"My tongue-thing," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Pthbbbbbbbbt. Yours works an' mine's broke."

Her fingers were toying idly with the buttons on his shirt; not in an attempt to undress him, just as something to play with.

"I don' 'member," she shrugged. "Five, or ... eight? My counting got all .... got all funny."

She was mumbling more. He was cozy. Someone should tell him he was good at that. 'Cause he was. She was just gonna think about that for a minute.