She leaned her hips against the edge of the desk and folded her arms.
“Haven’t seen you before,” she said.
“I’m one of the new guards from Station Headquarters,” I explained, and sat on the edge of the desk beside her. We were close; my shoulder touched her shoulder. She had to turn her head to look at me.
“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she said, a puzzled, curious look in her eyes.
“I saw you yesterday,” I lied glibly, “I was manning the barricade when you passed.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You look like that new mortician in the P.M. room,” she said.
I grinned. “He’s my brother. We’re often mistaken for each other. He’s fatter in the face than I am, and he hasn’t a way with women.”
“You have?” The sneer in her voice was pronounced.
I winked at her. “I go for women in a big way. They go for me, too.”
“Maybe that’s why you came sneaking up to the women’s quarters,” she said.