Ben grinned at her comments regarding both politics and alcohol. "What a little rebel," he murmured flirtatiously. The word sounded good as soon as he'd said it; it sounded like it fit. Rebel. That could be the nickname he'd decided he ought to have for her. One shouldn't be on a Miss/Mister basis if meeting up in Ireland for drinks was a think they were doing, now — which apparently it was. The nickname was short enough to be handy, and cute, in an unconventional sort of way. He didn't think she'd object. Unless she did, the matter was more or less settled in Ben's mind.
When she leaned in he moved to compliment her, so that he had all of his fingertips on the smooth fabric of her sleeve now. He shifted his weight so that he could lean forward a bit on one elbow, which served the double purpose of making it more comfortable for him to continue his flirtatious little pattern-drawing on her arm and also brought them into much closer proximity, generally. She hadn't broken off eye contact, which was, in Ben's experience, the nonverbal way of saying yes; he had the feeling that he could do just about anything right now, from reaching over and playing with that piece of her hair that had come loose to rubbing her shoulder to even putting his lips against hers, and she wouldn't stop him. But it wasn't quite the time for that.
"Does that surprise you?" he asked playfully, raising his glass slightly as though he intended to drink but not quite following through with the action yet. "Did you come all the way to Ireland to meet up with me because you thought I was stuffy and cold and bigoted?" Now he broke to take a quick sip of his beer before putting it back down on the table and sliding it off to the right — out of the way in case he felt the need to lean in even closer than the two of them already were. "Don't worry, though. I know what you mean. You're not like other girls."
Every girl liked to be told they weren't like other girls. In this case, however, maybe it was true. She'd certainly proven to be a vast difference from Ellory Pendergast, who hadn't done anything more daring than putting quill to paper during their entire year-long flirtation.
MJ made this <3
When she leaned in he moved to compliment her, so that he had all of his fingertips on the smooth fabric of her sleeve now. He shifted his weight so that he could lean forward a bit on one elbow, which served the double purpose of making it more comfortable for him to continue his flirtatious little pattern-drawing on her arm and also brought them into much closer proximity, generally. She hadn't broken off eye contact, which was, in Ben's experience, the nonverbal way of saying yes; he had the feeling that he could do just about anything right now, from reaching over and playing with that piece of her hair that had come loose to rubbing her shoulder to even putting his lips against hers, and she wouldn't stop him. But it wasn't quite the time for that.
"Does that surprise you?" he asked playfully, raising his glass slightly as though he intended to drink but not quite following through with the action yet. "Did you come all the way to Ireland to meet up with me because you thought I was stuffy and cold and bigoted?" Now he broke to take a quick sip of his beer before putting it back down on the table and sliding it off to the right — out of the way in case he felt the need to lean in even closer than the two of them already were. "Don't worry, though. I know what you mean. You're not like other girls."
Every girl liked to be told they weren't like other girls. In this case, however, maybe it was true. She'd certainly proven to be a vast difference from Ellory Pendergast, who hadn't done anything more daring than putting quill to paper during their entire year-long flirtation.
MJ made this <3