Page 69 of The Stranger

“Is it really like that?” He nods his head in the direction of the darkened screen.

“No.” I cross one leg over the other and note the denim is beginning to fray at the knee. “What you see is make-believe. Not real life.”

He frowns.

“That’s not to say sex can’t be wonderful.” So I’ve heard, I think as I dig my nail into the fabric. “When it’s between two consenting adults. Have they talked about consent in school?” I hedge carefully.

“Yes. Many times. Your body, your choice,” he adds in French.

“Exactly.”

“Their body, their choice, also. No means no. And then Emmy insisted on my watching a YouTube video about thé.”

“Tea?”

He nods. “If you make a cup of tea for someone, and they want it, bon. They drink the tea, and maybe you both enjoy it. If they change their mind after you’ve already made tea—boiled the kettle, added milk or honey—that does not mean you can force them to drink it.”

“That’s a good way to explain it.” And this is a conversation I can have with Emmy. And she’ll tell me to inform his father. Ack! “I need to watch this tea video for myself. It sounds very sensible. And interesting,” I say, dropping my leg so both feet touch the floor. “But porn is, I think, a bad example of how sex between two people can really be.” I push up to stand, hoping that only vanilla two-ways are the worst that shows up in his internet history. Because someone will have to check. “If you have any other questions…” Save them for Emmy. Please!

“Thank you again, Primrose.” His attention dips to his lap where he unravels the twisted fabric from his forefinger.

“I hear you like CoD,” I say, beginning to turn. “Maybe we can have a game sometime.”

“You like CoD?”

“Yeah, ’course. Fishing isn’t only just for boys, you know.”

“Fish—” He shakes his head. “Primrose, I do have one more question.”

My shoulders rise with a deep, fortifying breath. I paste on a smile and swing back around. “Yes?”

“I know you said porn is not like real life.”

“It really isn’t.” I eye the blue seat wondering if this is a question I should sit for.

“Well, I was wondering, does that mean ladies don’t really put the penis in their mouth?”

Kill me. Kill me now.

18

LUC

“You had another call from Marchand.”

Ignoring Jacque’s announcement, I tilt back my head as I continue to blow cigarette smoke circles into the warm night air. The door clicks closed behind him, his footsteps echoing against the tile until he’s standing by my side.

“I thought you’d given up,” he adds.

“I have.” I don’t look his way or stop.

“Sure. Let’s go with that. Did you hear what I said about Marchand?”

I make a gesture that’s not quite a shrug despite the tension that curls in my gut at his name. Lifting the cigarette to my lips once more, I sigh. “He can call. He has called. That does not mean I must answer.”

“Okay, Confucius. What other nuggets of wisdom do you have for me, one-third of a bottle of cognac deep?” Glass clinks and I realise he’s holding a couple of bottles of local beer. “I was going to offer you one of these, but…”

“I’ll stick to the Armagnac. But help yourself.”