Summer’s mom nods and withdraws, and Summer herself pushes his hand with the card down. “No,” she scolds, “that’s not how it works. You bought it, you keep it. I just get to complain.” She eyes the pile of glittering pieces on his side of the board, and his constructs and deck, and makes a pretend disgusted face. “You’re going to beat me anyway.”
She sits back and frowns busily at her cards, planning further strategy. She refuses to go down without a fight, and they can probably finish this game before dinner.
When she leaves, Stiles focuses back on Summer, his phone still in his hand. He sighs, “Oh, come on, it’s just a game. I’m practically letting you win!” He’s being dramatic, just like she is with that look of disgust on her face that’s obviously fake. Stiles would know real disgust when he saw it. “Not if I’m giving you this card I won’t.”
The two lean back a little bit, looking at their own cards and occasionally talking, attempting to finish this game to their best of their ability. Stiles likes the game, but he always finds that he doesn’t care who wins.
She sticks her tongue out at him, and ends up winning the game because her cards are worth more than his. Staring down at the debris of the game, Summer says, “So now what?” There’s some time yet until dinner, and she feels vaguely guilty that what she wants has dominated their time together.