“I don’t like guessin’ games,” he drawled. He raised his glass and took a sip as if stalling before he continued. “Tony.” It was said curtly. It was as though the two were in the midst of a cat and mouse game — waiting and watching. He was merely entertaining himself — the said game was not being played with amorous intentions on Tony’s end. No. In fact, she would incessantly pop up at the forefront of his mind at any given time — alive and active. Like right now, from his seat at the bar, in the company of another. Doc. He’d solemnly sworn that he had buried her deep into the cracks of his skull before, yet they were nothing but futile attempts at it.
He brought Riva back into focus, a thin, taut half-grin worn on his mouth now. “Magpie, huh,” he repeated with a low breathy chuckle. Her brazen confession hadn’t thrown him off guard, he’d expected it. The woman proved to be audacious time and time again and, he thought to himself, there was something quite impressive about it. In all honesty, Tony was stalling because he simply didn’t know what to say, how to reciprocate, if he even should reciprocate. Flirting was yet another thing to be found within his processes. At last, he decided to exchange something arguably flirtish for honesty. His voice was low, somber as if he didn’t really want to be heard. “This ain’t a distraction you want.”
Riva casually turned her brows upward as she angled her face in Tony’s direction at his rebuff. There was just something about his nature, the way he kept her interest with the conversation they held, if it could at all be labeled as conversation. It was mostly Riva talking at him and he returning a nod or a grunt in response. She was drawn to that, he was too mysterious to pass that up and ignore it. In any other situation, she would be angered and probably stomp away for the lack of effort in the conversation after giving the guy a piece of her mind, in front of everyone (though, she claimed she did not like making a scene).
Still, their banter or whatever exchange they had continued, and she turned her eyes back to his profile. Riva took in his features, settling a little too long on his jaw and chin before she cleared her throat and turned her focus back on her own drink, “Maybe I should say a bulldog or a lion. Something else, instead.” She tossed an uninterested shrug, “Probably more sticking power than a magpie, right?” The blonde gave a churlish laugh before she took another sip of her drink, the laugh turned into a scoff and she added, “How would you know what I want?” Her voice was almost as low as his, and her face contracted, forcing her expression into a cooler, more reprehensible and stern, “Maybe I’m not the kind of woman you think I am.”
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