“Thanks,” he said sweetly, shifting his weight and only slightly grimacing as his ankle must have tweaked with the motion. “So. Where’s this shop?”
“I really don’t think I can underwear shop with you watching, so you stick to your section, and I’ll stick to mine.”
“You don’t like the tighty whities your mom got me?”
“I will withhold comment,” she said as professionally as possible.
He chewed his tongue and looked over at her as they paused at the crosswalk, the guilt clear as she knew how hard he’d been trying to not flirt with her.
“I mean, I…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I cannot pass judgment as I have not seen you in said tighty whities but I can definitely picture you in them and they are probably more than appealing. On you. However, as you seem so horrified by them, and personally, I prefer boxer briefs—“ or nothing at all… ”—yes, yes you should consider buying underwear you feel sexy in while we are at the store that sells undergarments.” Wow, she could ramble incoherently when she put her mind to it. Or, well, when she didn’t put her mind to thought formation. “I mean, not that I’ve thought about your underwear…” She bit her lips together and snuck a glance at him.
Chest full and frozen, he held his breath. His lips curled into a masked smile as he bit harder onto his tongue, and he didn’t say a word.
The light finally changed, and they started across the wide street, the wind gusting from all directions, turbulent as it got caught up in the web of entwining streets.
Both looking anywhere but at each other, they collided and separated.
Her knuckles brushed across his.
His brushed back.
She extended her fingertips closer for an extra sweep.
He swept back.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets.
He stuffed his in his.
When they reached the store, she put her hand on the left door, as his hand landed on the right.
Trace released her handle and stepped back.
Cole stopped and glanced at her before he opened the door. “Ellen also bought me boxer shorts.” He lifted a wicked smile. “With fruit on them. In very… creative locations. I only wear them when I’ve run out of tighty whities.”
A laugh burst from her belly, into her throat, and she tipped her head back, the image blasting her into the moment. She calmed the giggle and turned into him, smacking her palms on his chest to steady herself. “No. She didn’t.”
“You doubt it?” He gestured down at his classic old-man jeans. “Honestly, I know she was in a hurry and she probably didn’t even look at the print. My favorite has one big banana between a pair of kiwis that… exaggerate things, presumably to stimulate the imagination.”
She bit her lips together and snorted a laugh so hard her nose hurt. “I saw fruit-themed boxers in the laundry and thought they were my dad’s, and I wondered if he was finally branching out from his love of stripes. I was too afraid to look closely.” Although, no wonder she didn’t feel comfortable branching out. She was pretty sure neither of her parents had changed their style since before she was born. “Come on,” she said, pushing the door open and leading the way down the steps and into the edgy spa music, the bamboo and cream furnishings, jet black floors and walls, with gold fixtures glinting over each display.
Neither debated the change in plan as she led the way toward the men’s section. Nor did either say a word as she grabbed a few slick, silky, short and snug boxer briefs for him, while he snagged some simple black undershirts in a much more appropriate size than the current shirt that he could do the backstroke in.
Trace ran her fingertips along the edge of the next display, sparkles in every color calling out for a tease. She hooked a green sequined jockstrap and stretched the waistband while she waggled her eyebrows at him.
Closing his eyes and sighing gravely, he shook his head. “No. Just. No.”
“Right. I almost forgot that you don’t wear color,” she said, moving along and grabbing a black set, this one with sequins and intricate straps. “Better?”
He laughed and walked over to her. Stopping an inch away, facing her and shaking his head at her, he plucked the thong from her hands and smacked it back on the pile, lacing his hand into hers and dragged her away from trouble. “Payback’s a bitch, you know,” he muttered as they wandered into her section.
For a moment, he behaved himself, but no more than that. While she grabbed a few shapes and styles, he meandered toward the “sleepwear” section.
The moment she looked up, he had a pink fur-trimmed nightie draped in front of his torso and grinned impishly. “You like pink.”
“I do like the pink,” she said, letting a little blush flame over her cheeks. “But… no.”
“Got it,” he said, setting it back on the hook and wandered patiently, his hands in his pockets.
