"Staring? Me? Dont flatter yourself, love." He was still staring, albeit slightly more discretely, following the graceful curve of her neck as she pulled her hair up, shaking his head at her. "It is the alcohol. I dont blush."
The broom was a familiar weight in his hand, and one unsteady foot in front of the other on his way to the door to the pitch, laughing at her. "Your face is drunk. I dont need bludgers to slow you down." The air was nice outside the stuffy locker room, and a deal better for him and his fuzzy senses. "Better put your money where your mouth is," Or she'd never hear the end of it from him.
He slung one long leg over his broom, thankful that he didnt just keel over into the ground, and kicked off hard into the air, swerving his broom a bit before it steadied. This was probably a bad idea--was a bad idea, and he'd reflect on it later if he didnt end up in Mungos for a nasty fall. Liquor and brooms didnt mix well, but it was a worthwhile risk. The redhead felt more at home in the air than on the ground anyway and he swung his broom around, waiting for Angelina to join him even as his head swam a little, making him grip the handle a bit harder.