Will was hovering in the doorway, blocking Ronny's exit. She quirked a small smile at him as she brushed past, but their proximity caused her to stumble slightly. She knocked against his chest for balance and murmured a contrite, "Sorry."
Will shook his head and intercepted her wrist as she tried to leave the room. "That sucked."
Ronny huffed and jerked her hand free. "That did not suck. That was textbook."
"I felt your hand!"
"You only felt my hand because you were trying to feel my hand. If you were an average person on the street, you would not have felt my hand."
"Try it again," he said.
"Oh, come on, Will! I'm already as good at this as you. Better, probably. You're just jealous."
Will's grin was impossibly wide. "Jealous? Um, hardly. Of your driving skills, maybe —not that I'm exactly a slouch in that department, thank you very much—" Ronny felt compelled to roll her eyes. "—but you might remember I used to do this for a living. And I'm the best there is."
"The best, huh," she echoed, but her response lacked venom. It was a little difficult to resist that smile (that was the whole point, right?), and his hand was over hers again, extracting the prop wallet she was holding.
"Yep," he said easily, fingers on the inside of her wrist, "the best." He smiled brighter. "You wanna try this again?"
"All right, bring it." Ronny smirked at him, confident in her abilities (well, she had learned from the best, after all).
Will tucked the prop wallet back inside his unzipped jacket, and she started over: 'accidentally' falling against him, brushing his chest with her hand, scooping the wallet out of his interior pocket, muttering a breathy, rehearsed apology.
"That sucked, too," Will said, looking far too amused. "I completely felt your hand that time."
"That time, you were supposed to," she answered.