Page 57 of Touch of Class

“Wow.” Daphne chuckled. “Didn’t expect to have that turned back around on me.”

“That’s what she said,” Robin called.

“Walked right into that.” Daphne shook her head. “Is both okay to ask?”

“Both is always valid with me.” Sawyer kicked back, stretching their lanky form and casting a little side-eye at Robin. “But the answer may be the same on both sides of the equation. I’m a strap-on guy, though I don’t like to think of them as toys. They’re tools, and I have a wide array of them to fit different joys. You wouldn’t own one Allen wrench or screwdriver. I have a strap-on for everyday use, one for travel, one that packs well for spontaneous adventures, and one for special occasions, which requires a good bit of preparation for. I pride myself on knowing when, where, and how to use each of them to their highest purpose. That’s not something you say about toys.”

Robin gave a hum of assent. “Anyone can play with a toy. It takes skill to wield a tool.”

“I can appreciate the point of toys versus tools.” Tegan leaned forward and locked eyes with Robin. “But doesn’t the verbiage make it harder for you to keep a cool head when encouraging a client to make use of all the tools they have available?”

Brooke groaned, but Robin burst out laughing. “Not at all! If I’m feeling good vibes in a session, I’ll tell them to use ‘every tool they have in their box.’ I mean it in all ways, and I pray they take it that way.”

Gillian dropped her head to the table with a thud. “Why can’t we have nice things?”

Daphne cackled. “I think you broke the valedictorian.”

“Come on, Gilly.” Robin patted her back. “You’ve seriously never thought about all the ‘tools’ and ‘boxes’ talk?”

“No one else thinks that, Robin.”

“I think it.” Sawyer snickered.

“I have, too,” Tegan admitted, “but you sort of get numb to it in grad school.”

Gillian turned to Brooke. “Please save me.”

Brooke shrugged. “I can honestly say I’ve never thought it in a session. I usually try to say, ‘tools for coping,’ or ‘tools at your disposal,’ though, because, as previously mentioned, I used to date men. You’ve seriously never heard a tool/box double entendre?”

“No. All bisexual allyship aside, I work hard to never think about tools anywhere near boxes in anything other than the most professional sense.”

“That’s why you’re the boss, Boss.” Robin raised her glass. “To Gillian, the best of us!”

“The best of us,” the rest of the room echoed, everyone but Daphne, who couldn’t quite bring herself to do so, even if she did feel for the woman now more than usual.

She watched Gillian polish off another glass of wine and couldn’t help but wonder how many she’d had specifically to withstand this lack of decorum at her carefully constructed dinner party.

After the night when the two of them had hugged, Daphne had often wondered about Gillian’s decorum. Her poise had always seemed effortless. The perfect face, the perfect body, the perfect respectable business, friends, home, and even the ability to perfect a lasagna. What did she sacrifice for it all? Clearly, she’d missed out on a sick sense of humor and capacity for sexual innuendo, but was there more? The way she’d finally folded her ridged frame into Daphne’s arms spoke to some kind of invisible weight on those proud shoulders, but, then again, Gillian’s pride seemed plenty strong enough to support its own weight for decades. Allowing it to crack now seemed a big ask.

“Who’s next?” Tegan looked from Gillian to Daphne. “Aren’t you two the same age?”

“I’m older,” Daphne said flatly, “by twenty-six days.”

Gillian’s green eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“We were in the same driver’s ed class the summer before junior year. I passed my test first and told everyone you weren’t ready to take yours.”

“It’s based on birth date, not skill.”

Daphne laughed. “It’s the only time in our entire lives I finished a class before you. Let me have my moment twenty-four years after the fact.”

Gillian shook her head, but the corners of her lips curled up. “Fine. You finished driver’s ed before I did. It’s the least of all the absurdities I’ve allowed tonight, but surely not my last. Now I have to answer a ridiculously personal question because you’re twenty-six days older?”

“It is a very small age difference,” Brooke mused. “Unlike Gillian and I, who are a full thirteen months apart.”

“Rub it in,” Gillian grumbled. “Your fortieth is next year, and you’ll get back everything you dished out.”

“I’m between you two,” Sawyer said, “and I love birthdays, but I agree, Daphne and Gillian are statistically tied. Let’s make them answer the same question.”