Re: Elevator
"Baby." He thought that was funny. His eyes flashed and his mouth creased, and his humor was clean, childlike, a little boy's blocks and fire trucks amusement. He let her use the nickname, his repetition of the single word not offended nor angry. He enjoyed the pull, because he had no impetus of his own, and he moved alone easily.
"Mothers don't name their daughters 'Sam.'" He took a long step forward to match her pace and keep her from really dislodging his clothing, not nearly drunk enough yet that his balance wasn't with him. He put an arm out and slid blunt, uncalloused fingers along her lower back, the movement possessive and meant to imply they had come together, and no more.