Maybe. I like rare things. [ This is also genuine. ] Tell me what you're like. What you'd be like with me.

[ Not that she hasn't made her own deductions, rapaciousness written into his movements and voice like wildness is in hers. Her wildness says make a game of it for him; if he guesses, he gets anything he wants. Her better angels say girl you are crazy and not in a good way. A third part of her thinks she's being absurdly self-aggrandizing to presume the gambit would even work. All three sections argue somewhere in the high seats of her mind, watching the theater play. She crosses her legs, right thigh caught under the left, skirt fabric snug betwixt them where the line between limbs is created, defining the distinct shapes. ]

No, a man. Definitely a man. But okay, now I've cut out half for yours. Is he close to my age, your person?