“What do you understand with respect to bisexuality?” Candice had moved them over to the sofa arrangement as the roadworks were complete. Candice sat cross-legged and to one side of Dean on an identical two-seater sofa, a long, slimline coffee table between them. Did a nefarious design to the arrangement exist? Hard to tell, for sure. He wanted to fidget, afraid to move.
He nearly reached for his coffee, again—the beverage Candice had given him implied a friendly atmosphere—but refrained because he half-believed if he tried the stalling tactic too often, she’d take everything away. The coffees, the cushions, even the sofa, and make him sit on the floor. He paid for torture, and they’d barely begun.
He still hadn’t replied, and the seconds ticked on. Dean could only withstand one lecture—
