Marshall—
You know what you need here, Al?” I asked.
It was morning, and I was still naked in her bed, watching her be naked as she crossed the room. She bent over her dresser, pulling a pair of panties and a bra out.
“What’s that?” she asked, tossing the bra on a chair in the corner.
“A dog.”
She snorted and shook her head. “No way.”
“What?”
“I can’t get a dog.”
“Can’t or don’t want to?”
She pulled her panties on over her long, smooth legs before facing the full-length mirror, looking at me in the reflection. “I can’t have a dog running around a bakery. I’m in and out of the house entirely too much. Plus, no.”
There was something behind her voice, something that told me it was more than that. I didn’t want to press, though. We’d hit a stride recently, and I was fucking relishing every moment of it.
I sat up on my elbow, watching her. “You never wear sexy bras or panties,” I said.
She looked at me over her shoulder as she hooked the back of her bra. “Nobody has been looking at them for a while,” she said, winking. “Back in the day, my lingerie and bra and panty supply rivaled the intimate department at Bloomingdale’s.”
“Was it for you?”
“Was what for me?”
“Your…supply?”
“Who else do you think was wearing it?” she asked with a mischievous grin, turning around, placing her hands on her hips.
She was so comfortable with her body. She never hid it from me, and that made her so much sexier. I wanted to sit back and ogle her for a moment before getting to the bottom of Underwear Gate.
I didn’t know how long I was staring before she said, “Was there something else you wanted to say, Marshall?”
“Ah. Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “I know you were the one wearing them, Al, but did you wear the said previous undergarments for yourself or someone else?”
She dropped her arms to her sides and sighed. “Don’t go there,” she said, leaning down to pick up the pair of jeans she had on the day before that got tossed across the room during our romp.
“I wasn’t fishing and I wasn’t talking about Aaron. I just know that some women enjoy wearing such things, and others only do because they know it turns on their man,” I said.
She was quiet as she continued getting dressed, annoyance written all over her face.
“Come on, gorgeous. Don’t pout,” I said, rolling off the bed. I approached her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “This is only me wondering something about you.”
Her blue eyes met mine with an unrelenting stare. I knew by now that was what she did when she was searching for her place of trust. Whatever secrets were hidden behind hers, she knew she could find truth behind mine.
It may have been a stupid fucking move on my part, but I let her. It was always all there for her to see, to take, and do with as she wanted. Even something as basic as a conversation about her underwear choices was something she had to have an internal debate about. It was fucking exhausting at times, and it was during those times I just wanted to take her face, kiss her so fiercely, push all I was feeling for her into her so she would continue to let her guard down.
But this was no fucking time to rush or be selfish about shit.
We were moving, growing, and trusting. It was enough…for now.
“It was for me,” she said finally. “Everything about me was about absolute perfection back then.”
She gave me a quick kiss, returning to buttoning up her shirt. “Inside and out,” she said, shaking her head with a bitter laugh. “Everything from my underwear, perfume, even my nail polish color had to be thought out.”
“Why?”
“Because it was who I was. If I wasn’t presented as completely put together than anyone could assume I was vulnerable. With the career I had, I’d get stepped all over if I portrayed that.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t walking around in your underwear. No one knew what you were wearing under your power suits,” I said.
“You still don’t get it. I knew it. From under my clothes to under my skin, everything had to be perfection. There was no room for anything else.”
I was man enough to admit that as a dude, there were some things associated with women I had no clue about. Periods (and anything related to the female organs including PMS and childbirth); why they wore shoes that were so uncomfortable but were “cute”; telling us everything was “fine” when it clearly so was not and then expecting us, through some magic male ESP shit, to figure out whatever the fuck you’re trying to tell us by not telling us what is wrong; and unexpected situations, conversations, that rendered us completely mentally incompetent to understand you.
This was one of those times I didn’t have a fucking clue what a female was talking about, but had to nod my head and pretend like I did. If I didn’t, if I had pushed and asked more questions, I knew I would have an “everything is fine” problem on my hands.
“It’s just one of those things,” she said, heading toward the door. “But next time I’m in need of new underwear, I’ll keep it in mind that someone is looking at them again. Anything special you like or should I just guess?”
