Under different circumstances, another scene would unfold: my face not suddenly rigid, hot-prickled, but slack and warmed by another emotion. I would have found a way to get my hand up the back of her shirt, my other on her leg moving slowly toward her zippered fly. But because this is the train on a Thursday night at 5 p.m., and because of the young family on my right with the young boy who could not stand still, and because Marianne had already been recognized by one passenger plus the dad of the young family, I blushed when she said, "On the inside of my wrist—this one—right wher the veins cross. When you bit me hard there, it was the sexiest moment of my life."
It could have been said in more of a hush, and not with the voice of a tour group director. The young boy from the young family, his Red Sox had bounced near my hip, and I kept my eyes on the passing buildings, the highway flooded with cars of all sizes, with freight trucks and one panicked ambulance.