Her admiration of his coolness went along with a vast under-estimation of her own. Plain dorky little Kitty Pryde, a persona she felt transcended any other behavior, as if she was in perma-phase. No make-up could stick to her enough to give her any appearance of glamor, any so much as slightly chic clothing fell off her back, and she passed through experience like a ghost, picking up nothing.
"If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead," She dropped a quick kiss on his cheek before she ghosted away to close the windows--it was quickly becoming too chilly in the room. Turning once she shut the last one, she said, "I'll give you a backrub and you can stay here tonight, if you want. But that's my best offer."
In the chill of the room, her wide bed was welcoming. She'd gotten a massive mattress when she'd moved in here two years ago, with the invitation of living in the mansion during grad school beckoning warmly, because she'd self-indulgently wanted as much space as possible after her narrow Japanese bed. Now, it seemed portentious.