[ There's a slight smile in her eyes, and soon a wry, whatever one her lips. She watches just long enough to see him reach for a towel -- steps back just enough with a roll of her eyes, a shake of her head, and a soft breath of a laugh exhaled through her nose. It's funny, is all. (He's ridiculous.) (No word on how she feels about being mutually ridiculous with him.)
But oh, her looking back to the bar plan is cut short. Then she's merely curiously watching him do something as small and backhandedly sweet as wiping salt of her fingers after being a jackass, and wondering why she doesn't bother to pull her arm away.
You are typical, Damon. (And she might not like it.) She injects some casual knowingness into her tone. ] Are you - ? [ But he's not done.
She guesses it's also typical his fingers are are starting places and going places, and it's enough to shut her up, her eyes darting and her breath sucking in.
Elena knows what he'll do right then, and she watches him go on probably for the same reason she didn't pull her arm away.
She thinks she should slap him, hit him, so after a tense moment, she elbows her way back against the bar, acts as if this concludes their sexual tension immaturity. (Neverrrr.) (Possibly because she has no reason to wedge herself against him, especially because her drink is an arm's length away. She reaches to pull it over.) ] So is this the only reason you came tonight? To crash the party and give me a few pointers? [ The last word there is a bit snarkyish.