She winked.
My dick twitched against my boxers.
“Black,” I said in a low voice. “All black.”
* * *
“What the fuck am I doing?” I mumbled to myself.
I stood outside Victoria’s Secret, staring inside and probably appearing like a pervert to everyone inside and out. It was what I practically was by standing there, gawking.
All right. I knew I wasn’t going to be the first dude to walk into a lingerie store and buy something for his girl. The thing was, I had never done it before. Thirty-four years old and I’d made it this far without having to do it. While maybe the right girl and right situation never was presented, it was now. I wanted to get Al something, something she liked, even though I didn’t know exactly what that was.
Or maybe this was a huge mistake, and it would turn into the time I bought my high school girlfriend a stuffed pig animal. She loved pigs, so I thought she’d like it. I got it thrown in my face in the middle of the cafeteria, with the entire school laughing at me. It was humiliating.
I’d come a long way, but I’d still feel like an asshole if I gave Al something sexy and it was misunderstood.
Or maybe she’d love it. She’d be touched I thought to do it, that I’d listened to what she said. She did insinuate that she’d be up for getting new things. She even asked what I liked.
Or maybe…
“Oh?” A salesgirl with long, dark hair the color of black licorice and a plaid skirt so short I was glad she wearing tights popped her head out. “I thought maybe the door was locked or something and that was why you were just standing there.”
Or maybe I should get the fuck inside and stop debating with myself to the point of ridiculousness.
“I was browsing through the window,” I said.
“Well, you could come in and browse,” she replied. Her teeth was super white against her bright pink lips. “We don’t bite. I’ll even help you if you want.”
No. I don’t want you to help me because this is already awkward as fuck.
I stepped inside, and while I knew the selection would be vast, I was wholly unprepared. Bras; bra-like things; underwear in a variety of patterns, colors, and shapes; and lingerie, from risqué to modest, lined every inch of the store.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath.
“Something for your wife or girlfriend?” the eager salesgirl asked.
I glanced at her name tag—Berry. Her name was Berry.
I wanted to ask her if it was a joke, something of a conversation starter, or if her parents really hated her at birth.
I cleared my throat. “Um, Berry? I’m obviously not here for myself, so—”
She placed her hand on my arm and she gripped me tightly, so tightly I could feel her fingernails digging into me through my hoodie. “We never assume who someone is buying for.”
“Then why did you ask if it was for my wife or girlfriend?”
She batted her overly long dark eyelashes at me. “I was curious.”
Oh, for shit’s sake. This is the last thing I needed. She is flirting.
I gently stepped away as I pretended I was taking in all the choices, creating a foot of space so she’d let go, which she did.
“Do you know her size?”
That would’ve been good to know, Marshall.
“Do you have, like, comparison charts or something?” I asked.
She looked like I’d asked her if her mother was part horse or something—completely disgusted. “Ah. No.”
And like that, whatever vibe she was giving off to me had all but evaporated.
Wasn’t she suppose to maintain some level of professionalism even in the midst of my stupidity? I couldn’t imagine I was the worst of the worst that came in here?
“Well,” I said. “I guess I’ll…guess? Can she return it?”
“Sure.”
“What size do you wear?” I asked, pointing to her chest.
As soon as the words left my lips, I not only regretted them, I regretted I was even alive.
Disgust from her turned to vile revulsion.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “This was inappropriate. Maybe it would be better if I shopped on my own.”
“Probablyyyyyyy a good idea,” she said.
She was gone with a hair toss before I could even apologize again. After several steps, she stopped and turned. “Sir?”
And now I was sir.
“Yes?”
“It’s only underwear,” she said. “No need to be so nervous. Men come in here day in and day out, okay?”
“Oh, I know that. It’s just—”
“And no matter the size or anything else, I’m sure she’ll love whatever you pick out for her.”
Mental note: Leave some free shit or something for Ginger for Berry and the girls here to make up for the fact I was an immature asshole.
