A similar smile comes to Beau's lips, curiously shy, boyish. The previously comforting, lulling fingers stray further, and he notices them fully now. Their feel, their location. It rouses a hot bubble in the middle of his chest. The one frayed at the edges and electric, the kind that comes when you're attracted and turned on and nervous.

Naturally, he asks, "What do y'mean, 'Not with someone like you'?" He can tell it isn't a bad thing. Yet he's still curious. What does someone like him mean?