Page 8 of The Leaves In Autumn
“Oh, that’s a cute name. You do realize you’re always calling me something different?”
“You inspire name calling.”
“I’ve always wanted a man to give me a pet name. Not you. But a man. One who is dazzled by my overwhelming attractiveness. Ow!”
“It’s just a little hydrogen peroxide, crybaby. There’s a name for you.”
I stop the flow of tears and wipe my nose on a napkin. Smells like Hot Pockets. Pushing up a sleeve, I show the four-inch proof of a prior adventure.
“Look. This happened when I was six or seven.”
“Shark attack?”
“No. But close. I tripped on my sister’s boogie board in the garage. Hit Dad’s power mower when I went down.”
“Must have been harrowing.”
He wraps the cut.
“Wait. There’s more.”
Lifting a leg in the air, scar two is revealed.
“It may look small, but it hurt like hell. Every time I bent my knee it stung.”
“What’s it from? The battlefield?”
“Yes. Layla wouldn’t let me wear her Juicy pants and there was a tug of war. When you share a room with your sibling things can get messy.”
“I take it you lost.”
“We both did. The pants tore and I got the table’s edge.”
“You think you suffered? Let me show you my wounds.”
He moves the supplies over to make way for an extended leg. The elastic on his Hammer pants is pulled at the ankle.
“See? That little shit Scarlett bit me!”
“Hope she was a toddler.”
“She was five. No excuses, she knew what she was doing.”
“You must have provoked her.”
I laugh with the conclusion I am pushing to poke him.
“That’s the response I got from my father too.”
“See. I was right.”
“Okay what about this one?”
He stands and lowers his waistband. Any further and the path to the Holy Grail would be visible. Don’t stop now for God’s sake. I am looking through hazy eyes, but the vision is sharpening with my Herculean effort to focus. He is manscaped. At least the upper two quadrants.
My pussy pinches in an automatic response. I’m drunk, so my subconscious is not considering the source. Whoever the patron saint of sexy bodies is has just done me a huge favor. Aargon points to what looks more like a healed puncture wound than a cut.
“What’s that from? Did you get bit by a whore with sharp teeth?”
