“Cole. It’s a Sunday.” “I had sex.” That should change her attitude. The speakers are quiet for a few beats. “Real sex? Or internet sex?” Why does everyone keep calling it that? “Real sex.” She lets out a long whistle. “How was it?” “Jesus Christ, Trixie. Is that something therapists ask their patients?” “Ha! I don’t see why not. If you’re going to call me on a Sunday like I’m a guy friend, then I might as well ask the same questions someone like that might.”
