They sat outside the vacant café, Eames twiddling his fingers on the netted table.
"Alright, what's with you?" Kay asked, sipping her tea.
"What?"
"I talk to you on the phone once, so you track me down and take me to lunch."
"You said yes." He cocked an eyebrow.
"You think you're so cool." She pursed her lips into a tight smile. He shrugged. "Alright, if you're not going to tell me, why don't you and I play twenty questions?" she gazed at him. "What do you do?"
"Cultural Anthropologist."
"Favorite color?" he sipped the coffee a waitress in a low cut top and a mini skirt (he couldn't help notice.)
"Hmm… Blue."
"Okay, are you a drinker?"
"On occasion."
"Is occasion always?"
"Possibly."
"Dogs name?"
"Don't have one."
"You should get one."
"That wasn't a question." He chuckled. Kay shrugged nonchalantly.
"Are you a gambling man?"
"Well…" Eames scoffed.
"Favorite food?" Eames ignored the question and leaned forward.
"I think It's my turn."
"Shoot."
"What do you do?"
"Journalist."
"And your favorite color?"
"Black." Kay smirked when the waitress came back and leaned over the table to put their food on the table and Eames was not hiding the fact he was gawking at her breasts.
A/N: I know I promised violence, but I swear it's coming. And this chapter is super short, but I couldn't think of anything else.