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He frowned. “Can he do a girl?”
“Yes.”
“I might like to watch that.”
Men were still men, even if they lived in the mist.
Bran sat up, pulled the carcass off the fire, and stuck the spit into the ground. A knife flashed and he offered me a half-charred leg. “Here. Might as well feed you since you’re telling me a story. Don’t want to be inhospitable.”
“Thanks.” I pulled a shred of meat off the legs and chewed. Sweet aftertaste. Rabbit.
“So what is it with you? Saving yourself for marriage?”
I guffawed. “Too late for that.”
“Why won’t you play nice with your friend then? Seems to me, the man’s working pretty hard. How long has he been after you?”
“About a year. He just keeps switching bodies like they were outfits, but no matter what body he wears, I know it’s him.”
“Don’t like him that much, yeh?”
I shrugged. “He doesn’t do anything for me. There were times when he came at me with something that might have been fun, if it weren’t him. But in the end, I always remember that he isn’t interested in me. If I was thrilled, he wouldn’t be happy with me; if I was on the verge of suicide, he wouldn’t care. I might as well sleep with a blow-up doll. He’s only interested because I said no the first time.”
“That’s why all men are interested.”
“True, but with him it ends with my body. Normal men eventually look for companionship.”
He shook his head. “No. Women look for that. Men look for bedsport.”
I smiled. “If it were so, why did you invite me to sit by you?”
“I figure I’ll change your mind.”
“You won’t.”
“So you say.”
“When was the last time you had a dinner like this with another person?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“So you just eat by yourself? All alone?”