"You want some?" Cate tilts her head, lips tugging upwards into an amused smirk. She has a little plastic bag dangling from the lithe stretch of her fingers, offering it towards you with a subtle gleam in her eyes.

She leans over, swinging her legs into your lap with a little snicker. At your hesitance, her eyebrows arch—something tells you she's not asking.

"You know, I could make you." She hums, inflection deceptively innocent, doe-eyes sparkling in the nightclub light.