There was a mutter under Mikhail's breath in which he said "why are we going to play a game then?" in Russian. But he only smiled at Sydni and sat down on one half of the couch. She could take the other.
"Play few round," he said. "Though, see no point play." He gave another grin, white teeth flashing as he looked into her face. "Cannot play other game now?" Sometimes he was impatient and was totally fine with showing it.
Mikhail was only a man, after all. And Sydni was only a woman--alright, she was not only a woman. She was one smoking hot lady that he wanted to savagely drag across the apartment and into his room where he would slam the door (for effect, surely), throw her onto the bed, and have her six ways to Sunday.