Re: log: dylan & max
She watched him lose the rigidity in his shoulders; she wasn't sure whether she was glad or sorry to see that taut line go. He was looking at her a moment later (really looking), and it was all she could do not to look away. By the end of their entanglement, her confidence had tanked. Lack of interest didn't sit well on shoulders that had been bowed over they years by Brandon's unintentional cruelty, and some of that insecurity lingered in the brown of her eyes as she regarded him. But it was just a hint, just a sliver. She didn't look away. She stood her ground, the signs of age at the front line and a natural combativeness in the tilt of her chin. She'd lived through a lot worse than a man's disinterest, her look said.
At ease, her look said.
"Same you, but packing heat," she said knowingly, without condemnation. She had a semi-automatic tucked into the back of her jeans. There was safety in the skin-warmed metal against her lower back, and she was too old a dog to unlearn that particular trick. "Tap and a whiskey chaser. You? It's on me."