Noah had to chuckle as she posed. He enjoyed confident women. The women who were a handful were his specialty when he veered to that side of the spectrum. Women other men might dismiss for their attitudes and any number of other variables usually interested him. They were similar in some ways: both attractive and they knew it, both incredibly sure of their own appeal.
Vienna's gaze on him made him feel warm, even though it wasn't that hot in here. It was intrigue and anticipation, probably, and he was more than fine with both of those. "No drunken stupors were involved when it came to my ink," he said in answer to her question. "I put a lot of thought into each and every one of 'em. Maybe we can talk about that later, when it's time for show and tell." His grin was definitely wicked then; after spending a few moments in her company, he felt strongly that they both had the same thing in mind. He'd be showing her every tat on his arms, back and torso as up close and personal as she wanted to see them.
Noah wasn't the open-the-car-door type-- back when there'd been the possibility of taking people out in cars-- but he knew how to mind his manners when he wanted to impress a woman. Pulling out chairs usually got appreciation, especially in the North where the average person wasn't accustomed to such things. He smiled at her remark about caviar. "I never had any interest in even trying that. Smelled like catfood to me." That wouldn't surprise her, most likely. Noah was the rough around the edges type, for sure.
The meal certainly hadn't been the point in Noah's mind, either, but Vienna wasn't the type of woman he'd ask to his cell and get right down to it. There were people he might do that with, but he thought this called for some finesse. Building the anticipation was always fun, too, and hey, they needed to eat. It was a light meal, nothing heavy at all, accompanied by bottles of water from the kitchen. What he wouldn't give for some booze right now, but there was no point fretting over what they didn't have. This was going to be more than enough, he felt sure.
Picking up his fork, he smirked at her. "There's a fine line there, ya know," he said. "Too much practice, and you risk not being in good form for the main event. Too little practice, and you might fumble. You gotta get it just right." Noah could have been talking about some sporting event rather than what he was really talking about; that amused him quite a bit.