Tony nearly snorted scotch out of his nose. “Careful what you wish for…” A smirk played across his tired face. “I never said the scotch wouldn’t get me drunk, I just said it wouldn’t kill me.”
“Hey, at least you have the money and the position to try to do something about it. I just get to feel it, all day every day, my own and everyone else’s weight on my shoulders.” The last bit came out unexpectedly bitter. “Sorry.”
The man didn’t know how to appropriately reply to her. “Uh… drink?” he offered awkwardly.
“It would just make it worse. I can’t shield if I’m drunk. Thanks, though.” Summer poked at his shoelaces.
He took another deep sip of his drink. “Uh… may I ask what you’re doing to my feet?”
“Trying to be distracting. Is it working?”