Page 17 of The Fed Sex Man

That tidbit of information could have been the introduction to a blessing or a curse. She was either a sexual free spirit, or she was a sexual prude who lived vicariously through the characters in the romance novels she read. I needed to know which.

“You’ve had sex before, right?” I asked jokingly.

“Seriously?” She coughed. “Did you just ask me that?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Did you just answer me without answering me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve experienced it a time or two.”

“Was it sex driven or otherwise?”

She blinked a few times. “The sex?”

“Yes.”

“Definitely sex driven.” She laughed. “Sex driven sex is the best.”

“I prefer sex driven sex, too,” I said straight-faced.

“What was option two? ‘Otherwise sex’? Otherwise sex might be good stuff, who knows?” she said, looking away as she spoke. “It leaves quite a bit to the imagination.”

“‘Otherwise sex’ might be great,” I agreed.

She looked right at me. “Do you have a vivid imagination?”

“Sexually?”

“Sure.” She relaxed against the back of her seat. “Sexually, how’s your sexual imagination? On a sexual level?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and waited for me to respond. A slight smirk stretched beyond the tips of her fingers, giving away the fact that she was enjoying the conversation more than she wanted me to know.

“Mine’s pretty vivid,” I responded. “How about you?”

“Vivid.”

I wrung my hands together and studied her. With her hair up and glasses on, she looked just like Garber. A few seconds into my admiring stare, my cock began to rise. When it reached a point that it was painfully erect, I looked away.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Truthfully?” I shifted my gaze to meet hers. “I’m wondering if being around guys makes you so nervous that you puke, how it is that we can have this conversation without you barfing all over the place. You went from nervous to bold pretty damned quick.”

“Once the ice is broken, I do pretty good,” she responded.

“Did we break the ice already?”

She chuckled. “It was fractured when the cops pulled us over. I think it cracked pretty good when I hurled on your car. Then, it pretty much shattered when we started talking about sex.”

“Talking about sex doesn’t bother you?”

“Not so much.” She said with a shrug. “Should it?”

“Most women aren’t willing talking about it openly. I guess depends on the person. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be comfortable with it.”

In clear opposition to my statement, she folded her arms over her chest. “Why not?”

“You seem pretty reserved.”

Her eyebrows raised. “I’ve got social anxiety.”