“That’s different. Hair is important.”
“Boys,” I interrupt. “Focus. We’re not scheduling sex. We’re adults who can figure out when we want to bang without a spreadsheet.”
“But the spreadsheet has optimization algorithms,” Wyatt protests.
“The day I need an algorithm to get laid is the day I move to a convent.”
“Do convents take people in polyamorous relationships?” Boone wonders.
“Probably not.”
“That’s discrimination.”
“Moving on,” I say firmly. “We need to talk about the actual important shit. Like boundaries.”
“Sexy boundaries?” Boone asks.
“Why is everything sexy with you tonight?” Wyatt asks.
“ANYWAY,” I continue louder, “boundaries. First, we’re completely public. No hiding, no sneaking.”
“Done,” Jesse says immediately.
“Second boundary,” I continue. “No competing over me. I’m not a prize at the county fair.”
“But you’re definitely prize-worthy,” Boone says.
“Smooth,” I say.
“I thought so.”
“Third, and this is nonnegotiable, Rita sleeps outside.”
“What about work boundaries?” Wyatt asks, because he’s incapable of not being practical. “Ranch work, I mean. Not...” He gestures vaguely at all of us.
“When we’re working, we’re working,” I say. “No grabbing my ass when I’m trying to fix a fence.”
“You were bending over!”
“That’s what people do when they fix fences!”
“It was distracting.”
“Then get better self-control.”
“Unlikely,” Boone and Wyatt say together.
“What about sleeping arrangements?” Wyatt asks.
“We wing it,” I interrupt.
“You can’t wing sleeping arrangements.”
“Watch me.”
“But the spreadsheet?—”
“Wyatt, I love that you made a spreadsheet. It’s very you. But if I wanted my relationships run by Excel, I’d date an accountant.”
