“In more ways than you know that was luck. /I/ might have cleaned it up,” Summer laughed, completing her circuit of the space. Carefully tucking her hands behind her back, she looked over Tony’s shoulder, watching the way his hands moved and trying to stay out of the way of his elbows and the light.
“But then, I’m not a nice person.” She found a clear bit of workbench and leaned her hip on that, fishing a well-loved ereader out of her baby knapsack and turning it on.
Tony quirked a brow and looked over at her. “Not a nice person,” he repeated, looking her over. “From where I’m sitting you seem nicer than most… What makes you think you’re not nice?” He asked, giving her a funny look, honestly a little confused.
“I say what I mean, instead of the polite thing. I tell the truth instead of social lies. I don’t need a man to hold the door for me, I treat ‘hello, how are you?’ as the sentence it is instead of a single-word greeting, and I give short shrift to people who actually interrupt my reading to ask me what’s printed on the spine of the book.” Summer shrugged, tapping at her screen. “I’m not a nice person.”