“Come on,” Oliver says. “Choreographed orgasms are the stuff of your bullshit romance novels.” “You watch your mouth!” Viggo snaps and sits upright. “Sometimes, yes, romance has reinforced unrealistic expectations of sexual intimacy and pleasure—however,” he says, making big, I’m saying something important eyes at us. “At least it’s put on the page. At least it foregrounds human intimacy and sexual freedom and passion, not just staring into the abyss, waxing philosophical about our inevitable mortality.” “Here we go,” Oliver sighs. Viggo is undeterred. “Romance is about the centrality of
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