"Did I just tell you I didn't want to hear about food?" She's teasing more than chiding, and she reaches up and taps his nose with her fingertip just so that's clear.

"We could play it now, if you wanted. I think they're still spinning...bottles..." Really, there's no clever innuendo to make there. She looks at his with big hazy doe eyes, and suddenly something in her is hinging on his answer. As if Sam's response now will be the definitive word on whether or not she's still desirable with her traitor mark strewn in scar tissue across her face.