[First to four wins. Ishmael went first, so if she can complete her tasks without shying away from any, she'll win by default. Charlie considers, for a moment, discouraging her from following through on this roll. It'd be to his advantage... but he hadn't come to the table for a payout.

She'd been the allure, rather than any amount of chips or physical contact. So he stares, expectantly, heel bouncing while he waits.] You said you needed to win, right?

That means you can't pass. Or, you could, and I'll promise to pass my next one too. [Leaving a good impression - or as good of an impression as one can after fondling someone - is more valuable to him than monetary gain.] But if that's too complicated for you I can just...

I'll keep my hands to myself. I don't even need to look! [Perhaps all she needed was a moment to regain composure, but Charlie's never one to leave silence uninterrupted. He makes a show of looking away, turning his head to stare intently at the dice left inert on the table's surface. All while shifting his knee, as if there was a question of his own permission for the act.

If she passes, he'll make good on his promise. If not... her body will feel good - warm and flush - against his leg.]