They're drunk, and it's dark; then darker.
"Who turned out the lights?"
"More importantly," Quil pronounces, businesslike, "who turned off Roger Rabbit?"
"The power's out," Leah says with annoyance. Only Jacob heard the rough stumble at the bottom of the stairs, and he's trying to squint through the darkness at where she and Sam were galloping down with their beers.
"Sorry." Sam laughed, "Didn't mean to, like—"
"I know you didn't." Leah doesn't say it as lightly as she means to. Jacob frowns and gets up.
As he passes by Sam he just barely makes out a bit of a wince on the guy's face. He can barely see Leah in the black; a few steps up he slings his arm at her waist announcing, "Oops!"
He trips her to the wall chuckling vodka breath against her, moves a hand under her waistband at her hip, slicking lips silently against hers which easily part for him in the seemingly secluded pocket of the darkened staircase.
Gasping against him as quietly as she can, Leah breaks away enough to insult, "Clumsy."
He nibbles her once on the jaw, whispers, "I meant to." And he steals a swig of her beer.