‘Your thoughts are your own,’ I reply in the same tone.
‘You’re right. Even if I am picturing you in them.’
‘Really?’ My head does one of those comic double takes. ‘Really?’
Greg’s answer is a provocative half smile and the rise of his brows.
‘It’s something I’ve never really understood.’ I glance down at the furry rug. ‘Have you .. . done it?’ I ask, chancing a glance at him. But he just looks back at me like he can’t believe I’ve asked that.
‘Oh, sonowyou choose not to talk.’
‘Darlin’, I’ll need something a bit stronger than beer to have this conversation. Besides, a gentleman never kisses and tells.’
‘Hah! Gentlemen went extinct with the dodo.’
‘I think you must’ve been hangin’ around with the wrong men.’
Maybe I have. Now that I think about it, Greg has been nothing but a gentleman since I arrived. He’s cooked for me and made me coffee and liquor-laced hot chocolate. He even let me sleep in his . . .
‘Like men who don’t give up their bed? Not so perfect now, are you? And for the record, when we get to the bottom of this whole who-belongs-here thing, if I find out it wasn’t your bed, you’re in deep trouble.’
‘Firstly, I didn’t say I was perfect. Second, it is my bed, and you’re the first woman to sleep in it.’
Hmm. Fancy that. The year is almost over, and I possibly am meeting my first gentleman in 2018. Of course, I don’t say that.
‘The escort business having a bit of a downturn, is it?’
‘I can tell you the bespoke cabinetry business is booming. The escort business I know nothing about.’
I’m sure that’s what they all say.’
‘And rightly so. Surely, their business is all about pretend, not truth.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘But me, I like to keep it real. So what’s your story, Isobel?’ He props his elbow on the sofa behind us, toying with the stands of my hair. ‘What’s all this about men who’ve been no good for you?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’ My words are soft as I gaze down at the neck of my bottle. ‘And while it’s a pretty thought, surely I’m the common denominator?’
‘Except there’s nothing common about you.’ His compliment slides over me like silk but still, I’m not convinced. ‘So tell me about these men.’
‘What men?’ I huff out an unpleasant laugh.
‘The men in your life.’
‘Professionally, I work with sharks and men who are either gay or would like to think they still live in the era ofMad Men. I’m sure most of them think women shouldn’t be allowed out of the kitchen.’
‘Having sex, obviously.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. The most adventurous line in sexy times for me so far has been a little foreplay on the sofa, so long as the football isn’t on. Kitchen sex? The stuff of fairies and unicorns.’ As in, not real.
His face is a picture of faux shock. ‘No kitchen fucking?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Shower sex?’
‘A stranger to me.’
