He caressed my thigh, the tantalising proximity aroused me to an extent. His thumb settled on a spot and kept brushing it. Curious to see what had caught his attention, I raised my head and glanced down at his fingers. It was a scar. He saw me looking at it.
"What happened?"
"It's old." I shrugged my shoulders.
"Tell me how you got it." The insistence in his voice was authoritative. Maybe he felt a little guilt that he wasn't there for me; I wouldn't put it past him to take on that romantic notion.
"My dog bit me when I tried to wrench my homework from her mouth."
He stiffened against me.
"What about this one?" He indicated a near identical scar on my other inner thigh.
I remained silent.
"Tell me."
"She had a daughter," I said.
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