Chapter 3

"You can get dressed now, Kris. Just step across the hall when you're ready." Dr. Reynolds peeled off his latex gloves and tossed them in a red bin marked Medical Waste.

That seemed appropriate and I didn't move until he'd left the examination room, the door shutting with a soft click. I felt cold between my legs, moistened with lubricant for my pelvic exam, and I went through this nearly every month. I knew where the tissue paper and towels were and I cleaned myself before pulling my panties on. My skirt and blouse, my shoes. I made myself pretty again and tried to smile, but found it hard.

"Have you been taking the Prestrigin?" Reynolds asked me, and I nodded. "How about your diet?"

"I'm on it," I agreed, and he gave me a look. "Well, I like my coffee. Two cups, that's all."

"Switch to decaf, like I told you to," he said without smiling. "How are you sleeping?"

"Good," I said. "I get enough."

"Stress?"

"Mmmm..." I shrugged, "I don't know. It's a little hard not to worry, you know? We keep waiting and..."

"It takes time, Kris. I explained that before." He leaned back in his chair. "How's Kurt?"

"How's our sex life?" I smiled self-consciously; the man was older than my father and he smiled back. "It's good. We're, uh ... trying hard."

The problem wasn't with my husband, we all knew that. It wasn't with my body either. I was perfectly capable of getting pregnant. The blame lay with my stupid eggs. They just didn't seem to know how to reproduce. There was a chemical imbalance, too much of some protein that inhibited the zygote from dividing. I didn't pretend to understand it, but that's why we paid specialists like Reynolds so much money. He didn't seem to be doing much though and I had to bite back my frustration.

"Okay," he said. "Give the treatment time to work and I'll see you again in six weeks. Don't give up, Kris."

"Yeah." I gave him my extra brave smile. "I won't. Thanks, Doctor."

So much for modern medicine. Don't give up. I was on my fourth protocol, as the doctors liked to call it, taking some drug that had seen good results in trials with lab rats or something. It was hard not to give up and I wasn't looking forward to giving Kurt the same no news, although he'd make it easy on me, I was sure. Sometimes I wish he'd be a little more selfish and yell or frown, or slap my face and demand to know what the hell was wrong with me. But he never did and I had to look elsewhere to assuage my guilt.

"Kris. Hi! Thanks so much for meeting me," Nancy Chambers greeted me warmly. I felt very nervous and determined not to show it.

"Oh. It's great to get out of the apartment." I smiled back at the older woman. "Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Chambers."

I was just full of lies today and I glanced around the restaurant, feeling like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime. As if just having lunch with this woman suggested something might be wrong, and of course there was. I just didn't know how much she knew or suspected. It didn't help that I'd burdened myself with evidence, an old leather portfolio that I'd brought only because I had to. At least I'd been able to leave it with the coat check near the doors.

"Call me Nancy, please," she said. "I haven't been married in a long time anyway."

Now that her party had arrived, a waiter pounced on us with a cheerful smile and thick Brooklyn accent. That was me, a one woman party, and I felt my stomach churning.

"Okay. Nancy then," I agreed politely, and then a sincere "Thank you," to the waiter as he gave me a menu to hide behind. We listened patiently while he tried to tempt us with the chef's sublime specialties.

After ordering, Nancy got down to it. We weren't old friends, or even new friends, really; we were barely acquainted to tell the truth. She was a born and bred New Yorker, just like me, and we're a people singularly unsuited to idle chit-chat, I think. Sometimes I longed for someplace else, but I didn't know where and I wouldn't have left anyway. More than likely it was just my mood and the telltale heart beating heavily within my breast.

"Kris, I wanted to talk to you because Amy has grown very close to you over the last month or so, and..."

"Well, I like her a lot too," I replied with a smile. "She's a great model and a really sweet girl."

"I know. Thank you," Nancy nodded agreeably. "I'm just concerned that she might be a little too, uh ... fond of your husband."

"Kurt?" I asked, hoping that I sounded more surprised than I felt.

"Yes. See..." She opened her purse, a rather large bag even by Manhattan standards. "I found this in her room and I'm, well ... I'm sure you can understand my concern."

She placed a thin, hardbound copy of Nabokov's Lolita on the table between us and I stared at it, willing myself to remain calm.

