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“When you were barely home. What were you doing?”

That earns a scoff and a chopping motion with his hand like either he doesn’t want to tell me or he doesn’t know what to tell me.

“I was out. New York isn’t Nowhere, Connecticut. There’s shit to do there twenty-four hours a day, every day.”

That doesn’t rule out either option. Why is he being so vague? The sudden defensiveness only makes it that much worse. What is he hiding?

“Well, did he check in with you while you were ‘out’?”

“When your mom let him come up for air,” he snaps.

It’s as if I’m back in my room, arguing with Guy about this exact topic all over again. What is it with men having a problem with sex-positive women?

“Nice,” I say in a not-so-nice way.

“Your mom said it.”

Hackles fully raised, I snip, “You don’t think she should’ve?”

“Say she likes head?”

“Uh-huh.”

In a flash, the animosity disappears from his expression, quickly replaced by humor as he says, “I like head, too.”

I can’t even hide my eye roll.

“Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” I reply a little too hastily.

His eyes narrow. “Do you?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is men always talk openly about sex.”

“Almost always, but yeah, pretty much.”

“Women should be able to, too.”

“Agreed.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Haven’t you noticed I’m always trying to get you to?”

I’d have to be dead not to.

“So you don’t mind that my mom did?”

“If I didn’t know her, I would’ve minded less.”

“It depends on who the woman is to you then?”

“Only in this one instance. I don’t want to hear about our parents’ sex life, do you?”