"I guess you had some form of entertainment while I was away." Valentine's lips stretched slyly as he settled into the seat in front of Ambrose.
He was back from his car and had now changed his shirt into another black one—surprisingly similar to the one Ambrose spilt wine on.
Did the man just casually have other versions of each of his clothes?
"Entertainment?" Ambrose repeated the word cluelessly as he struggled to focus on the food before him. "I mean, maybe if you count the food and—"
"I mean when you were ogling at me as I peeled off my shirt, Ambrose." The words nearly destroyed the Guide on the spot. "You can admit it. You were staring so long I'm sure you've memorised any scars I have."
Ambrose's face paled. "T–That wasn't what happened." He shook his head. "I was waiting for you to get back and just happened to see you. I wasn't looking that long."
"Such an adorably feeble lie."
"It's the truth!"
