"Fuck," he muttered, and set the mug on the counter, taking a half-step toward her. "Kat, I... shit. I'm sorry." George dragged his fingers through his hair, wishing he could scratch out the bit of his brain that had come up with the remark in the first place.
"I didn't..." What? Mean to say that? Mean to get brought home for a shag? "You know I'm a right ass, yeah? But pissed, I'm a real dick. And I didn't mean to say that."
His fingers brushed her arm hesitantly, then retreated because the grater looked rather sharp, and Kat was pretty spiffy with hexes, and he had little interest in any she chose to toss his way.