Oh, she'd get it later, but she needed both hands now. To cling to Stan, fingers curling around the front of his coat and using the strength in her deceptively thin noodle arms to keep him juuuuuust where he was; her body collided with his, knocking the breath from her, the slam of a grand piano lid. Her lips met his and she arched her body toward him further, hopping up with a little sound in her throat.
It wasn't one of those face-sucking, devouring kisses - and yet she liked it anyway. It was perfect, equal parts sweet and passionate and yet enticing her for more. Her tongue scraped against his teeth and she had to get oxygen to her brain, inhale, sucking along his breath with hers. Hands that were soft as crushed velvet caressed down his chest, a fond sort of thing. And she kissed him again, deep and urgent and in a way that thawed the ice in her veins.
"Not bad, coffee shop guy," she purred at him. "For someone who doesn't know what a nitro cold brew is."