Everyone keeps telling her to just talk to Sam. And they're right—that's what she has to do, one way or another. It's just... hard.

A lot of it's been her own fault, she knows. She's the one who keeps making it weird. If she wasn't so hung up on him, they probably wouldn't have even been put in the same room at the casino, but that's what she gets for being so obviously not over a guy that even the evil capitalism demon screwing with her head saw it.

Ugh. One step at a time.

"I want to," comes out a little bit more earnestly than she was planning on, but fuck it, not being earnest hasn't been helping. She offers a hand. "I don't even mind the two left feet. 'Least we're in daylight not fumbling around a dingy club, so, y'know, you can actually see where you're puttin' em."