Re: NYE: Cat & Reece
It was entirely questionable whose breath he was smelling, because he breathed booze every bit as much as she did. And, somehow, she hadn't expected his little game to have actual rules. In the end, she made a soft sound of disappointment, a silken tsk as her fingers dragged beneath his chin of their own volition. "What if I want to hit Reece in the face?" But her lips were turned up in lush red teasing, and she was baked enough that she wasn't even concerned with the impromptu dance of her gloved fingertips.
But, willing to follow the rules of his little game, she rocked back onto her heels. Was she a little slow? Possibly, but he was so very blitzed and, though he looked undeniably young, she could see the man he would become. It was her own lack of sobriety that allowed her to realize that fact. Cat? She lived in perpetual denial, but enough social lubrication and even she could let a sliver of truth filter.
But, just to be clear, she wasn't wasted. She knew who he was, who she was, and all the reasons she should keep distance between them for the remainder of the evening. But, Cat? She was never good at heeding her own boundaries. Luckily, all those thoughts were banished at his very bad attempt to shove a snowball in her face. He caught her cheek, her hair, and she laughed a husky purr of a laugh. She didn't stand until he'd stopped, out of breath, and she scooped up two of his pre-rolled ammunition.
Did she run? No. But she was certainly stalking him all the same. Slow, and with as much sway as she managed on her heels, she walked up to the smiling, laughing boy. She didn't throw the snowballs at him, oh, no, none of that. She stepped, close, close, close, and she leaned up to whisper in his ear. "You are very bad at this," and her breath warmth fanning across his cold cheek. As for the snowballs? One she shoved down the back of his shirt. The other? Right in the face.