"Amy hasn't had a real father in a long time and the way she speaks about your husband, well..." Nancy smiled apologetically and she wasn't angry, thank God. "She's at that age and very impressionable, I'm sure you understand."

"You think Amy..." I cleared my throat. "You think she has a crush on Kurt?"

"A mild infatuation," the woman said. "She only turned fifteen a couple weeks ago and, like I say, she's never really had a man in her life."

"I see." I licked my lips and picked up the book, flipping the pages with my thumb.

"You haven't noticed anything?" she wondered innocently, and I fought the knot growing in my tummy.

"No." I shook my head. "Kurt thinks the world of her; we both do, but..."

"I hope you're not angry." Nancy looked suddenly concerned, perhaps that I'd misunderstood her. I knew she hadn't accused Kurt of anything and so I found it easy to reply with a reassuring smile.

"Not at all," I promised. "I understand completely. Kurt will too. He'll be as surprised as I am, believe me."

"You'll just have to let Amy down gently," she said, as if there wasn't any doubt that I'd talk to the girl. "It's why I wanted to see you privately, Kris. She'll take it better from you than she would from me, I think."

"Oh?"

"She thinks I'm too strict," Nancy confided, "and maybe I am, but I'm so glad she has a friend like you. Someone she can look up to."

"Well..." I cleared my throat, and if I blushed it was for the wrong reasons entirely. My friendship with Amy was very real, but hardly innocent.

"She thinks of you as her older sister," Nancy said, smiling happily. "I know she'll listen to you, Kris."

"I understand," I said in a gentle, sympathetic voice. "She'll be fine. I think Amy just needs a little time and..."

"Exactly and, uh ... I wanted to speak to you for another reason as well," Nancy said, and that brought my eyes to hers. "I was wondering if I couldn't ask you for a rather large favor. It's a bit awkward, I know, but..."

"A favor?" I blinked at that. While it was true that Kurt and I had grown very close to Amy over the last several months, as I said before, we hardly knew the girl's mother at all.

"You see, Kris," Nancy smiled self-consciously, "I've been invited to go on a little trip, and..."

"Okay, let's see what you've brought us." Preston smiled after kissing both of my cheeks with measured exuberance. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee. Sure," I agreed absently, laying my portfolio flat on a stainless, post-modern teapoy. It seemed a rather bland piece of furniture to my eyes, but art is like that sometimes.

"Arnie? Two coffees, please," the man said to one of his lads. He had three of them, all young and obscenely pretty. Preston himself was older, nearing sixty, and queer as a three dollar bill. He also owned two of New York's finest art galleries.

"Decaf, if you have it," I added, thinking of my doctor and wondering if it would really make any difference.

"Oh my!" Preston blinked as I opened the portfolio to show him the first canvas and I just stepped back. "When you said you had something different, I thought you meant ... new."

"New?" I narrowed my eyes, trying to gauge his reaction, but that had always been a difficult proposition.

"This is nice. Very nice," he breathed, nodding as he went through the paintings one by one.

He moved slowly, taking his time beneath the natural sunlight pouring through the skylights of his loft. He had another office, much more formal than this one, but he was never there. Thankfully, I was one of his favorite people, or so Preston claimed, and he'd returned my phone call.

"How many?"

"I have, uh, 21 oils, 17 watercolors, a dozen tempera and perhaps a two hundred sketches, studies, um..." I licked my lips and then turned to accept a cup from Arnie. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the boy replied, glancing curiously at my paintings.

"Kurt, Kurt, Kurt ... Hmmm..." Preston took off his glasses and smiled at me. "Do I have to guess what you're calling this?"

"Lolita," I shrugged, and then smiled back at him. "Are you scared?"

"Terrified, darling." He had his own cup and took a sip. "Who's the girl? She's marvelous!"

"Amy Chambers," I said. "She just turned fifteen."

"Oh, Kris ... You do know the mayor's office will be up in arms over this," he said, clucking his tongue behind a smile. "Outraged."

"That's why I came to you," I said lightly, sharing a soft laugh with the man. "Is it going to be a problem?"

"I'll call my lawyers," he decided, and then gave me a mischievous grin, "but I do hope so, Kris. The publicity will do wonders for my reputation!"

"I'm doing a show," I said. "In two weeks."

