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My white, cotton panties with flamingos on them.
Swallowing, I met his bright eyes and shook my head. Dear God, please don’t let me blush. “No. I’ve never seen them before.” I backed up a little more. “Thank you for not running me over.”
Mr. Dreamboat grinned, his eyes brightening with his smile. “I’d never be able to forgive myself if I’d been responsible for running over someone as beautiful as you.” He glanced toward my panties, then winked at me.
There was no doubting that I was blushing this time around.
You could fry eggs on my cheeks.
So I did the only thing any self-respecting, twenty-five-year-old woman who’d just almost been run over, tripped, and dropped her dirty panties could do.
I ran.
But only like two blocks, because I was in heels, and I had the fitness levels of a hippo.
Then I grabbed a cab.
I was probably safer inside the car.
***
Tentatively, I pushed open the front door to the house I’d grown up in. I could barely see through the gap into the hall, but I didn’t want to look. I wanted to listen.
No creaking. No gasping. No moaning. Only the snuffling and yipping of my mom’s Pomeranian, Poochie, as she assaulted a stuffed bear with the danger of a falling leaf.
Thank God the stupid animal was usually asleep in Mom’s room. I don’t know if I could deal with her running around everywhere all the time. Then again, it wasn’t my house, so whatever.
“That’s not a dog,” came a familiar, old voice. “That’s a cotton ball with a squeaker stuffed inside it.”
Then my mom’s sigh. “Aunt Grace, Poochie is a Pomeranian. She’s supposed to be fluffy.”
“Poochie is a stupid name for a dog,” my great aunt replied. “You know what a poochie is, Helen? It’s that pudge you get when you eat too many pies. Not a dog’s name, unless you’re comparing your dog to your excess stomach fat.”
“It’s a pleasure to have you here, too,” Mom replied dryly.
Well, if Grace was there already insulting my mom, there wasn’t a chance I’d stumble onto a weird sex game today.
I pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped into the hall.
Relief washed across my mom’s face, brightening her light-brown eyes. “Mallory! You’re back early!”
“No tables at Starbucks,” I muttered. “Hello, Aunt Grace. You’re looking as lovely as ever.”
Aunt Grace narrowed her eyes at me, the ornery old git. “Why are you dirty?”
“Fell over,” I replied, dumping my purse at my feet and shrugging out of my blazer to hang it up. “Why does your dress look like a kindergarten class threw up their paints on it?”
“Because I stopped giving a shit about what other people thought of me fifty years ago.” She gave me a toothy grin, her eyes sparkling. “Did you know you have a giant rip on your ass?”
Wait—what?
I clapped my hands on my butt cheeks and, sure as hell, there was a tear on my right ass cheek. Not ‘giant’ as she’d claimed, but big enough that anyone looking could see I was wearing not-very-big-panties.
What? These pants hugged my ass, and nobody liked panty lines.
At least, these pants did. All they’d be hugging now was the inside of a trash can.
“Shit.” I smoothed my hands. “And I liked these pants.”
“Bet my dress looks pretty good now, huh?” Aunt Grace’s eyes lit up.
Poochie eyed her for a second before she returned to her soft toy.
“Where’s Grandpa? Did you fly in together?” I untucked the plain white tee I’d worn under the blazer and tugged it down over my ass to cover the rip for now.
“At the liquor store,” Mom said with an edge to her voice, turning to go to the kitchen. “The first thing he did when he got here was check the liquor cabinet to see if we had, to quote him, “the good stuff.””
Aunt Grace leaned in. “Jack Daniels. His best buddy.”
“But we have Jack,” I replied, following my elderly aunt to the kitchen. “You bought some last week.”
“Yes,” Mom replied, turning off the coffee machine. “I bought that for me. Do you think I can get through the next week sober? Between Aunt Grace criticizing everything from my highlights to my dog and Dad asking when you’re going to get your life together, I need something for my nerves.”
And sex on the dining table wasn’t going to be possible. How very woe-is-me of her.
“My life is totally together,” I retorted. “All right, so I live here, and I’m trying to get a job, but it could be worse.”
Aunt Grace slid onto a stool at the island, wincing as she got comfortable. “Yeah, Mallory. You could have a rip on your ass.”
I blinked at my great aunt, taking in her rose-gold-streaked, gray hair that was curled and coiffed to perfection around her wrinkled, powdered face. Her eyes were identical to my mom’s, a light golden-brown color that sometimes glinted amber if the light caught them right.
