Re: Inside: Amelia/Shane
[As Amelia wanders off, asking for a pause, Shane drags a raggedy gray cotton shirt on over his head, pulled from a rapidly dwindling pile exposed in the guts of the bag the hotel had packed him. He strips off his own sodden jeans in favor of a dry black pair that are a little too loose, but that will work until the others are dry. He tosses the dirty denim onto the bar between the top bunk and the bottom, where they hang heavily.
When the woman returns, Shane is raking hard fingers through his water-dark hair. Pasted to his neck and forehead, he pushes it away, kicking a book, discarded on the floor, under Graham's bunk with a grunt, lest he get the shit wet. Fully clothed now, he can look at her and her sweats, worn like fucking silk.] Probably. [He smiles at her and it's softer than he intends, so he scowls and glances away, back toward where water prints the concrete under his cold feet. After a brief silence, he dares flick his eyes to her and her outfit.] You're fucking ready to go out for the night, huh?