We were in one of the unused bedrooms, the room I'd turned into an informal changing area for my models. I'd decorated it with landscapes from a weekend trip to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, always a welcome memory. Autumn in New England is bitterly warm season.

"An art show? Really?" Amy smiled shyly as she undressed and the girl would never change. She wasn't anything but casual, even confident as she removed her clothing, but those upturned lips ... I adored her smile.

"I haven't done one in awhile, so..." I shrugged.

"Cool. Um ... What's it like?"

"An art show?" I smiled at her, watching her tummy undulate in and out as she moved. "It's fun. It's like a party, sort of, but a long one."

"Okay." Amy offered me a small shrug.

"I'm showing your pictures," I told her, watching her pretty face closely as she looked up, blinking rapidly.

"The ones with Kurt?" she asked, and I nodded. "But ... I'm naked!"

"I know," I said gently. "That's why they're special, why I want to show them to people."

"Ummm..." She swallowed hard and I knew her issues weren't so much with her nudity, as with Kurt's. Specifically with the two of them naked together.

"Is that okay?"

"I guess so," she replied slowly. "But I thought it was for that book thing you're doing."

"Well, that too," I said. "You don't have to worry, Amy. Nobody is going to laugh."

"I know," she said, nodding too quickly. "Where, um..."

"Where is it going to be?"

"No," Amy said. "Where do you want me today?"

"Oh, ummm..." I felt my heart beating faster. "I was thinking on the bed. You and Kurt. Is that okay?"

"Sure." She smiled, looking down as she pushed her jeans and pink panties off her hips all at once.

I smiled back while Amy lifted her knees high, pulling the denim legs inside out, stepping on the fabric as she pulled her bare feet loose. She had her back to me and I wished I had paper and pencil handy. Amy had become my favorite model, next to Kurt, of course, and whatever the girl happened to be doing seemed wonderful to my eyes. Whether posing or just relaxing, or taking off her clothes, Amy offered the world a perfect picture of youth and beauty. She was a promise longing to be made, a secret waiting to be kept, and I loved her. We both did.

"What are we doing today?" Kurt asked as he came through the open doorway. "Oh..."

He stopped when he saw Amy frozen, naked from the waist down and halfway through unbuttoning her white blouse. They'd posed together countless times, naked as often as not, but this was different. They had an excuse when posing, a reason for their intimacy, and that made it okay. The rest of the time Amy was a teenage girl with a crush on an older, married man, and Kurt was a husband with a growing infatuation for something he knew he could never have. It made moments such as this one ... awkward.

"Sorry," he said, turning his eyes away, and I could see Kurt's face redden, much like Amy's.

"Just undress in the bedroom," I told him with a soft laugh. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

"The bedroom," he nodded, clearing his throat. "Right."

"I'm sorry, Kris." Amy glanced at me as soon as he'd left.

"For what?" I rolled my eyes and grabbed a bathrobe hanging off a brass hook on the wall.

"Nothing," she said with a shake of her head and I let it go.

Despite the game I was playing with her, and I had to admit to that, I had no desire to see Amy hurt. I tried to rationalize my actions with the knowledge that she had a choice, a free will that I couldn't prevail upon ... But did she really? Did any of us? Kurt no longer argued with me the way he had in the reluctant beginning. I'd used Amy to seduce him and that admission was another guilty pleasure. She couldn't have done it on her own, little girls don't know how. They try too hard or don't try at all, when all they have to do is be themselves, but even if she'd had the wits and courage, it wouldn't have worked on Kurt.

We were a threesome now and from the very beginning. That's the secret. My husband needed me. The seduction wasn't Amy's, it was mine, and a selfish one to be sure.

She took my breath away, every time, and I had to busy myself with meaningless details and trivia to disguise my excitement. Amy undressed completely, baring every inch of her body before donning the bathrobe. I pretended not to notice while I loaded a film cartridge into my Polaroid. I caught her sex, the girl's plump vulva and sparse pubic hair, the crease of her virgin womanhood only barely hidden between soft, pale thighs. I locked that memory away as she turned self-consciously, giving me the pronounced curvature of her ass and spine before pulling on the robe.

