She was proud of her large collection of scarves.
She always beamed and couldn’t wait to tell him when one of her scarves was a hit at a business presentation. It was her personal style.
Their second weekend together – after weeks of talking, texting, flirting and one weekend where they left the bed only to eat – he had found one of her scarves discarded on the bedroom floor. They had put it to good use and she was both embarrassed and proud of the bruises on her wrists the next day at work.
Tonight he had a thing. He had promised himself he would be home by 8, in bed by 9 but had lingered. She had texted him earlier in the day, invading his thoughts, but he had pushed it aside. Now, at 10pm, long past both their bedtimes for a “school night,” she texted him again.
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