Clint's right there with her, really, and returns the kiss, sliding one hand up her shirt a little, just enough to sell this. If anyone is watching them, it should be enough to illicit a reaction.

There's nothing, though, either from the car or people on the street, and he hums agreement to her assessment. "Or anybody telling us to fuck off," he murmurs. "You got a pin?"

In her hair, he means, considering he doesn't have his picks on him.