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“What size are you? Thirty-six C?”
Oh God, no. She couldn’t be looking for something for me. “Thirty-four B. And I have plenty of bras. I don’t need any more.”
“How many is plenty? Two?”
“Three.” Someday I’d really have to stop being so honest. It only got me in more trouble.
“Ah ha! This is perfect.” She ferreted out another hanger and beamed as she held up a skimpy black bra with tiny white polka dots and a pair of sleek black boy shorts. “Who needs a matching set when you can mix it up like this? This totally has a sexy fighter feel.”
“Fighters aren’t sexy.”
“Fox is sexy. Times fifty. Have you seen his arms? Holy mother of fucking.” At my narrow-eyed look, she laughed. ”Guess you’ve seen them up close and personal like. He must thrust like a damn—”
“Enough. Seriously.” Discussing Fox’s thrusting power was almost as bad as buying purple boots. Actually, it was worse.
I didn’t fantasize about Uggs. I did, however, fantasize about strong arms holding me while he blasted my comfort zone to hell and back.
“Dude, it’s got a little zipper right over the cooch.”
I tried to turn away but she snagged my arm before I could. “Cooch? Cooch?” I sounded like a drunk mimic but I couldn’t help it. My sweet, innocent, non-vulgarity using sister had disappeared. I’d wanted her to be normal and have friends, and fine, maybe even have sex. That didn’t mean I was prepared for the results—namely that she’d be trying to school me in all the ways of the world she thought I’d missed. “I don’t need a zipper over my…female areas.”
She laughed. “It’s a pussy, Ame.”
That particular word made me think of the last person who’d said it to me, and I didn’t appreciate the reminder. Reminder ten million of the day. “Watch your mouth. You’re out in public.”
“Stop treating me like I’m ten.” She sighed heavily. “I’m not a virgin, you know.”
Yeah, I knew. But hearing the words was different. And if I teared up a little inside because that last vestige of her innocence was gone, no one had to know but me.
“I’m glad,” I said finally when the lump in my throat had dissipated.
Her pale eyebrow winged up. “You are?”
“Yeah. Because maybe you won’t end up a socially inept freak like me.”
“Aww, Ame.” She hooked her arm through mine. “You’re not a freak. You did it with Fox, and he’s a specimen of man unlike any other. I guarantee that was way better than Bobby Horton sliding me his anemic sausage after Homecoming last year.” She brightened. “Josh was pretty good at it. So naturally he had to go back to Nina. Boys blow.”
“You’ve been using protection?”
“Yes.” She made the word six syllables long. “Can we buy dirty lingerie now?”
“Why? So we can parade around the apartment? No one will see it but us.”
“So? We count, don’t we?” She shook the bra and panty set that actually was kind of cute in the right light. “C’mon, live a little. Let’s sign up for one of their charge cards and buy a bunch of stuff.”
“Are you kidding me? Just one. We’ll each buy one set—in cash—and that’s all. You h
ave college to think about soon. At least community college if not a big university yet.”
Blithely, she tugged me along. She never mentioned college anymore, which was yet another concern on my lengthy list.
“One set each works for me.”
Just like that I knew I’d been had by a scheming redhead. Yet again. “Nothing too revealing,” I added, though the admonition was pointless. Lingerie was supposed to be revealing. But if I kept her away from the see-through stuff, I’d consider the day a win.
“Yeah, yeah. So—cooch zipper or no?”
I had to laugh as we headed into the dressing room. “No freaking way.”
