He pulls me toward the bedroom, but there’s a perfectly good sofa right here. And no one expects you to cuddle or fall asleep on a sofa. I undo the buttons on his shirt with a practised one-handed move and back him up until his legs hit the sofa, forcing him to sit. He shudders and moans as my hard, calloused palms graze his nipples. His stomach is a little softer than I like—I prefer them tighter. Still, what he lacks in tone, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

He is panting now, practically begging for it. When we finally join, he utters a sob of gratitude. I make him come quickly and easily, and then take my time over my own pleasure. Afterwards, as he pulls a throw up to cover his chest, he casts me a look of blatant adoration.

I sigh. Why do they always insist on falling in love with me? Men don’t seem capable of separating sex from emotion. You ring that bell for them, and next thing they’re picking out china patterns. Perhaps it’s their way of convincing themselves that they’re not sluts to have slept with you. It’s fine to have sex on the first date as long as you’re in love with the woman, right?

It’s all so predictable, I’m already bored. The way he looks at me with those liquid eyes. Not to mention how he clings to my arm.

I give him a devastating smile. “Early start in the morning, remember? I have to dash now, but I’ll call you in a few days.” I pull on my jeans and boots. “Stay cool, kiddo.”

Then I’m out the door and heading for freedom, deleting his number from my phone as I go.

CHAPTER 12

I’m still sat at my desk trying to write my op-ed for The New York Times. That’s what the English say, isn’t it? I was sat at my desk . . . I was stood in the corner. In South Africa, we are more likely to say I was sitting at my desk . . . I was standing in the corner. Is it cultural appropriation for me to use the English form?

I laugh immoderately at the idea.

Cultural appropriation only becomes relevant where there is a current or historical imbalance of power between the two cultures—where the culture that is doing the borrowing is mainstream and the culture that is being plundered is marginalised. As a white South African, I can borrow the cultural spoils of Britain as much as I like and suffer no penalty other than to be considered pretentious.

A flash of light ignites my brain, and the room is filled with the chorus of a thousand angels.

Would that not be a fruitful line for me to tug in my op-ed for the NYT? Cultural appropriation?