Does anyone not named Mercedes, Porsche, Mystery or Diamond ever really plan to strip naked in public? Don't answer that. It occurs to Buffy that perhaps she ought to say something about the stripping, but it's just his chest and surely those thumbs in his waistband are more like hooking your fingers in your pocket than stripping. Plus, looking at Alcide shirtless is definitely not a hardship. She'll say something to him if he actually starts tugging that jumpsuit lower. Probably.

She thought company and distraction would be good given the restless vibe he's putting off, not to mention she'd thought it would help her own restlessness. She doesn't feel like she's going to shift (though she wouldn't have a clue what that would feel like) but she does feel keyed up the way she used to after a night of slaying. Her skin is buzzing and she's hungry, but not for the slop they serve in the commissary. She could definitely go for some sex a low fat yogurt.

She hears that growl and it's sexy as fuck (oh hell what is wrong with her?) but she takes a deep breath and practices self control. She can pretend it's senior year with Angel and all the no touching and no happy-joy making. She's good at that, except it's been years. Not since she had sex, at least not according to the glitches and why the hell can't she stop thinking about sex. That way generally leads to badness anyway.

"Thanks," she says, swallowing hard as she casts a glance over to him. "You look good in red. I mean...you're lucky. Red is a good color on you, but so is the whole shirtlessness thing. It's a good look. You're very tan. You must have spent a lot of time outside where--where were you from. In the glitches, I mean. With the tan and the shirtlessness and God...I'm sorry. I didn't--" She plasters her hand over her mouth and mumbles against it 'just going to shut up now' except it probably just sounds like a bunch of noise.