Page 75 of The Difference Between

“Do you work?”

“I’m here.”

“For money?”

“I’m subsidized.”

I’m not touching that one.

“What’s your job?” he asks. “Let me guess.” He looks me up and down. “Air traffic controller?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You seem like you’d get off on controlling planes.”

“I’m in private equity,” I retort. “I control businesses.”

“Ahh.” He raises his hands like there ya go. “I spent time in a matrilineal commune once. You would fit right in with those women. I bet you’re a Republican.”

I am not talking politics with this lunatic. “Can you keep your dick in your pants if we bring people out here?”

His hands go to his hips, shears dangling, lips pursed. “Do you have sex?”

My chin jerks back. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Shhh!” His eyes widen. “The vines.” He gestures at said vines. “Getting laid might help with your dis-ease.” He bounces on his toes, arms moving like gummy worms. “Loosen up.”

“I don’t have dis-ease,” I bite out. “Or plan on ever talking about sex with you.”

“Just saying, if too many thoughts are holding you back, talking could help.”

“Who the hell are you having sex with to make you such an expert?” I can’t imagine such a woman—or man—exists.

“See—” A creepy little smile lifts his lips. “I knew you wanted to talk about this. I get the ladies because the ladies sense what I’m capable of. You feel it.” He pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a long sniff. “Smell the pheromones.” He sniffs again, wafting the air around him. “Do it with me, Fire Lady.” More wafting. “Smell me.”

“No.”

“Smell me.”

“No.”

“Your loss.” He sighs. “But I’m from a long line of sacred sexuality practitioners and fancy myself a surrogate partner. I can help.”

Again: “No.”

He waggles a finger. “I see you thinking about it.”

I’ve caught a parasite from walking around barefooted, because I am thinking about it. Not with him, just in general.

In my normal life, which, at this point, might be similar to how Dorothy thought of Kansas when she was lost in Oz—some faraway land I’ll never get back to—I didn’t have much time for sex. I worked, slept as little as possible in order to function, and worked some more. Sex wasn’t on my radar unless the stars aligned to create enough free time for me to end up in a bar where someone had the same carnal need as me.

But now, here, with nothing but time and Gavin being all young and rugged and what some might call sexy, I have time to think of it. Especially when he’s telling me he can’t stop thinking about me and I’m wondering what it might be like to have sex with someone and a connection. Enough of a connection I’d talk to them the next day. And the next. They’d know my coffee order, and I’d know how they like their eggs.

When Banyan says, “Is this about Gavin?” I wonder if he’s a mind reader.

My next “No” comes out like a bark.

“I’ll note your denial in your chart,” he says. “Look at the vines.”