Summer giggled, clutching the bailey’s ice cream to her chest. “Nope! Nope nope nope, you’re cut off and this is mine now!”
“Gwaine’s not here and you are.” Summer fished the spoon out from underneath herself and opened up the pint. “My alcoholic ice cream now.”
“At least let me have a taste.” Tony leaned forward ever so slightly with his elbow planted firmly on the surface of her kitchen bench. Why he was even in her flat, he has no idea.
“That,” she said, shaking the spoon at him, “is exactly why I took it from you, because you have had a taste and a taste and a taste and now there’s hardly any left! Also I think it made you drunk.”