"I know nothing about woman."
Trying to inject a gay note into her voice, she said, "We eat, we sleep, we—we're very functional, really."
He rubbed a finger down her cheek. He pressed the flesh on her neck and watched the muscle spring back as he withdrew his finger.
"Do that to me," he said.
Mystified, Rhoda pressed her finger against his neck until she could feel a pulse in his throat. She withdrew the finger. "Like that?"
"Did it leave a mark?"
"No. Is there something wrong? Do you have a sore throat?"
"My throat is not sore."
Rhoda's frustration was a pitiful thing. How could she get to him? How could she break through his shyness?
"I think you're afraid of me," she said lightly.