“What’s your sign?” I ask Naomi, my in with millennials and lesbians. Thanks to Exalted, I am fairly knowledgeable about astrology. Exalted has been posting more recently, apparently out of that annoying slump, thank God. I wonder if Exalted is a Leo. I’m curious about this person. With all those followers, he or she must be rich. I wonder if he or she is single. I make a mental note to send Exalted a DM the next day. DM is short for “direct message,” which Tara taught me.

“Aquarius,” she says. This excites me because I know from Exalted that Aquarius and Leo are a good match. I don’t know many Aquarians, though.

“I love Aquarians,” I say, which is true enough. “I’m—”

“Wait,” Naomi says. “Can I guess?”

“Of course,” I say. Naomi is much less shy than she was when I first walked up to her. Another sleeper hit.

“Aries?” she asks.

“Nope!” I say. “My son is an Aries, though. I have a few Aries exes as well … I don’t feel as fondly toward them.” I sip my drink. “Why did you think Aries?”

“You’re bold,” she says. “You approached me. You’re confident. You have good hair.”

I smile. “All true.”

“My next guess was Leo.”

“Bingo!” I say. And like that, I know I’m taking her home.

Naomi knows her way around a woman’s body, which is a relief. I’ve slept with a lot of straight women, and they tend to be stiff and inactive. They’re used to having sex with men, who don’t expect much. But Naomi knows exactly what to do.

In the morning, I wrap my arm around her torso, and she turns around and kisses me hard. Her morning breath doesn’t bother me, which Steph says is a sign your pheromones are compatible. Naomi slides her fingers inside me, and we start going at it again.

After we both come, I ask if she wants to go to brunch. I don’t have to work today.

“Why don’t we order it?” she asks. “That way we can have more time in bed.”

“I wish I had Bloody Mary mix,” I say. “And vodka.”

“We can order Bloody Marys,” she says.

“Really?” I ask.

“You’re so cute,” she says. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine,” I lie. I’ve been lying about my age since I was a teenager. First, to be older. Now, to be younger.

“You’re so hot,” she says. “I love older women.” She runs her fingers along my leathery forearm. Lesbians love older women the same way straight women love older men. In this sense, I am lucky. As a straight woman, I would probably have less luck getting laid.