Well. On Saturday I will certainly be very drunk, and so I expect I will not even make it out of my clothes at all before I fall asleep.

[A distraction? A distraction. Wrapping her arms around him and digging her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck is a good start; plying him with some of his favorite mental images is just the next step.]

But on Friday, if I am going to have you on my arm, then I'll have to look very dashing. I think perhaps I'll wear the black one with the cummerbund and the shirt with the black pearl buttons.

[She shifts her dangling leg a little, nudging her toes against his outer thigh.]

You like that one, don't you?