"I suppose not," she says, her cheeks pinking a little once more. "Not if an...an orgy was the point of the evening." Just saying the word makes Rosie's stomach flip a little; the sensation odd but not wholly off-putting. "Though you do look awfully good in stockings, as I'm sure you know."

There's a shift in the way Sabrina's fingers move through her hair, something slight but faintly--and again, oddly--reminiscent of the way Nick's had twisted in her curls as he held her in a kiss during their evening together only a few days ago. Then, she'd gasped against his mouth, deepened the kiss until she was dizzy and breathless with it. That's not going to happen here, not tonight.

But it could, she thinks, the realization surprising in its suddenness. Sometime later.

Rosie makes herself focus on what else Sabrina is saying, the explanation and reassurances she's continuing to provide in this sharing of her own history. It helps, a little. "Oh, I see," she says. "So when the rest of us were escaping those gingerbread men, you and Charlie were celebrating the turn of the new year in a much nicer way." She nudges Sabrina, teasing, and laughs, hoping the faint note of something strained she hears in the sound isn't audible to her friend. "Good for you."