"I meant me," he said, shaking his head. He laughed at the brazen display of ego, an easy match for his own, and perhaps better founded. He took her betting advice in stride, in his head already counting up his winnings, determining how best they would be spent. He hoped she might be the underdog in her next fight, perhaps even significantly so; Samuel enjoyed counting his chickens before they'd hatched, and this situation was no different. His imaginary haul thus already won and run through, he put his mind to the task of what a class with this particular spitfire would be like.
"Not a girl." Samuel wrinkled his nose, boyishly offended. How much of that was put on and how much was sincere he left to her interpretation. "That girl." To further specify, he pointed directly, irrefutably at her. "Cut me some slack. I'm a weapons man, not a bare-handed one. I've never had to raid a site unarmed and go up against Jet Li, so up to now I've done okay. You're just a different kind of challenge altogether." He shrugged, cutting her a sidelong, narrowed glance. "Not saying I think I need that much improvement. But you know. A little practice never hurt anybody, right?"
(LOLOL movies via multi-monitor? NICE. Samuel says no arm wrestling though >.> That would just be embarrassing.)