“So you may have noticed that I have stretch marks,” I say briskly, trying to spit this out. “And I’ve never felt the need to explain them to any of my past friends-with-benefits. They didn’t need to know why I have a freckle on my butt cheek any more than why I have stretch marks on my belly.” I keep going, barely a pause. “But you’re different. I actually care what you think of me.” Because I really, really like him. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.
