"Like I'd talk to anyone about you," Jaime muttered. Oh, telling snark was telling. Sure, she'd chatter to the world about Robin and lunch, but wouldn't talk about Mal for fear of them seeing something in her eyes, her expression, hearing something in her voice to betray her.
Not that there was anything to betray. He was just ... a ridiculous old man who had somehow wormed his way into her thoughts. But she did not, absolutely did not, think about him when she touched herself.
"I'm just a creative person," she snipped back at him before she shrugged and looked away. "Filling out job applications, mostly avoiding people, dodging River, watching TV. You seem to be harping on this lunch thing. I mean, if you're trying to wrangle yourself an invite to lunch, just ... say so."