"What do you think?" is a loaded question, Alex knows. Cautiously, she walks into the living room of her flat where Gene has made himself at home. Beer in one hand, clicker in the other it looks positively domestic. He looks at her and it takes a moment for it to register on his face.
"You'll do," he says, casual. Like all the blood hadn't gone rushing southwards at the sight of those legs and oh Mary and Joseph the slit up the side. "Good. Can you…?" Laughable really, how fast he is up and standing next to her, hands guiding the zipper up her back. "There's a clasp, too; at the very top." He finds it without help. Alex, all done up, looks like she wants to say something before she remembers— he was married. Of course.
"I'll grab my purse and we can go, then."
"Right."
"Right."
Neither of them moves for a moment, just looking. "Come on Bols, get a move on. You'll make us late and I for one and not going to be the sod to miss the open bar." She sashays away from him then, smirk sliding onto her lips as she peeks at him from around the corner.