Lyra frowned in the middle of knotting the scarf over her hair, searching her memory. Did she already know he was Duffield? Sounded a bit familiar. Oh, no, no she was thinking of one of the senators back in Tennessee; she and Ana and most of the rest of the girls in her program had been on a couple of angry marches while she'd been down there, trying to get him to pay attention to the fact the world was on god-damn fire.
"I'm a Campbell," she said, turning her attention away from politicians of her past and toward the way her shirt clung to him. "I like that on you," she smirked a little, touching his sleeve. The shirt didn't quite cover the hickey on his neck, though, but there was no point going out there and pretending they'd had a pure and virginal night, no one was gonna buy that.
She liked the shirt, but she also liked that it was gonna be an excuse to go over to his place again sometime soon, to get her shirt back. Maybe even sometime when his roommate was out.