I noted her left foot and the way it turned inward, clumsy and graceful at the same time. Amy corrected her stance a moment later, but I'd seen it. Imperfection is the truth of beauty, the unguarded moments when we're vulnerable and honest. It's what I tried to capture in my art because it's unpredictable and surprising, the way life should be. It's why I painted people and not bowls of fruit.

"Are you ready?" I asked, and Amy nodded. "Good. Let's see how Kurt's doing."

I needed to do more paintings and quickly. I'd done shows previously, but never by myself. There'd always been one or two more artists to share the pressure, but this would be a one-woman show. Me. And I needed a lot more than the fifty-some paintings I'd already delivered to Preston.

He'd handle the details for me. Each canvas needed to be framed. The watercolors would have to be matted. There were limited edition prints to be made and I could look forward to losing a few days just signing and numbering them. I had an appointment with a publicist who would arrange interviews. My work would be reviewed and critiqued, it would be sold - hopefully - and I'd either sink or swim as the Gods of Art decided.

No pressure.

I had to force all those thoughts out of my head and concentrate on the scene before me. Amy lay on her side facing me, with her knees drawn up and her arms bent, hands tucked under her cheek. She was naked and sleeping, at least on canvas. On the bed her hazel eyes were open, watching me as I worked, and behind her I had Kurt.

My husband held the girl with his arm around her tummy, his face buried in her thick brown hair. His much larger body was bent to hers, with his pelvis cupping her ass and his erection trapped between her thighs. I hadn't asked for that, but it was the only place it would fit comfortably. Well, not the only place, perhaps, and it wasn't so difficult to imagine Kurt falling asleep with his well-used cock wrapped snugly inside Amy's teenage sex.

The fantasy wasn't mine alone. I could see it playing across Amy's face every time one of them would move. Kurt would lift his head, perhaps his arm as he adjusted his gentle grip on Amy's tummy. Her smallish breasts would inflate briefly, and her nipples, already much darker than their usual pretty pink hue, were swollen and pointing outward as if begging for a kiss.

Of course, being a man like he was, Kurt had to move his hips as well. Amy had spread her legs briefly, just at the beginning as they got comfortable, and I'd seen his cock sliding between her pale thighs. He was right there, so close to her pussy that she could feel the heavy muscle pulsing against her vulva. He had to move, it was as natural as breathing, and every now and again he would push against her with a low, deep-throated growl. Kurt probably imagined that I couldn't hear it, but I did.

Every tiny gasp and groan, every time Amy would hitch a sharp breath, I heard it deep in my heart. They weren't fucking, not yet, but my husband was definitely making love to the girl. And soon, I told myself, very soon we would have to take that final step. I'd been pushing them closer and closer, reassuring Amy with my feigned ignorance, and Kurt with my sincere passion. They were ready, I thought, all they needed was one more little push. It was just a question of when and I'd already figured that one out.

"You love her, don't you?" I whispered, panting the words into my husband's ear as he fucked me.

"I love you," he replied. Kurt kissed my open mouth, bending me to his eager thrusts as I lay beneath him.

My legs were over his shoulders, spread wide with my ass rolled upward off the bed. He could get so deep that way and Dr. Reynolds had actually recommended the position. It almost made me giggle, just following the doctor's orders, yes sir! But I wasn't sure he was aware of how large my husband really was in the penis department.

"Oh! Ummmm..." I winced as Kurt's cockhead found my cervix again. Like the finger of God, it seemed, bringing both pain and pleasure in equal parts. I wasn't very big at all, especially down there, and there just wasn't enough room to take all of him. We sure loved to try though!

My knees were practically touching my shoulders as Kurt leaned into me hard. It was always like this after a modeling session with Amy. Three minutes after she'd left our apartment, Kurt had carried me into the bedroom. I should have been jealous of the girl, but I wasn't. He was thinking about her and fucking me, imagining his cock stretching her tight little hole. There should have been something wrong with that, but I was imagining the same thing.

"Call me Amy," I breathed. "Fuck me, Kurt. Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he breathed, kissing my hair as his lips could no longer find my face.

"Amy," I insisted. "Fuck my little pussy."

"I love you, Amy," he agreed, pounding the full length of his cock inside my body.

The bed jerked with every thrust, the springs squeaking and the headboard hitting the wall. My cunt felt bruised and swollen, throbbing in time with my heart as I took him without complaint. I was going to cum despite the pain, or perhaps because of it. Amy would feel the same, I knew, perhaps more so being a virgin and only barely fifteen. Her innocence would be torn with her surrender and I wished I could share that discomfort as well.

