He sat back, but inserted a finger in the elastic before Linda straightened out her dress, so that his fingertip rested in the crease at the top of her groin.
"You are *naughty*," she said.
"And curious," Art agreed, giving his fingertip a playful wiggle.
"I give up. That was my fucking ex," she said. "That is how I will refer to him henceforth. 'My fucking ex.' My fucking, pain-in-the-ass, touchy-feely ex. My fucking ex, who wants to have the Talk, even though it's been months and months. He's figured out that I'm stateside from my calling times, and he's offering to come out to meet me and really Work Things Out, Once And For All."
"Oh, my," Art said.
"That boy's got too much LA in him for his own good. There's no problem that can't be resolved through sufficient dialog."
"We never really talked about him," Art said.
"Nope, we sure didn't."
"Did you want to talk about him now, Linda?"
"'Did you want to talk about him now, Linda?' Why yes, Art, I would. How perceptive of you." She pushed his hand away and crossed her arms and legs simultaneously.