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6
PATENTED UNIBOOB
“Underwear,” Martin pronounced.
“Underwear?” Quinn asked. She still wasn’t sure about the first-date outfit. It was a short-sleeved, ribbed red sweater that wasalmostcropped, plus dark jeans and her cowboy boots. Really? Shouldn’t she at least wear a dress?
“It’s Montana,” Martin had told her. “Besides, your challenge isn’t how to look sexy enough. It’s how to look approachable enough to lose some of the intimidation factor but still retain some kickass challenge for him, while weeding out creeps.”
“I thoughtyouwere weeding out creeps,” she answered.
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?” Martin said. “Your legs are too good. He gets the dress on the second date. If you had more going on upstairs,” he went on when she might have objected, “I would’ve had you wear something looser there. This way, you show him that you’re toned, you’re confident, and you’re not trying too hard. Youdon’tshow him the parts he wants wrapped around him. That would be your legs,” he clarified, when she must have looked confused.
“Mylegs?He’s not going to imagine my legs wrapped around him on the firstdate.”
Martin gazed at her in astonishment. “Aren’t you supposed to be judging people based on your knowledge of human nature? Of course he’s going to be imagining that. If your boobs were bigger, he’d be imagining smothering himself in there. Don’t blameme,”he said when her mouth opened.“I’mnot imagining it. I’m just telling you.”
Now, he said again, “Underwear. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She showed him the drawer with some reluctance, and he looked inside, shut it again, sighed heavily, and said, “No. You cannot wear cotton underwear from your Fruit of the Loom six-pack on a first date, or your Walmart sports bra with patented uniboob.”
“He’s not going toseethem,” she protested. “And that’s what I’ve got. Besides, cotton underwear is hygienic.”
“It may be hygienic,” he said. “It’s not going to make you feel devastating. Come on. Let’s go to the shop.”
“I don’t have time. And I hate to shop. And Lily’s clothes are too expensive and fancy.”
“How do you know? Have you ever been in there? Walmart says no, and that they appreciate your business. Also, you own your own home, and it’s not small. You have no roommates and no discernible hobbies other than self-improvement, and you’re a judge. Unless you’re riding the senior citizen bus to the Indian casino every week, you can afford new underwear. Let’s go.”
“One outfit,” she warned, picking up her purse. “Wait. I should change first.”
“Out of your jeans and sweater and into what? Pajamas? A muumuu?”
“All right, fine. But I hate bra shopping most of all. Half the time I don’t even fill out the cups. It’s depressing.”
“Fortunately,” Martin said, “they make bras for that. And you also have a secret weapon.”
“What’s that? And do not say that I have a big butt.”
“Nope,” he said. “You have me.”
* * *
Right.She was ready. Yes, it was five-thirty, and the date wasn’t until six-thirty, but she was an overachiever. She’d get some work done beforehand, that was all. She sat down at her desk and started to do it. Of course, she forgot that she’d put on a face of actual makeup and managed to lick all her lipstick off and smear her eye makeup by rubbing her hand over it, and also discovered that the lace part of her new satin-and-lace panties itched, which was why Fruit of the Loom was better, no matter what Martin said, but never mind. It was one evening. She did her best to forget about Ryan Mortenson, DDS, who was, according to Martin, “Extremely active, like you, professional, like you, divorced, a chatty guy, and reasonably good-looking, so what’s not to like?” and focused on the new rules around child welfare and removal to state care. Montana had the second highest number of kids in care per capita in the nation, but they were trying to bring that down by …
It was onenight.
At five-fifty, the phone rang. It was the dentist.
He said, “I’d like to propose a change of plan.”
“What’s that?” she asked, and tried not to think,I spent forty-five minutes getting ready for this stupid date. Not counting the underwear shopping, and this bra cost sixty-five dollars. For a not-even-a-B cup! You’d better not be canceling.She also tried not to think,Please cancel. I don’t need this stress. It’s still early enough to head over to Mom and Dad’s for dinner.
“How about if we ditch the boring restaurant date and meet at the lake instead?” he asked. “Fewer awkward silences, more endorphins, and we get to see each other in swimsuits. No padding, no false eyelashes, no blown-out hair, no games. We can grab something to eat afterwards. I have a couple of paddleboards, and I’ve been getting more into it this summer. Ever done stand-up paddling?”
“No,” she said. “You do realize women can put pads in their swimsuits, though, right? Men can probably pad too, for that matter. Is this a major concern for you?” Wait. Was this sudden change a deliberate tactic, designed to throw her off and give him the upper hand?
Of course not. She’d presided over too many trials. Besides, shewouldrather go out on the lake than make awkward small talk over dinner.
