"Nick!" He's grinning at her like it's funny, rather than the most humiliating thing Rosie can imagine, and she nearly turns to go. If he wants to be amused, he can do so just as well on his own, wearing (or not wearing) whatever he likes. All she'd tried to do was be polite, and this was the thanks she got. "Of course I know that," she says, a little sharp. "But lounging about in nothing at all seems quite different than doing the same thing in--" Rosie waves a dismissive hand at him. "In just that, even."

She could go. She should go, even, having fulfilled her obligation and returned his clothes. If it occurs to her then that the last time she'd worn them, they'd been all she'd had on--let alone that she'd worn them while closely entwined with the grinning, self-satisfied boy in front of her--she tries not to let it show.

"I think I would like something to drink, actually," Rosie says instead, with as much dignity as she can muster despite the blush still staining her cheeks. "Something cold would be perfect."