Page 45 of Rough

“Yeah. That.”

He leaned forward. “Back when I was a kid, we didn’t have cell phones. We didn’t take fuckin’ selfies or post shit on Facebook. There wasn’t a Twitter and we couldn’t find new recipes on Pinterest. Hell, we didn’t even have computers. Needless to say, we didn’t text people pictures of our dicks, tits, or whatever we were fuckin’ eating for lunch. I met Deann, and I fell in love. There wasn’t much need – or opportunity – to show anyone else my cock.”

I started laughing.

He looked at me and grinned. “You going to tell me you’ve never received a picture of someone’s dick on your phone? Remember, I raised the circus clown.”

I caught my breath and shook my head. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Good looking girl like you? Hell, you’ve probably seen more dicks unwillingly than Marilyn Monroe saw on purpose.”

I laughed again. “Probably.”

“Imagine what it’d be like if you’d only seen one,” he said. “Or none. Or if the first one you saw was the guy you married.”

“Kind of cool thinking about it, really.”

He shook his head and sat up straight. “Cell phones and the internet have ruined modern society.”

“They’re useful for a lot of things, though.”

“They damned sure are. If they’re in the hands of responsible men and women, that is. But they’re also tools for irresponsible people to become even more irresponsible. Fuckin’ child molesters, pedophiles, stalkers, internet bullies, computer hackers. Christ, I could go on for days.”

He relaxed, and then reached for his chest. As he winced in pain, I stood up.

“That wasn’t indigestion,” I said.

His jaw went tight and his eyes pinched closed. After a few seconds, he relaxed again. “It sure was. That fucking lettuce is killing me.”

“Was it really?”

He opened his eyes, and then gave a dry response. “Yeah.”

“I’ll leave the lettuce off next time. Did you like the cheese? It was different, huh?”

He grinned. “You’re unique, kid. You really are.”

“Thank you.”

“You know why I say that?”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. When you’re asked a question that you don’t want to answer, you start talking about something else. Your ability to make the transition seamlessly is remarkable. I start a conversation about why you’re single, and the next thing I know, we’re off talking about Havarti cheese. Most wouldn’t even realize you didn’t answer the question in the first place.”

“Did you like the cheese?”

He wrinkled his brow. “Why don’t you have a man in your life?”

I sat down. “Long or short answer?”

“What time is it?”

I looked at my watch. “12:45.”

“Let’s go with the long one.”

A sigh escaped me. “Here goes.”