‘Hey, you wanted it too.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not saying I didn’t.’ I move closer to her, but there’s something so combative in her expression, so wary, that I still, keeping my distance.
She spins away from me. ‘This doesn’t mean anything, Barrett. It’s just sex.’
‘Sex always means something.’
Her laugh is a scoff.
‘Even if it just means you desired that person. Sex is great. Wonderful. A way to connect with someone and be truly intimate. You use it like a drug—you’re jonesing for a fix one minute and then you get your hit and it’s out of your system. That’s bullshit.’
Her spine stiffens and she turns to face me, ice in her eyes. ‘It’s my life.’
‘Yeah, I know that, but Jesus, Avery, do you really want to live it like this?’
‘Seriously? I’ve known you three seconds. You think having slept with me twice gives you any right to comment? Like you have some kind of hotline to my soul?’
What am I doing? This conversation is futile and definitely not why I’m here.
‘Guys do this all the time and no one ever bats an eyelid. I bet you’ve had plenty of meaningless sex in your time.’
‘I told you, sex always means something to me.’
‘So you’ve never fucked some woman whose name you can’t remember?’
‘Never. I remember everyone I’ve been intimate with.’
That stuns her.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I don’t lie.’
I grimace because I’m kind of lying by omission right now, aren’t I?
‘Fine, you’re the exception.’
‘So you’re what—using sex as a form of feminist protest?’
She glares at me. ‘My point is, men have had a cavalier attitude to sex since time immemorial and yet you can’t cope with the fact that I’m doing the same thing?’
‘I can cope with whatever,’ I dispute. ‘You can sleep with whomever you want, whenever and wherever you want.’
‘Geez, thanks, I’m so glad I have your approval.’
I shake my head. ‘But you don’t have to be so disrespectful with it.’
She’s stunned. Her eyes flash with feelings and she shakes her head a little, as if wanting to contradict that. ‘Did I hurt your feelings?’ she says instead, that same condescending tone of voice she used earlier, like she’s talking to a recalcitrant toddler.
‘This isn’t about my feelings.’
The phone on her desk buzzes.
We both stare at it, like it’s somehow dragging us out of our own little world and into this one.
‘Don’t answer that.’ She glares at me and does exactly the opposite of what I’ve said, storming to her desk and scooping up the receiver.
‘Maxwell.’ Her eyes shoot daggers at me as she waits for whoever’s on the other end to speak.