If it goes to her head a little, it goes quickly. Smooth and slippery like everything else in her head, when he's still on it and she still can't stop herself from being amused. Incredulously so. She can tell herself that might be the vodka, but it's such a transparent lie at this second, when her hands slide up the edges of his jacket, until her fingers can curl at the front corners of his collar.

"Maybe. Maybe not." -- when she can pull on that part of his jacket. "But I think I'd rather light something else on fire right now." Because, honest to God, his mouth is problem. All of the words, all of the way he is smiling, and all of the way that she has to kiss him now, before whatever next terrible set of words or smirk comes out, because she does wants all of them.