"I'm so angry with you," she told him, looking up at him with dark eyes, the remainder of her wine sloshing angrily against the wine glass,
"You're drunk," he told her, unable to keep the smile from his face,
"And you're laughing at me," she told him, her pouting lips and wide eyes reproducing not so unfamiliar feelings deep inside his stomach,
"I'm not laughing at you, but I know you're drunk… you wouldn't me telling me how mad you are at me if you were sober," he told her, holding his hand out to her, "Come on, let's get you back to your room,"
"If you weren't married, you could have come with me to bed," she teased, making him wonder how she was still so god damn attractive when she was clearly intoxicated,
"Connie…" he began, watching as she purposefully stood up, ignoring his outstretched hand,
"I need to go to bed," she mumbled, stumbling slightly as she pulled on her jacket, and walked the wrong way as she intended to leave the hotel bar,
"This way," he told her, holding her arms gently and leading her through the now quiet bar,
They stood beside each other in the lift, a heavy silence had fallen upon them and he found himself wondering why he'd chosen not to tell her.
She kissed his cheek gently, obviously deciding that she wasn't going to say anymore. Not that she'd said much at all really. "I'll see you tomorrow," she told him, "Sleep well,"
"You too," he replied, surprised at the feelings that flooded through him as he watched her let herself into her room.