Page 12 of Property of Kevlar

“Make yourself comfortable.” The words fell from her lips before she had time to think about them. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get too cozy.

Not that she knew what that meant.

He was a good guy. He’d helped her. She had to remember that. Just because he wore the diamond patch didn’t mean he was as much of an asshole as Pete had been. They were different people. She couldn’t paint all bikers with the same brush.

So far, Kev had proven himself to be quite the gentleman. A little handsy, but nothing she hadn’t welcomed. His actions weren’t as invasive as what Pete had done.

Internally, she shook her head and refocused on the task at hand. She had to get herself presentable. Pete had practically ripped her shirt off. If she didn’t find something suitable to replace it, she would have no one to blame if Kev got the wrong idea and acted on it.

Grabbing a dirty plate she’d abandoned on her table, she ducked into the kitchen. Flipping through the garments in her hands, she shook her head. She’d opted against them earlier because they either didn’t fit right or were more revealing than she’d liked. The situation remained the same. None of these would do. She dropped the plate in the sink and then scurried across her apartment, glancing in his direction as she went.

“Would you like a drink? Water? Coke?” she offered. She was hosting after all; the least she could do was get him something.

“Got any beer?” he asked as she ducked into the privacy of her bedroom.

“Um. Maybe,” she answered as she tugged the rest of her shirt over her head. “I had a party not that long ago. I think there is still some leftover.”

Holding the torn top in her hands, she frowned. It’d been one of her more flattering shirts. The bright blue was her favorite color. The deep V of the neckline allowed her to show off the girls, but with some class.

Apparently, that hadn’t been enough for Pete, considering he’d ripped it off her body.

Dickhead.

With a sigh, she tossed it into the corner of her room. She didn’t want to think about that right now. It was behind her. Kev had rescued her from what could have happened. Now she needed to sort that out.

Opening her dresser drawers, she tapped her finger against her chin. What could she wear that would send the right message?

What message did she want to put out there?

Chewing her bottom lip, she considered her sleep clothes. Pulling out a pair of lace-lined satin booty shorts with a matching chemise was an option.

Kelsey shook her head. That wasn’t a good idea. She stuffed that outfit into the corner of the drawer.

An oversized, threadbare Care Bear T-shirt with matching boxer shorts could work. Loose-fitting and comfortable. There was no way anyone would be impressed or enticed by such attire. Pursing her lips, she considered the material of the shirt. It’d seen better days and become essentially see-through over the years, so she’d have to put on a bra. She hated wearing them when she was in her apartment. If she hadn’t had company, she would’ve removed it the moment she walked through the door.

So, nope.

That went right next to her satin number. Apparently, when Kelsey went to sleep, she either looked like a ho or a hobo.

“I’ll be right there,” she called, realizing she had been in there a while.

Pick something!

Anything would do at this point. She had to stop overthinking this.

Shutting her nightclothes drawer, she then opened another one. Leggings. Perfect. They would do. From the top drawer, she selected a longline sports bra. While, yes, a portion of her midriff would be exposed, this outfit wasn’t as bad as her cleavage hanging out. Plus, no underwire.

Modesty and comfort. Win-win.

She made quick work of kicking off her jeans. The compression pants went on easily enough and were high-waisted. They wouldn’t meet the bottom of the extended torso of her top, but that was fine. That area of the body showing wasn’t as scandalous as her breasts flopping all over the place.

Struggling into the bra, she grunted until she finally got the girls tucked away and sitting properly. Someone needed to reinvent the sports bra. There had to be another way to keep everyone secure without it going over her head.

A thought for another day.

Lifting her arm, she gave her pit a quick sniff. Wrinkling her nose, she grabbed some body spray. She didn’t want to smell like Pete. That seemed rude. After a few spritzes, she checked the mirror and froze.

Dear God.