Remove the problem at the root

You blurt out the first thing you can think of. "Uh, Zoey, everything you know or feel about sex is mine!"

Your words halt Zoey before she makes her escape. Frozen and rooted to the floor, she looks stunned.

Pearl goggles at the woman. "Geeze. Did I look that stupid when you claimed my hoodie and stuff yesterday?" Oddly, she makes no move to hide her body or decouple herself from you.

"Actually no, it just pissed you off," you say, as surprised as Pearl with Zoey’s still frozen-stiff reaction.

The effect doesn’t last long. Ever so slowly, Zoey turns back around. She shields her eyes to prevent herself from seeing something she’d rather not.

"Wait. So everything I know, everything I feel about sex is yours?" Zoey asks, aghast. "Who even are you? And who the hell do you think you are?” She gesticulates condemningly at the two of you. “You're not even stopping!"

You realize that yeah, you're still pistoning slowly in and out of Pearl. The real weird thing though, you realize, is that Pearl isn’t stopping either. Her hips rock slowly back against your own, meeting your slow thrusts.

Pearl steps up to the defense before you fully wrap your head around the situation. "We're on a date lady, all right? Mind your own fucking business."

"This store is my fucking business!" snarls Zoey.

Holy hell is this lady loud. Another outburst like that will draw the rest of the bookstore’s staff over to your private corner.

Pearl reaches the same conclusion. "Dude, do something!"

“Shut up, I know!” Again, you blurt out the first thing your pleasure addled brain thinks of. "Listen, Zoey, forget everything you know and feel about, uh, sex."

Zoey rocks backward on the balls of her feet. "What? No, wait, nuhh..." She shakes her head, blinking vacantly for a second.

Pearl stares. “Oh my god.”

Suddenly, Zoey looks up at you with new eyes, and a fresh scowl. "What the hell are you two doing?" she demands, folding her arms and scrutinizing you. Yet, utterly unable to make sense of why the two of you are joined at the hip, she passes judgment. "Put your goddamn clothes back on. I’m calling the cops - get the hell out of my store before they get here, you creeps."

If anything, the store clerk seems to know how to handle two undressed customers better than two customers having sex. Your blunt-trauma fix has only gotten you in more trouble than before.