8

“Okay, that’s the guy,” Alex said the following evening, attempting to change the dynamics between them. Their conversation last night had been illuminating.

First, she thought of him as a brother. The whole band is like a huge family of extra brothers and sisters.

Second. He’d been friend-zoned. The way she’d casually told him about the guy she’d been attracted to, until he’d been a total dick, wasn’t the sort of thing you told someone you were interested in.

Third. They’d be working on the centre together most of the day. Their friendship had blurred into a working relationship overnight, and everyone knew you didn’t shit where you ate.

And finally, it was clear she needed his friendship more than anything else he could give her. Even if he was beginning to think he’d give her pretty much anything.

Which included what he’d promised her.

Sex.

Release.

A chance to get out of her brain and into her body a little.

And casual sex between the two of them had train wreck written all over it. He fiddled with the pearls at his neck, worrying the beads.

“He’s got dark hair, like you prefer.” Not blond, like him. “Dark eyes.” Unlike his own blue-grey. “He’s not wearing gym clothes or a muscle shirt. He’s drinking beer, not a fancy cocktail. And he’s not been on his phone all night.”

Zoe read the transcript. She’d told him she was all communicated out after the previous evening and an afternoon that involved a conversation with a new author she was helping who didn’t sign.

“He looks more like your type,” she said.

Alex used the reflective surface of his phone to touch up the mulberry-tinted lip-gloss he’d picked up that morning. “I think we established I don’t have a physical type.”

Except he did. And she was sitting right next to him.

A couple at a nearby table watched him, judgment written all over their faces, so he raised his middle finger and they looked quickly away.

“People are dicks,” she said, glaring in the couple’s direction. She placed a hand on his forearm. She’d been doing it a lot over the last few days. He wasn’t sure if it was a conscious thing or just something that showed she was comfortable around him “Can I ask you a question? A personal one?”

“Sure.”

“Will it even be possible for you to settle down with one person, given everything you like? I don’t want to offend you, Alex. So, I’m really sorry if it does.”

Alex shrugged. People had asked him to explain himself his own life. Only Zoe’s softly spoken question didn’t hurt. Maybe it was because they’d become so close to each other.

“Normally it would offend. But I find I want to answer it.” He remembered to pause, knowing it helped Zoe lipread. “The easy answer is I’ve never adhered to sexuality constructs because they just struck me as labels that someone defined once we had language. Some people say pansexuals don’t see gender, but that’s as ignorant as saying you don’t see colour. It’s just that as colour should be irrelevant in making decisions about hiring or leasing property or whatever, gender is irrelevant when it comes to being attracted to someone emotionally, sexually, or romantically. Other things have been way more important. The obvious, are they attractive? Gender doesn’t make that decision for me. Never has. But there are other things. Do they have passion in their lives? Can we laugh together? What fires them up? Their life, their career, their friendships, and their hobbies. Are they curious? About how things work, about why we are who we are. Curious everywhere. Including the bedroom.”

He noticed Zoe blush as she read the transcript. “Is it possible for one person to give you everything you need in a relationship?”

“Yes.”

“That simple?”

“Yes. The number of options I have being pansexual is not directly proportional to my ability to be faithful and happy with one person. If you’re conflating sex between two men and sex between a man and a woman as two separate needs that require fulfilling equally, then not for me they don’t. For some, they do. Being pansexual is not monolith. Being a top ensures I can get what I need from whomever I’m with, regardless of who that is.”

“You know the BDSM series I’m working on? Is that what you’re in to?” She lowered her voice and looked around to make sure no one could overhear her.

He tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s another label. But do I like to take control? Yes. Am I always a top? Absolutely. Would I call myself a dominant? Not the way your books do, because I don’t need a power exchange, although it’s fun to have one sometimes, and I’m not fully immersed in the lifestyle. But I do dance around the edges of it, and I like the artistry of sex and communicating with who I’m with. I want to make sure we both get what we need.”

He watched the transcript appear on her phone, and when the last word appeared, she didn’t look up.

A minute passed. Then another.