I give him a suspicious look.
“Clean,” he clarifies.
“Probably thanks to me and my laundry addiction,” I mutter, shifting around and unbuckling my seat belt so that I can reach into the back and dig through his bag.
The first thing my fingers find is small, square, and made of foil. I shake the condom in his face. “Really?”
Ben shrugs. “You never know.”
“See, this is what I meant when I said I need to be more like you,” I say, turning back around and dropping the condom into his bag. “Ready for sex anytime, anywhere. Even the gym, apparently.”
“The gym’s sort of the best place, sweetie,” he says.
I pull back again. “Really?”
He nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Are you kidding? All that sweat and blood pumping? You’re telling me you’ve never been horny after a good workout?”
“Well, sure,” I say, finally finding the towel and plopping back into my seat. “But where do you do it?”
“What?”
“You know,” I say, gesturing with the towel, which thankfully, does seem to be clean. “You’re off pumping iron, or whatever. Some hot thing on the elliptical catches your eye…then what?”
He grimaces. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“Yes!” I shake the towel. “I told you, I’m going to start doing what you do. Casual sex.”
“Okay, first of all, the people that call it casual sex are absolutely the ones who should not be doing it. Second of all, I was sort of hoping that you either didn’t remember your insane declaration from Saturday night, or would at least acknowledge that it was a wine-motivated bad idea.”
I rub furiously at the deodorant spot. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“It is.”
“You do it.”
“Yeah, but I’m…”
He breaks off, but I glance up, eyes narrowed. “You’re what?”
“Nothing,” he mutters.
“Were you just going to say that you’re a guy?”
My memory of the other night is fuzzy, but I seem to remember him playing at the same double-standard shit then, too, and it pisses me off. Ben isn’t a chauvinistic pig or anything, but I’m definitely getting the feeling that he thinks it’s okay for him to play the field, but not for me to follow suit.
“Finish your sentence,” I demand.
“Um, no,” he says. “You’re looking for a fight.”
I purse my lips. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m definitely right,” he says as he pulls onto the campus where we both work. We work in different buildings, and he pulls up in front of mine to drop me off.
“Girls like sex, too, you know,” I say, making one last swipe at the deodorant mark that has more or less faded, and then gather up my purse and work bag.
Ben rolls his eyes. “Yes, Blanton, I’m aware that you’re a modern woman. You’re allowed to have sex wherever you want to.”
“Even the gym?” I ask.