Somehow, he'd never considered she would take pictures of something sodeeply private between them, but this wasn't the woman he'd married, hereminded himself. Of course, this Julia would take pictures. He shouldhave expected it, in fact. She could post the pictures online, send themto friends, ruin him. Everything she did seemed to make him weaker andmore vulnerable."Okay, I think I have enough pictures. You can put your shirt back on,"she finally said, tapping away on Eric's phone.He quickly retrieved his shirt from the floor and slipped it on to hidethe tattoo."There," Julia said with a smile, clearly pleased by her efforts. Sheturned the front of the phone towards Eric so he could see it.Emblazoned across the screen was a closeup of his back, tilted so it randiagonally, lower left to upper right, corner to corner, using the wordson his back to declare that the phone, like him, was her property.His shoulders sank. It was like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.Julia was thrilled.. It’s still so early that the shore is pretty deserted, punctuated by an occasional fisherman and a few walkers or joggers. The miles pile up behind me and I’m in my own little world, enjoying the ocean breeze and the glow of the just-risen sun, so much that I run right past him. He’s on his hands and knees in the surf, the early morning sun glistening off his back, the waistband of his cutoff denim shorts riding low on his hips. I spare him a passing glance as I fly past, but then he calls out to me to stop. Normally I would ignore such a request from a guy I don’t know, but something in his voice compels me to listen. I turn, questioning. “Were you talking to me?” I ask. “Yes,” he says, sitting up on his knees and brushing sand out of his face with his upper arm as he looks up at me. “You don’t want to run down there.” He gestures vaguely down the beach in the direction I was headed. “Oh? Why’s that?” I ask, sensing that he’s coming on to me, and feeling slightly irritated that my.
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