“Right.”
My throat is still scratchy, and I clear it again.
“You know the joke about the bridge-builder, right?”I ask.
Hunter shakes his head.
“Well, I forget the setup, actually, but the punchline is, you can build a thousand bridges, but fuck one sheep and no one ever says,here comes the bridge-builder,” I say.
Hunter just raises his eyebrows, leaning back against the wall.
“Because they’re all sayinghere comes the sheep-fucker,” I explain.“Because that’s the thing?—”
Hunter laughs.
“I got it, Clem,” he says.“And you don’t want people sayinghere comes drink-in-the-bathroom girl.”
“Right,” I say.
Then there’s a long moment where we just look at each other and I have no idea what to say.A thousand things are rushing through my head, likeHey!It’s been a while!orSo you’re a firefighter now?orHow long have you been back from Afghanistanor evenHow’s your mom, who hates me?
They all seem like dumb things to say, so I don’t say any of them.
“You’d just have to do something even more newsworthy,” he says.
I raise one eyebrow.
“I’m not fucking a sheep,” I say.“Or any farm animal, for that matter.”
“That actually wasn’t going to be my first suggestion,” he says.“I was just going say dye your hair pink or something.”
I laugh.
“Fucking a barnyard animal was at least number four or five on my list,” he says.
“Pink hair might be more newsworthy around here,” I say, still laughing.“Lots of lonely men on ranches, you know.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out,” Hunter says, his blue eyes dancing in his head.“I’ll dye my hair, you fuck a sheep, and we’ll compare notes later.”
“I have to fuck the sheep?”
“You’re the one who came up with thatimmediately,” he teases.“Almost like you had it waiting in the wings.”
“I haven’t gottenthatkinky,” I say without thinking.
Then I realize what I just said out loud, and my mouth snaps shut, my face getting hot.
Hunter laughs again, and I swallow, blushing and smiling.I’m not generally in the habit of joking about bestiality or how kinky I may or may not be, but something about talking to Hunter feels so natural and comfortable that I completely forget to censor myself.
It feels like it used to, is what I’m saying.
“I won’t ask how kinky you’ve gotten,” he asks, his voice slow and laconic.I laugh awkwardly again, and push myself off the sink.
“We should get out of here,” I say.“Now that I’ve embarrassed myself twice in this room.”
“You’re blaming the room?”
“Easier than blaming myself,” I say.“Also, there are better places to stand than a bathroom.”
