“Fine; how would Mr. D,” she makes a face, “have messed up your routine by simply being in your home?”
“He might have left the toilet seat up, drank the last of my almond milk, or eaten my daily chocolate allowance.”
“Let’s say Mr. D did none of those things. Let’s say he came?—”
“Oh, he definitely came.”
She rubs her temple. “Inside?—”
“No, in a condom. I always practice safe sex.”
“Your home.”
“Oh.”
“Then he spent the night, and when he left, no routine was upset?”
“But he spent the night? By definition, he’s upset my routine. I don’t sleep with anyone.”
“Because…” she prompts.
I roll my eyes, giving Gail the answer she’s looking for. “I have trust issues. A twelve-year-old could have diagnosed that.”
“Right, but let’s say he left before the dreaded sleeping over conversation.”
“He did, but he wasn’t happy about it. Offered to feed me breakfast.”
“You are offended by him cooking you breakfast?”
“No, he offered to let me cook. His alternative was to feed me his se?—”
She snaps her hand up. “Okay, I get the point.”
Finally.
“Let’s say he leaves,” she pushes. “What would the problem be?”
“He could come back.”
She smirks. It’s like a light switch that gets flipped on and ignites the entire room in understanding. “There’s nothing wrong with me protecting my personal address. He could be a serial killer, and I let him inside my home. That’s stupid.”
“And renting a home where none of your family or friends know where you are and meeting a stranger in a bar isn’t stupid?”
I hate her as much as I love her. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. Next time, I will tell you.”
“Next time, I want you to actually attempt intimacy.”
“I got naked, and he came inside a condom. I faked an orgasm and made sure his giant ego was nice and happy.”
“See? That there is avoiding intimacy.”
“I’m not following.”
“There are documented studies detailing the times we feel the most vulnerable. Obvious ones are ill, naked, grieving, less so is having an orgasm?—”
“And being on the toilet. I read the same study. Are you saying I have to either take a shit in front of someone or have an orgasm in front of them?”
“Babe, what did I walk into?” Connor drawls as he wanders behind her and presses a kiss to her cheek. I watch their interaction with morbid curiosity. Love isn’t what I’m chasing, but the promise of pleasure that seems to keep forcing people together. He peers over her shoulder. “Hey Ellie.”
