"The boss knows what he's doin Chris replied. He was watched her take that first bite of her banana and . . .

"Uhm, does . . . does Red know he's leavin'?"

"I dunno. I think Jane's supposed to tell her as soon as the queen bitch calms down." Anya smiled as Chris looked flustered. She took another bite of her banana.

"It's okay. She's my friend, but she CAN be. . ."

"Difficult," Chris interrupted.

"Yeah, she can be difficult." Anya finished off a large portion of her fruit.

"As opposed to me, who's as easy as they come."

“Yer a free spirit, that's for sure." Chris just smiled at Anya.

“A ‘free spirit?’ That's an interesting way of saying ‘slut.’ I think I like your word better."

Chris actually looked . . . vexed.

"Yer not a slut," he said.

"What's the difference then?" Anya asked.

“A slut's someone who's got no respect for themselves . . . someone who does what they does ‘cause they're not smart enough to do nothing else. That ain't you, Miss Anya. That . . ." Chris started with a blush, ". . . and I just don't like that other word."

"Then we'll use the 'free-spirited' thing," Anya said with a chuckle.

Then she got pseudo-serious.

"But you're not exactly a saint," she continued.

"You've bedded a more than a few of the women down here, and that's just since I've been here. But you've never hit on me," she said demurely, “and you never look right at me when I'm naked, even when I'm just getting ready for reconnaissance work. Why is that?"

Chris smiled.

"I'm well aware of how easy on the eyes you are Miss Anya, and I surely didn't mean no disrespect tuh you."

“You are the quintessential Southern gentleman. But PLEASE stop calling me ‘Miss Anya'! It's driving me nuts! It's just ‘Anya.'"

“There's nothin' ‘just’ about you Miss Anya," Chris replied, actually blushing a bit.

Anya found herself blushing as well. She got up, walked around the bench and leisurely stretched her leg over Chris's lap, having a seat and staring her friend in the eye.

"Chris . . . I would love to bunk with you tonight," she started, deciding that honesty was the best policy.

"I've got a feeling," she continued, feeling him swell in his pants, "that you'd like to bunk with me. But what exactly . . . do you expect from me?" she asked softly.