He clears his throat and stares at his inked hands sitting on the old oak table. “She told you about Abigail?”
I nod slowly. “And that she’s two years older than me.”
His lips pinch together. “Yeah, that’s…yup.That’s the truth. She, ugh, she’s out in the Springs, majoring in Art History. It might be the most useless college degree, but she loves it, and I’ve learned far more about Caravaggio than I ever cared to know.”
“He’s the one that painted all the dark stuff, right? Baroque?”
His eyes widen like maybe he’s impressed that I know my artists. “That’s the guy.”
“What does she want to do with the degree?”
“Teach, I think, though last we talked, she was in a transitional period… as she called it.” He shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. She’s… still finding herself.”
I guess now is a good time to circle back to the mother question he so skillfully avoided. “Is her mom involved in her life?”
“Her mom left when she was two, moved out to New York City, desperate to be an actress. I got a call two years later that she’d overdosed at some party. We buried her that spring.”
“Oh God.” I land my hand on top of his instinctually. “I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”
“We’ve had a lot of time to heal. She made her choice.” He steals a piece of bacon from the plate beside me. “I haven’t dated much since.”
“Is that why you’re so horny?” I stare towards him as I attempt to lighten the mood.
The stovetop light times out and clicks off behind us as he smiles. “I haven’t been horny like this in ages. So… consider yourself special.”
“I do,” I take another bite of the crispy edged pancakes, hiding my own grin, “but you must have been horny over someone before me. You’re like…ancient.”
“Damn!” He shakes his head, his voice low and raspy as he says, “That one hurt.”
“Sorry.” I grin. “I’m a playful kind of innocent.”
“I noticed. And for the record, there really hasn’t been anyone else. I get myself off and get back to work. It’s easier that way.”
“Doesn’t that get boring?” I sit straighter in my seat and stare at him, desperate for some kind of juicy detail into his life. “What kind of porn do you watch then?”
“Doyouwatch porn?”
I nod. “I tried it once. Okay… twice.” I swallow hard and take another bite, addicted to the buttery crisp edges of the pancake. “The first thing I saw was this video of a man in a wolf costume fucking a girl dressed as a bunny. It shouldn’t have gotten me excited, but it did.”
“What about it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. They were just lying there together, going to town. The fact that it seemed so wrong totally got me going. That was my furry phase.”
“You’re a twenty-two-year-old virgin. How did you have a furry phase?”
“Well,” I laugh under my breath, “I thought maybe I was asexual, then I found this accidental furry porn, and that got me really turned up, so I thought I was a furry for like three days. But when I went back to it, I realized I really just liked the shockvalue, and it didn’t have the same punch the second time.” I laugh as I say, “So, my brief furry phase was dashed, and I was back to being asexual again.”
“And now you know you’renotasexual?”
My body buzzes as his deep voice rumbles across the table. “Yes, now I’m positive I’m not asexual. Anyway, you never told me what your porn of choice is.”
“Porn of choice?” He shakes his head and bites back a grin. “Well… I hate to disappoint you, but I never had a furry phase.” He smiles. “I never really understood that one, but I’m not shaming you by any means,” he laughs, but I can see in his eyes there’s something he’s not saying.
“You’re hiding something. I can tell,” I say, a grin crossing my face. “You can’t leave me all alone on this limb of awkward truths.”
“I, well… I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a photo of you, on my phone, that I jerk off to regularly.”His gaze holds steady on mine as he says the weirdest, strangest, most sexually inappropriate thing I’ve heard in a while.
“What?”
