" I looked at Win. Win’s face was as usual unreadable. The woman with the paintball makeup—hard to say an age, could have been an easy fifty or a hard twenty-five, and I was counting on the latter—said to Win, “I live near here.” Win gave her the superior gaze that made people hate him. “In that alley perhaps?” “No,” she said with a big hearty laugh. Win was such a card. “I have a basement flat.” “Must be divine,” Win said in a voice richly marinated in sarcasm. “Oh, it’s nothing special,” Paintball said, not picking up on Win’s tone. “But it’s got a bed.” She pulled up on her pink ’n’ purple leg warmers and winked at Win. “A bed,” she repeated. In case he wasn’t getting the drift. “Sounds enchanting.” “Want to see it?” “Madam”—Win faced her full—“I would rather have my semen removed via a catheter.” Another "
― Harlan Coben , Long Lost (Myron Bolitar, #9)