dusty blueblack of her eyes tightened in rapidly escalating recognition. It began as deja-vu, although Hannah's voice wasn't the least bit familiar to her. Her eyes were still dusted in the memories of dark eyeliner from the night before. It was watered down and streaked, as if only half washed away before she'd fallen asleep.
"I.." Frowning, James stepped back from the door, realizing that she was still blocking it. Confused by her own clumsy state of mind, she gestured to the living room.