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Not touching that. “Grandma Bel will think I was wonderful.”
“Everyone else thought you’d been sampling free drugs. What is going on with you?”
Sex-struck wasn’t the best answer he could give. Vaginal implants of a wholly different nature. “You think there’s something going on with me because you’re bored and want a drama.” Way better to be defensive. I need a drink.
“Fuck you, Tom.” Wren turned to go.
“Wait. That was meant to be—not like it came out.” She gave him a look that said be very careful about what you say next. “I missed my cue. I was daydreaming, half the room was. It doesn’t mean anything is going on with me.”
“You fell down a mountain. Fell. Down. A. Mountain. You’re still bruised-looking. Your promotion isn’t solid. Harry is obviously avoiding you. You went to sleep on a panel. You leave the office early. Tell me you’re not thinking of resigning. I just lost Josh, I think I’m about to lose you and I’m not ready.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Unless there was any truth to the swirling conspiracy theories that something was going on with Harry.
“I’d rather do Kegels than listen to you pretend everything is normal right now.”
That was not a visual he needed. They’d once launched a Kegel device for women with urinary incontinence. The program brainstorm had been unsuitably hysterical. Josh had been unable to keep a straight face the entire time, especially as the product’s tagline was “Pelvic floor exercises that are better than sex.” He’d walked around for weeks saying “Lift, hold and drop” at the least appropriate moments.
“I might’ve done something ill-advised.”
“Ooh. There’s my drama. As long as you don’t mean you got a parking ticket.”
“I, ah. Look, it’s nothing.” To talk about it made it real. Better it was a fantasy, some adult sex-scene thing he’d had no idea he was going to be into.
“You did it with Flick.”
He looked up to check who was around. Only the sound guy in the booth at the back of the room, and he had a headset on. “Jesus, Wren.”
“I’d do her. Why wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I don’t want to do Kegels.”
Maybe he should talk about this. Without Josh around, Wren was the next best sounding board, and if you could talk about exercises for the vagina with a woman, you could talk about anything. He sat. “Me and Flick—”
“I knew it.” Wren took the next chair. “Spill.”
“She’s—” he sighed “—a mosquito. Buzzing in my face the whole time.”
“And then she stings you and you like it.”
“And then. Well. Yeah.”
“What’s the problem?”
Apart from this conversation about sex with a female colleague being something HR should never know about? He gestured to the stage. “That’s the problem. She’s a distraction and now is not a good time for me to be distracted.”
“But the sex is good.”
“I’m not talking details with you.”
“I’m doing Kegels right now.”
“The sex is—not talking about having sex with Flick.”
“Wow. That good.” Wren sighed. “One day my excellent shoes and my sporty, fit vagina and I will find someone to have sex with that’s so good I won’t want to talk about it. Meanwhile, I need details.”
“What do you mean by details? We do it.”
