Piers heard the voice and turned his head in the direction it came from, smirking and nodding his head. “It's been way too long since I've had a readily available bar. I wasn't going to let the only person I know who managed to make a glass of whiskey taste like toe juice ruin that.” He swirled his drink around in his glass and took another sip.
It probably would have insulted him, had he known that she thought he was only a mediocre flirt, since that was the thing he considered himself best at, behind only putting weapons together, but he didn't know, so he just put on his best smile and nodded a greeting to her. “Mya, right? I've seen you around.” A statement, not a question.
Shrugging and smirking, Piers nodded his head. “Maybe,” he said, not admitting outright that he knew she was right, but not denying it either, because there was something to be said about honesty and knowing your strengths. “I think a lot of people take up the jobs they take up for socialization, lack of boredom or something, not for any manner of skill. Fortunately for me, mine offers me both. I'm sure she didn't realize how difficult tending bar can actually be.”
Cell number. Piers caught onto the irony, too, and laughed a little. “Didn't have to. She slipped it to me on a napkin when I hopped back over the counter.” She was one of those. Far from subtle, and hardly fun. Piers would go, obviously, but it wouldn't be as fun as if she'd posed a challenge.