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Jack follows Carter into the briefing room. “Oh, come on, Carter. Just admit it, you were impressed.”
She crosses over to the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup. “I admit no such thing,” she says, but he doesn’t miss the smirk on her face.
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “That was convincing.”
She shakes her head, biting her lower lip as she looks away and he feels a swell of pride. She’d so been impressed. He leans against the table, moving just a bit closer to her. Patting her on the arm, he says, “No worries, Carter. You’re not the first person to be unable to resist my mad skills.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, and he’s forced to think over what he’s just said. “Um…what I meant to say…”
Carter pats him on the arm, mimicking his gesture that in retrospect is a little patronizing now that she’s turned it back on him. “I think I know exactly what you meant, sir,” she says, leaning into him with a gleam in her eye that does very, very strange things to him.
Jack grins back at her, but before he can come up with an appropriately witty remark, there is the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat. He turns to see Hammond seated at the head of the briefing table (when had he gotten here?), giving Jack a look he translates as ‘Care to explain yourself, Colonel?’
“Um,” Jack says, shuffling a few steps away from Carter. “It’s International Flirting Week, sir?”
Next to him, Carter slaps a hand over her face.
Jack shrugs. “What?”