Her advice was the best kind. It was enough for me to walk that store with my dignity and manlihood intact. There was no shame in the way I tore through the racks and piles of lacy thongs and push-up bras. When I was satisfied I had gone through all options, I ended up heading up to the register, where Berry was ringing up a woman in front of me. Just as I stepped up and put my choices down, she…stepped away.
I deserve that.
Berry stepped away, and from a door behind the register bar a young gentleman with a handlebar mustache appeared, with more tattoos than I had, which was a fuck ton a lot.
This place was as twisted as the town it was housed in. Just when I thought I’d seen it all, something surprised me. And this was coming from a native Chicagoan, a place where the weird and unusual was about as common as raindrops being wet.
“All set?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
He laid out my selected items in front of him, one bra, a cutesy polka-dot number with matching boy-short thingies. Imagining her on a rare lazy morning, lounging in it, or in my kitchen like she did sometimes. Imagining coming up behind her, kissing her across the back of her neck as she stood in front of the stove.
Her leaning back against me, my hard dick rubbing up against those shorts, her ass.
My hands wrapping around her waist, running my hands across her smooth skin, her soft stomach, before raising to her breasts.
Her breathing increasing against my touch, my fingertips.
My kisses travel from her neck, her clavicle, along the jugular vein of her neck, her pulse vibrating against my lips.
And then her neck turns, and she licks her lips.
“Mmmm,” she hums.
She closes the space between us, pressing her lips to mine. I taste it immediately—whatever was left on her lips—although I didn’t know what it was.
The tip of her tongue taunts mine before sliding in against it.
Sweetness.
Sugar.
And she smiles against my lips; a soft giggle emerges before she pulls away.
“You put a little sugar into everything you do, don’t you?” I ask her.
She turns completely, pressing a kiss against my chest, as her hand reaches down, her palm running the length of my erection.
“Breakfast here? Or in bed?”
It was almost enough for me to become inappropriately hard in a retail store.
Sales dude cleared his throat loudly. “Sir?”
“Ah. Yeah. Huh? Sorry.”
“Do you want me to take the prices off of them?”
“Sure.”
He tore off the price tags along the perforated edges of my spank-bank outfit, and then the other I’d picked out, which was the closest thing to dirty-trashy I could find. A lacy black thong with tiny hip straps that wrapped around an almost opened ass back, before tying in a small bow.
Teeth unwrapping that bow.
Fuck.
And a coordinating push-up bra that if my estimating on size was close meant her tits would look fucking amazing in it.
Not that they didn’t already.
“Do you want me to put it in box for you?” he asked.
“Yes. Definitely yes, right?”
“It’s a nice touch,” he said with a smile.
When everything was all neatly packaged up in the box, a satin ribbon wrapped around it, he slipped it into a pink bag and handed it off to me. As I took it, I realized what a huge mistake I’d just made, not with the purchase, but with the bag. And the box inside.
I was manly enough to admit I was a bit of a Neanderthal upon arrival, but I was past that. What I wasn’t past was the fact I’d have to walk back to my car, which was parked in front of Ginger, to put the bag in. If I ran into anyone who knew me, how would I explain the lingerie bag?
“Something else?” the dude asked, confused.
“Damn it. This is…uncomfortable, but can I ask you to take it out of the box?”
“Huh?”
“I’m trying to keep it a secret, and if I’m walking back to my car with this, I can’t hide it.”
He shrugged like he didn’t give a fuck and took the bag back from me.
Huh. Maybe there should be more men working here to help the other clueless assholes, like myself.
Once everything was placed back into the shopping bag, I was ready to get the hell out of there before I did anything further to humiliate myself.
Note: Next time. Order online. Overnight this shit.
I headed out the front door, wedging the bag under my bulky gray hoodie for the quick walk around the block to my car. With my arms crossed tightly in front of me, I tried my best to conceal the purchase, without possibly arising suspicion from passersby that I was concealing something concealable…like a weapon or something. It seemed ridiculous, but clearly, I was at that moment.
I made quick steps down to the light, and as soon I turned the corner, to where both Ginger and my car was, I crashed into someone.
“Hey, Marshall!” Wells exclaimed.
Because of course.
