"Dear," Luke repeated semi-sarcastically; that was when the balloon hit, bursting against his chest.
It was surprising how much water there really was, and how cold it had mysteriously gotten sitting in a dark room all morning. For a moment he sputtered, taken aback, and spread his arms wide in that totally inexplicable and stupid way people tended to have when suddenly soaked.
"I'm going to kill you," he told George flatly, the last syllable devolving into a shocked laugh. "You're dead. Come here."
Because apparently killing George meant coming after her for a hug. That would teach her to throw balloons, right? Totally. Yeah. It had nothing to do with looking for an excuse to put his arms around her, or that weird urge he had sometimes to get all close and touchy. Weirdo.
It was Luke's birthday, though. It was totally okay to want a hug. And it was totally okay to laugh a little at the thought of George's last message to him before coming here, the one where she'd said he wouldn't be getting her wet for anything. Stupid sexual connotations that are totally inappropriate aside.