Adam's jaw drew tightly clenched, sharpening the angle of his already harsh, narrow sideburns. Though James could not seem to meet his gaze, it was clear Adam felt no such compunction. He was almost embarrassed at how taken aback he was; it should have been no surprise to see him spin this to his own benefit. For someone so aggressively capable and masculine, Adam thought, James was quite fond of playing the martyr. His words crawled beneath Adam's skin, stinging all the more with every passing second. Of the two of them, Adam could guess well enough which of them would go and which would stay. The fight-that-wasn't was nothing to bother him overmuch, but to be dismissed, by her no less, was a humiliation he could not bear to consider. So he reached up, canting his face as he did, deliberately concealing that telling shadow from Alex's searching eyes. For his part, Adam had no desire to share his side of this very short story, knowing no good would come of its telling.
"Thanks," he said, the small, quiet word directed at her and her alone. He put the glass to his lips, drowning the echo of James' little jibe with the warm taste - if not the typically resultant buzz - of wine.