“I was wondering where you were,” he said. “I saw your car when I got here and figured you went to get coffee. Tried calling your cell a few times because the accountant called and needs to talk to you.”
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be inside in a second,” I said.
“Also, the dude who’s painting the mural called and asked if he can start tomorrow instead of today. I told him calling the morning of, when he is supposed to start, and telling us he won’t be around isn’t exactly professional. He got a little snippy with me, and now he only wants to talk to you.”
The bag began to slip slightly, and I adjusted my arms to keep it in place. I nodded to Wells while I tried to think of an escape plan.
“Great. I’m going to run and get coffee,” I said, turning toward the crosswalk.
“One more thing,” Wells said, stepping in front of me. While similar in height, his huskiness made him seem enormous compared to me. “Did you tell Courtney that she could switch her shifts this week and next week with Maggie, Brandon, and Miles?”
“Ah. Yeah. I think so. I’ll check when I get back in.”
“Great because—”
I fiddled a tad too much, and he caught me adjusting my package.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes moving up and down from my package to my eyes.
“Nothing,” I snapped. “Can you wait until I go get a coffee and get inside before you start dropping all this shit on me?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Wells asked.
His eyes narrowed in further, to the bulge under my jacket, the crumpling of the bag under my hoodie. “What are you hiding?”
“Again, nothing,” I said, attempting to step around him. “Want anything from Black Horse?”
He blocked me and poked my chest. “You’re acting really freakin’ weird, and you’re totally hiding something here,” he said, tapping the bag.
If I told him, I’d have to come clean about Al and me, and I wasn’t ready to do that.
“Dude? What is it?” he asked.
He wasn’t going to let this go, and judging by the look on his face, he was scared something was really wrong.
“Are you…?” He leaned in close, his hand still on my package, and whispered, “Is it drugs? Are you in trouble?”
“Oh, for shit’s sake,” I said, slapping his hand away. “Are you insane?”
“All I’m saying is, I’ve got your back. No matter what.”
Telling him anything at that point was going to be better than the road he was traveling down. I was going to give a little of the truth and keep the rest hidden. It’d have to do.
“I’m not hiding drugs, you dumbass. Just,” I said, looking around, “come with me to my car.”
“You got it, boss,” he said, puffing out his chest like a peacock. “Whatever you need.”
I walked along the curb, turning my head back to Wells. “Relax. I’m not hiding a severed head under here and not asking you to help me bury the rest of the body.”
“I would,” he said.
I knew he totally would.
I stepped behind my car and popped the trunk from my key fob. As I lifted it, I moved in as close as I could.
“Come here,” I whispered.
With his size, he was able to block anyone from seeing behind him as I pulled my package out of my hoodie. Wells’s eyes squinted for a moment before his ginger beard was lifted up high from smiling so large.
“Ohhhhh,” he bellowed.
“Shut the hell up!” I tossed the bag in the trunk and slammed it shut. “Christ. So much for discretion.”
“Sorry. It was unexpected, man. And for the record, no judgment.”
“What do you mean?”
He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a rough pat. “I get that you want to keep this under wraps, and I swear I’ll keep it to myself. There’s nothing wrong with kink.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Could he have already figured out Al and I?
“Look, Wells—”
“Not another word about it, boss. People are into all their own kinds of stuff. To be honest, you’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve decided to try, you know, of a sexual nature.”
Oh God.
Please.
No.
“So,” he said. “If wearing women’s bras is what you’re into, it’s not a big deal. I get if you don’t want to broadcast it. You’re a professional, a business owner, and whatever you do in private is your own thing.”
What could I do?
“Thanks,” I said. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. The usual,” he said.
I stepped around my car, waiting for the traffic to pass, before I ran across for coffee. Perhaps they sold some amnesia-inducing muffin that I could slam down so I could forget this entire morning—well, except for the morning sex with Al—happened.
“Hey, Marshall!” Wells said.
“What?”
“You know you can order all that shit online.”
And for once, I had to admit, that motherfucker had me beat.
Except for the fact that when I gave Al the crumpled bag of lingerie later, she was shocked as hell.
“I still can’t believe you did this for me,” she said, staring at them and commenting for the tenth time. “Thank you again.”
