He eyes her appreciative through the slit in the door. "This is just like a scene I wrote once," he admits, and could instantly stomp on his own tongue. His lips move, fishily, around an expression that he's not quite comfortable with. A peek of terrycloth around the edge of the door alerts him to her plans. He's going to have to be extra cagey to win his admittance. Luckily, he's come prepared.

The fold of his coat peels back and reveals a bottle of top shelf whiskey, its label stylistically distressed.

"I figured we could have a drink. That is, if there's room left between you, me, and rubber duckie."