Hunter was definitely a bad example of American communication. Nine times out of ten he wasn't interested in communicating with people. Animals were something altogether different, but you didn't find many of those in Starbucks. He sipped at his coffee again as he flipped through the book some. Hunter hadn't finished grade school, and books were usually more frustrating than informative. It didn't help that he barely tried, in any case. The body language was there, though. He was comfortable at the table, with one ankle on the opposite knee, and also blatantly in no hurry. His body was shifted slightly away from her, pointed toward the door, as if he could get up and leave at any moment. His eyes had a tendency to focus on anybody that got close enough to touch him, and generally not in a good way.
He set the book on his lap and looked up at her. To him, that sounded like a come on, and he raised both eyebrows high under the ragged length of brown hair that just touched his eyelashes. "What, at your house?" he asked, unsmiling. He had absolutely no plans on taking up the offer, because the girl wasn't his kind of man, but he was amused enough by it to clarify.