Giving into his kiss with slow seduction marking its path forth as she slid against him, Charlotte's gaze was hazy when he drew back once more, her fingers tightening imperceptibly on his shoulders to hold herself still.

"Moreso since Liverpool won the Cup."

Pausing as her gaze took a moment to steady on his own, Charlotte's face fell as she was momentarily stunned by the notion that he was not, as she was with him, as enthralled with her to forget himself. She needed him, excruciatingly so, and yet he could sit back and joke about football in a moment such as this - that perplexed her.

Even more than that, she wanted no reminder beyond the physical and sense-numbing act of making love, she wanted to keep away the sense of camraderie, the ease and comfort she always associated with him. She needed to feel something, just not any sense of the life she could no longer return to without memories plaguing her she'd rather have forgotten.

Pulling back from him and slipping from the couch, Charlotte said nothing as she went to pour herself something from the glass cart beside the window. With her back to him and her shoulders rigidly straight, she inquired, "How did you get away from work? I can imagine it being so busy now."