There's that feeling again. The one that slammed into him when he'd walked in here. Something that he has no right to feel. Steve's not his. Nowhere even close. Not even with how often he flirts- he flirts with everyone, right? None of it's real. Except some of it. But. No one needs to know that. He's not even sure he knows that. Which is great. Makes this a lot easier. At least it should.

Which is why he seems not to miss a beat, maybe a very extremely small window of literal blink-and-you-miss-it consideration in his eyes. "You've got Nat matchmaking for you, huh?" He'd heard as much, but he thought it was mostly a joke. As if she and Steve don't have better things to do with their time. But then again...

"I'd give you my little black book, but I never dated nice people. I don't think any of them would be right for you." Which is what he pictures for Steve. Someone nice. Sweet. Curled around his arm. Not unlike this party's host. He's also doing something else by saying this, though. Because Tony himself is nowhere near anyone's definition of nice, either. "But maybe I'll take a copy of your current desires and see what I can do for you." He takes a much larger sip of scotch, almost finishing it.