"I don't give a damn about her night. You're the one I invited here." And the one I intend to leave with, he almost says, but he realizes in barely enough time that if he does he'll probably end up half hard in public and he's fairly sure that's not something you want on a ballet date. (At least not according to what he's picked up from John.)

So instead he reaches down slightly to take her hand, a touch that grounds him and refocuses some of the nervous energy that's pinging around his brain.

She always has helped him find extra clarity when he's needed it, now that he thinks about it.

That thought warms his smile, softens his eyes briefly. "Come on. We can nick some free champagne; I'll show you where I found that bucket of livers I was telling you about at dinner."