"Cum inside me," I gasped, clinging to the man with my arms around his neck. "I'm so close. Cum inside me, Kurt."

He had to be close as well, but I found my climax first, as usual. I came hard, whimpering with my eyes tightly shut and my body shaking. I wanted to close my legs and hold him deep. The motion of his cock plunging through my orgasm only pushed me higher. I pulled my head off the pillow and kissed his neck and chest. My eyes were wet and I couldn't stop cumming. I was lost in the pleasure and so deeply gone that I didn't even notice when my husband joined me.

"Oh God," I sighed, falling lip and giggling weakly. "Why did you stop? Did you cum?"

"Oh yeah," Kurt said. He was smiling down at me, all red faced and damp with sweat. "If that doesn't do it, nothing will."

"Don't say that," I said, speaking softly and shaking my head.

"I didn't mean..."

"I know." I pulled him down, wanting Kurt to cover my body with his.

We were hot and sticky, but I didn't care. My legs had fallen off his shoulders and were now wrapped around his waist. His cock was still inside me and I wasn't sure if I could feel the semen inside me or not. He must have cum a lot, I thought, and it was that time of the month, two weeks before my next period. Fourteen days exactly. I was as fertile as I could get and if that monster fuck hadn't knocked me up, we'd just have to try again...

... and we did, twice more that night and once before breakfast.

"Are you okay?" Kurt wondered, lifting an eyebrow as I walked gingerly into the kitchen.

"I need coffee."

"No, I mean ... You're walking a little bowlegged," he said with a chuckle, and I knew he was teasing me then.

"I think you were a little hard on the Beaver last night, Ward."

"Sorry." He poured a cup of coffee for me as I sat down. "I couldn't help it."

"Me neither," I agreed with a giggle. We'd both had a pretty good time, but it would be a couple days before I felt like having sex again. Maybe.

He set the cup in front of me and took his usual seat at our small kitchen table. Kurt picked up his morning paper and flipped to the sports page. Baseball season was nearly over, but not quite. I gave him five minutes to check his precious box scores before bringing up our favorite topic of conversation.

"What, um..." I sipped my coffee, giving Kurt time to put his paper down. "What would you think if Amy stayed with us for a couple weeks?"

"Huh?" The look on his face was almost comical.

"I met Amy's mom for lunch the other day," I explained. "She's going on a cruise with some divorced singles group thing and..."

"A cruise?"

" ... she was wondering if Amy could stay with us," I continued. "She doesn't really have anyone else except Amy's dad, but he's in California and she's got school, so..."

"What did you say?" Kurt asked slowly, giving me his undivided attention now.

"I told her I'd talk to you," I replied. "Why? Do you think I'd just say yes without discussing it?"

"It occurred to me," he said.

"Me too!" I laughed. "But I didn't, so ... What do you think?"

He didn't have to ask what I wanted. Having Amy with us for two full weeks would really feed my fantasy, Kurt knew that. Would it feed his? But that wasn't the real question at all.

"Where will she sleep?" he asked, and I cocked an eyebrow playfully.

"Guess!"

"She can't sleep with us, Kris."

"Why not?" I tried to sound innocent, but I was hardly that. "We need to talk about this anyway. You know what I want, Kurt. What we both want, don't deny it."

"It isn't about what we want," he said reasonably. "It's about Amy, remember? We have to put her first."

"We will," I promised. "I'll talk to her, okay?"

"About..." Kurt narrowed his eyes and I smiled.

"Not that," I told him. "Not yet. Just about staying with us, alright? Are you okay with it?"

My husband had to agree. He had no choice anymore, none of us did. They were practically fucking already. Kurt and Amy were like sprinters waiting for the gun, poised and ready to loose their emotions. At least he was able to release his tension, making love to me after several hours of posed frustration, but poor Amy had no one to comfort her. Perhaps she masturbated alone in her bed at night, dreaming of Kurt and trying to find release. I wasn't sure, but I knew nothing could substitute for what she really needed.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah," he sighed, nodding his head and pursing his lips. "I'm okay with it, Kris."

"Good." I'd been holding my breath and my heart was beating fast, the butterflies were in my tummy. My husband had just agreed to make love to another woman.

