“I’m not sure this qualifies as you taking me out for drinks,” Summer commented, lifting her glass to him before taking a sip. “Though the question stands, in a different form. What changed?” She made interlocking rings on the countertop with the glass, not looking at him. “It’s clear that something did. And I’m sure it’s nothing to do with me. I expect you’d’ve picked up some girl at the party anyway.”
Tony made a cynical face at himself, “No, I’m sure it doesn’t but I could be doing worse, right? If the ‘out’ bit means that much, we could go back out on the landing pad?”
He managed a small chuckle there, and rearranged a row of glasses. After a moment’s thought, he started mixing something for himself, talking smoothly again. “Hell if I know! — I got bored? Bored leads to thinking, and science, and cars, and wasting time… and lots of drinking. I’m trying to avoid most of that… the thinking bit, at least.”
His head was already getting sore, as if to prove his point.
Summer lifted her drink, starting to laugh. “All right, all right. I can take a hint. No more questions. How can I help you stop thinking, Mr. Stark?” She tried her best to look seductive, feeling very awkward. “After all, you dragged me away from the dancing, the least you can do is make use of me.”
Tony looked up from the glass now on his hand and paused. Logically, he knew Summer was still across the bar from him, but it suddenly felt like that distance was much shorter. His pulse did a surprised double take. He swallowed half his drink in one go and set it down on the counter.
“Because… you looked like you were enjoying the dancing so much,” he replied sarcastically. It came out a bit late.
He circled the bar to her side, mulling her words over. Summer certainly was beautiful. If this was the least he could do… Tony brushed his fingers over her hair.
“Nobody asked me,” she riposted. “I’d’ve enjoyed it more if someone had bothered to ask me to dance.” Then he was right /there/, right beside her, charming and handsome and touching her braids, and her pulse felt like it was choking her. The stool was tall enough to let her look him in the eyes. And maybe she was a little drunk, maybe she was giving in to the taste of him in her mind, maybe this would be a disaster after.
Carefully she set her glass down, proud that the hammering of her heart didn’t make her hand tremble. Green eyes locked to whiskey-amber, she reached up to pull a rhinestone hairpin from under his hand, and another. Another, until the braids slipped from their coil around her head and down her back. “What would you like to do with me?”