She gives me a what-the-fuck-are-you-smoking look, then laughs. “I’m far from perfect. I’d think you of all people would know that.”
She’s perfect to me.
“Yeah, you’re right. You’re not that great.” I shrug and put my hand on the fridge. “Got anything good to eat?”
“You’re not that great either,” she snaps. “And yes, I do. What do you want?” Her tone hasn’t changed and I’m not sure if she’s serious. Then she steps in close. “Is a sandwich okay?”
Well, I guess she is. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
I sit at a table under a window, watching the rain come down while Lauren pulls out what she needs to make us both sandwiches. Suddenly, she turns to me.
“I’m not a prude. And I do have sex toys. That I use. And enjoy.”
I try not to think about that, try to keep the image of her pleasuring herself out of my head.
I fail.
“And there is nothing wrong with being good and staying out of trouble. Maybeyourissue is seeing others not fuck up their lives make you feel guilty.”
I slowly shake my head. “Nope. No guilt. I do what I want and don’t care what others think. I’m just as happy as you are.”
“I don’t care what others think either. And that’s good for you,” she says and puts four pieces of bread on the counter with more force than necessary. I watch her open a bag of lunch meat and cheese, all the while glaring at the food. “And I’m not a prude!” she finally exclaims. “I can have fun. I can be spontaneous. Wild, even.”
“Uh-huh, sure you can.” Pushing her buttons is pushing mine. I need to stop.
She glares at me then snatches the bottle of tequila from the counter, gets two shot glasses, and fills them both. She puts one in front of me and holds hers up.
“See?” she says after she takes it.
“That doesn’t make you wild.”
She takes another shot. “Whatever.”
I smile when she turns her back, drinking my shot slowly. Nothing is said while she finishes making our food. She comes to the table with both plates, and the bottle of tequila. She takes another shot.
“You might want to slow down,” I warn her. She ignores me. I eat half the sandwich before speaking again. “Thanks. For this and for letting me wait out the rain.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says and her words slur. In a few minutes, that last shot will hit her and she’ll be fucked. Then I’m tucking her into bed and parking my ass on the couch until morning. “I wouldn’t make you ride in the rain. Seems dangerous.”
“Nah, I’d be fine.” I take another bite, chew, and swallow. “So being called a prude really does bother you?”
“It’s an insult,” she says. “And is kind of sexist. I’m a prude for not sleeping around. But I’m a slut if I do sleep around. I just can’t win.”
“I prefer sluts over prudes.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You’re a pig.”
“I just know what I like.”
She shakes her head. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”
“I’m not much older than you.”
“I’m twenty-two and think I’m too old for that. We’re not in college anymore. The time for partying is over.”
“Hence why you’re a prude.”
“And hence why you’re a dick.”