From his perspective it almost certainly takes entirely too long for Summer to get over her new fit of the giggles enough to catch Helios under the pawpits and lift him out of the Jeep. “Helios, you are a very bad, naughty, wicked kitty,” she scolds. The miscreant looks completely unimpressed and licks his nose complacently.
She looks at Stiles with an exaggeratedly apologetic look on her face. “Are you okay?” The question does have some seriousness to it; kitties have sharp toes and Helios is not a /small/ cat. “You better come in the house and, uh, inspect the damage.”
Stiles legitimately sighs with relief when Summer finally lifts the cat out of his lap; he slouches a little in the driver’s seat and tries to pull at his offended parts without making it obvious that’s what he’s doing, or allowing her to see.
Of course, a second later, she’s making an offer that sounds somehow far less innocent than he thinks it should, and Stiles’ whole body jerks upwards again, this time slamming his knees into the steering wheel of the Jeep. He makes a wordless sound of pain and dismay, sort of leaning forward to rub at his knees while he squints at Summer confusedly, eyebrows scrunching together. “I…what? You…uh….what?”
It’s a full five seconds — that feels like five minutes while her brain sputters in overdrive — after Stiles’ stammered words before Summer realises how she sounded. She’s sure she must be unflatteringly beet red. “I meant — not for me to help … just, sharp toes … you might be bleeding. … ” Nothing she says makes it sound any better.
Giving up on not sounding prurient, she just repeats, “You should come inside and make sure he didn’t claw you by accident. Besides, I owe you some kind of reward for going to all this effort.”