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“Yeah?” I squeak, trying to cover my pain but dying to know exactly what Blake’s got on his mind.
“That I need a new wardrobe. Clothes, I mean,” he says with finality.
I feel my shoulders drop, sucking some air in to try and cool my mouth.
“Oh,” I murmur. “I thought you were having your luggage sent on?” I ask, trying to sound interested but thinking maybe he really is just overtired or whatever it could be that would make an older guy inches away from kissing a younger girl suddenly lose interest and suggest buying clothes instead.
I don’t think a phone call from dad would’ve helped.
True.
“Who was at the door?” I ask, changing the subject. Hoping if I just leave it a while we can pick up right where we left off before being interrupted.
“Oh, uh. Just a delivery,” he says, moving into the living room and returning with a small parcel.
“For you,” he says and I think maybe it’s a gift for some reason.
Something from Blake just for me.
I flush with emotion, debating whether to hug him or not. To say thank you at least, when I see my name and address on the box.
“The courier dropped it off,” Blake says, studying my reaction with interest, seeming to hang on my every expression as it registers that it’s just something I bought online.
“Aren’t you gonna open it?” he asks, frowning in reply to my pout.
Something I wasn’t aware I still did until just now.
I used to do it a lot when I was younger.
When I didn’t get my own way or just felt like I do now.
Hopeless and missing out on something I’m sure was coming my way.
Something in the shape of Blake Mason, kissing me.
On the lips.
“It’s just some stupid online thing,” I mumble, wanting to toss it somewhere like the trash.
I suddenly feel like going home, like all this is too hard and maybe, just maybe this really is me reading a little too much into the situation after all.
“Open it,” Blake says, smiling and giving me such an impish look I can’t stay mad, not even at myself for acting out in front of him.
“Open,” he says slower, teasing me with his voice as well as his eyes now.
I cave in, and ripping the small box open, I nearly die when I realize what it is.
It’s not the package I thought it was.
It’s the underwear I ordered online.
Big, ugly granny panties for when I have my period.
Horrified, I squeeze the box shut again, turning redder than a tomato could ever be, wishing the ground would open and swallow me up.
“What is it?” Blake asks again. “Why won’t you show me?” he teases, moving to snatch the box but I yank it away from him.
“It’s none of your damned business is what,” I shout, feeling my hair come loose and hearing my breath hot and quick after I snarl at him.
His face falls in a second. He looks hurt and then recovers himself.
“Sorry, Krystal. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just fooling around,” he says softly. Slowly.
Like a mature adult would.
Like a real man does.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he adds, creasing his mouth and moving over to the sink, giving me time to stow the box or do whatever it is he thinks I might need a moment for.
There’s a long silence, save for the faucet running as he rinses his mug.
I wrinkle my nose and twist my mouth as I think for a second.
“Here,” I murmur, opening the box and holding up a pair, unfolding them so he can see everything.
I know they’re the right size but even I’m a little astonished at how big they look.
“My granny panties. For when I have my period,” I tell him point blank, expecting him to laugh or be grossed out. Wishing I could laugh, even just to break the tension of the moment.
Things were going so well until just now.
But he doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t make a face. He doesn’t say anything horrible or unkind at all.
“You find stuff okay online?” he asks, genuinely interested. “I can’t get what I want in stores or online, have to have pretty much everything made to measure I’m so…”
“Big?” I offer, letting my eyes wander again, scrunching up my undies and stuffing them back in the box, but I catch his eyes following them.
I shrug, feeling awkward now. “I guess they fit. Kind of having them comfy is the whole point,” I add and he nods thoughtfully.
“Like I was saying,” he continues, not missing a beat. “I was thinking about doing some shopping of my own. Maybe you could help me out with another ride?” he asks, and I ask him about his own car.
Forgetting all about my embarrassment in a microsecond.
“In the shop. Long story,” he says, rolling his eyes and thumbing towards the kitchen window.
