The bartender raised an eyebrow at the girl as she set a box on the counter of his bar. “You’re that Summer girl, right?” he asked absently, and then nodded as he stepped away to find his employer. Several minutes later, he returned, “Vex’ll be out momentarily.”
And several moments later, the Mesmer appeared, walking over to where Summer stood at the bar. He was dressed in his finest. “‘Ello, Precious,” he greeted, “Ya called?”
Vex smiled good-naturedly at her, “Just kidding, of course.” He pulled her up the stairs almost eagerly, glad to be with Summer today rather than alone. “And good, because so do I,” he replied, which was true; ‘precious’ felt much more natural. He pulled open the door to his private room upstairs and let her inside, shutting the door behind them. He stuck the red velvet cake in his mini-fridge, and then took a seat on the leather sofa. “C’mere,” he said simply, casting a smile her way.
“You had better be,” she scolded. Hands on her hips, she strode across the room to stand between his knees, hipshot. “Imagine, preferring hookers when you could have called me.” She frowned down at him before reaching out and rapping him on the top of the head with a fist. “The cheek of you. That’s what you Brits say, right, cheek?”
His smile shifted to a friendly smirk as she moved over to him, chuckling lightly. “Oh stop, I could never prefer ‘em to you, Precious,” he told her, and then rolled his eyes at the Brits comment. “Some of ‘em,” he muttered, “But seriously, Summer, I’d never.” He reached out to grab her wrist so that she wasn’t knocking him on the head anymore, and then pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
Amused, she let him, and then frowned more thoughtfully. “What are you all dressed up for then? Are there /Fae/ hookers?” It wasn’t so much a condemnation as curiosity.