"Is there any other kind?" That decided, Lexi smiled easily at him, the expression slipping onto her face like the sun over a hill, like her lips had been made for that very thing. It was a familiar look, though her face was more delicate now, her frame more slight. Her eyes, though, hadn't changed at all; the warmth of them, the deep, frank sepia, all exactly as they were before, as if fate wanted to make sure Lancelot could not disappear entirely.
She had taken men - and women - home before. To whatever was considered home at the time. But none of them had stayed. How could they, when Lexi herself didn't? Yet she'd invited Buddy back as if that was normal, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. Lexi lived a very singular life; despite her friendliness, despite her many and varied partners, she was alone. And yet, she'd just asked Buddy to live with her.
Very odd.
"Ah. Third wife," she laughed, throaty and low, leaning forward again to prop her chin on one hand. "Now we're getting to the good stuff. So, either you are a horrible romantic - in every definition of 'horrible' - a commitment-phobe in denial, or you have wretched taste in partners."