We were sitting on her couch, the fireplace going strong, after a long day.
“Yeah, and there was nothing easy about it. In fact, it was a goddamn shitshow. I mean, it was totally worth it, baby, and I’d do it again, but I’m never setting foot in that fucking place again. Plus, I ran into Wells when I was on my way to the car to drop off the bag. I had to let him believe the goods were for myself so he wouldn’t figure shit out.”
“Can I tell you something without freaking out?”
“I never freak out,” I huffed. “I talk and think with passion.”
She leaned over and gave me a quick peck. “I know, but still. Don’t freak out, okay?”
Shit. She didn’t like the stuff I picked out. Or maybe it was the wrong size. Women got touchy about that stuff. They’d get pissy if you got them a size that was too big because then we were implying they were fat. For the record, we aren’t fucking implying anything. We just don’t know any better. There were times I wanted to pen a letter to the world, with the intended recipients being the female population, and say, “If we are buying you an article of clothing, any article of clothing, be it lingerie, a concert T-shirt, a dress, or even a fucking old lady flowered housedress or some shit, it’s because we want to. It’s because we want to see you in it. Your body is beautiful, but don’t go down the path of self-destruction because I don’t know what the fuck the difference is between a size L and a size 8. It all looks the same to us.
“Okay. I won’t,” I said.
“I think Wells already knows.”
“What? How?”
“Because Phoebe knows.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I processed this. “And how does she know?”
“Did I ever tell you how intuitive she was? That she can look at someone in the eye, see so much truth there and if they are lying or not?”
“No, I didn’t know that, and I don’t care. I want to know how Phoebe found out.”
“Well, if you didn’t get so crabby, I’d tell you. She figured it out on her own.”
She was full of shit, and I was going to prove it.
“Is that so?” I asked. “And how did it come about?”
“Wellllll, she told me.”
“How did she tell you?”
“I had asked her about taking sexy selfies, and she wondered who they were for, but before I could deny anything, she said she knew it was you.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How did you respond to that?”
“I told her it wasn’t.”
“So, she doesn’t know for sure, then. What’s the problem?”
“Because then I did tell her it was true.”
“Al!” I said, throwing up my hands. “Come on. Why?”
“Because I’m a girl, and whether you want to admit that or not, I still act like one at times!”
“Baby, I know you’re a girl. I know you are all girl, but really? What did you say?”
“All I said was that her assumptions were correct. That was it. She swore on her job she wouldn’t tell anyone, including Wells, who she believed didn’t have clue.”
I was so fucking confused.
“So, why would you think that Wells knows now?”
“Because Phoebe is a girl, too, and there is no way she’s kept this a secret from him for this long. It’s too delicious not to.”
My head hurt.
“Look,” she said. “I’m not saying to broadcast it. We aren’t ready for that, and until we know how to handle things with Aaron, it’s best it’s kept on the down low. But Wells is around you daily and so is Phoebe, and they’re getting closer themselves. Don’t you think it would be okay, or even ease a bit of the running around and secret stuff, if he knew?”
I thought back to earlier in the day when Wells caught me acting funny and with the shopping bag. He was somewhere right now thinking I was wearing Victoria’s Secret’s best.
She had a point.
“But don’t get in to specifics,” she said. “Just tell him, whatever, that it’s just sex.”
Was that what she wanted? I wasn’t sure, so I asked.
“Really? Is that what you want me to say?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. It leaves less room for discussion.”
It was up to her, and I was completely fine with it.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Wells. On the third ring, he answered.
“Hello?”
“Wells? Yeah. Listen. Alexis and I are banging on the regular. The Victoria’s Secret bag? It was shit for her. If you tell anyone, you’re fucking fired and I will gut you like a fish. See you tomorrow.”
Click.
Short and to the point.
I tossed my phone next to me as I slid closer to Al. At least that was done with. No more sneaking, so to speak, at work.
“Okay,” she said. “Down to serious business. Which one of these getups do you want me to put on?”
“That depends?”
“On?”
“Will you make me breakfast in the morning wearing whatever I pick?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“Get your sexy ass in the polka-dot number.”