As was her habit, Amy came directly from school to our apartment. Not always, Amy still modeled for other artists, of course, but more often than not the girl would walk in just after four in the afternoon, knocking on the door even as she opened it. I'd taken up the bad habit of watching the clock, astonished sometimes at how much I missed her.

Kurt felt the same way. When he arrived home from work each evening it was with a sense of anticipation that he couldn't hide. If Amy wasn't there, I felt no anger or jealousy at his disappointment. I felt it too. We'd talk about other things and carry on our lives the way we always had before. But something was missing in her absence and we were both acutely aware that somehow, for some reason, we needed Amy to feel complete.

I think she felt the same way about us.

"Where's Kurt?" Amy asked on her way to the kitchen. "Working late or something?"

"Or something," I agreed, speaking loudly as I was in the studio cleaning up some brushes. "There's some turkey sandwich in the fridge, I think."

"Got it," she called back. "You want anything?"

"Orange juice."

"Kay."

Amy was right at home. It had taken some time, some convincing on my part, but Nancy had been right. We'd grown very close and very quickly, and I had to wonder if the truth would ruin everything.

"Do you have homework?" I asked a few minutes later, wiping my hands on a rag and tossing it aside.

"Yeah. Trig mostly," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "I hope Kurt can help me with it. Here's your juice."

"I'm sure he will. Thanks." I drank half the glass while Amy sat down on my drawing chair. An old swivel chair made of leather and aluminum, it liked to squeak no matter how much I oiled it, but it was the most comfortable chair I'd ever owned.

"Oh! Mom told me to give you your check back," she said around a bite of her sandwich. "It's in my bag."

"What? Why?"

"You don't have to pay me all the time, Kris." Amy made a face and giggled. "It isn't fair."

"You're a model," I told her, leaning against my work bench. "Just give it back to her."

"No way." She took another bite and shook her head.

I decided to let it go for the moment. I wasn't sure how I felt about not paying for Amy's company. The last check I'd written had been for over a thousand dollars to cover 14 hours of Amy's valuable time. The truth was that she'd been over much more than that, but we weren't going through the agency anymore either. I'd imagined that Nancy wanted to bill me under the table, getting cash that she wouldn't have to report to the IRS, but ... She was returning my money?

I decided I'd have to call Mrs. Chambers and sort it out. I couldn't say exactly why it bothered me so much, but it did. I should have been happy, right? The barriers were coming down even faster than I could have imagined. Amy wasn't a model, she was a friend. A part of the family, really. That's the message I got and while I'd never been a model myself, I'd been an artist long enough to know them pretty well.

Doing the job was like wearing a mask. If an artist asked Amy to get naked, it wasn't really her doing it. She was detached and distanced from the fantasy being created, much like an actor playing a role. Lolita was a character and when I painted Amy, she could always step back emotionally and the money was the proof. It was her body, her face I captured, but not really her essence at all ... At least it shouldn't have been. Obviously we'd crossed that boundary long ago and perhaps that's why I felt confused.

I'd viewed the business part of our relationship as a way out. If I ever changed my mind. If we went too far and I was in danger of hurting Kurt or myself, or heaven forbid, Amy, I could always just not hire her. She'd have no reason to come back, a perfect excuse if she needed one. We could pretend it had been all about the money and nothing emotional. That had been my escape route and now it was not only gone, but I realized how flimsy it had truly been.

We were trapped now, with no choice but to go on with our journey.

"So ... Where do you want me?" Amy asked, slapping her hands on her skirt after finishing her sandwich.

"I was thinking, um..." I scratched my blonde head and I hadn't been thinking at all, actually. "Do you want to take a bath?"

"A bath?" She giggled happily and showed me her tongue. "Why? Do I smell bad?"

"Around here?" I laughed with her. "You smell like a peach. Come on, I want to see you wet."

"Really?" Amy arched an eyebrow, definitely teasing me, but...

I felt myself growing warm. It happened sometimes, and more and more as time went on I'd find myself ... flirting with her? I hadn't meant anything with my remark, but Amy had twisted my words around. She was flirting with me, smiling and giving me her eyes. I was a girl, a pretty good one too, by all accounts, and I knew what flirting looked like. I knew what it sounded like.