Mary was in the middle of another rant about those wannabe actors she'd once performed with, when Harley sped out of the room without warning. Rude. If the topic didn't please her, she could have spoken up about it.
She returns a few minutes later, balancing a tower of colorful scoops in either hand.
"Sorry I just up and left, but I heard the ice cream van jingling outside."
"Well, in that case you may be forgiven. What did you get me?"
"I didn't know what flavors you like so I got you all of my favorites. Hurry up, they're melting."
The selection of flavors is acceptable, if a little on the artificial side. Mary is used to higher quality, but as a fugitive you're allowed only a small measure of your previous standards.
Thankfully, she needn't lower her sights where Harley is concerned. The girl is always a treat for the eyes, be it with a pillow print on her cheek first thing in the morning, disheveled and perspiring from her exercise, or like now, hurriedly licking off the ice cream dribbling down her fingers.
Heat stirs low within Mary, despite the cold on her lips. She can't take her eyes off what should be a rather childish and messy scene, not one infused with so much eroticism. When Harley notices Mary watching her, she freezes, tongue against her cone. Mary smirks as she licks her ice cream slowly, sensuously, and enjoys Harley blushing brighter than her strawberry scoop.