First

‘He did.’

‘Dallas said yes?’

‘Mhmm.’

The Hallelujah chorus blasts to the heavens.

I love how she determines the next most important question. ‘When?’

‘I’m shooting for tonight.’

‘Do you need my help?’

I look over at my purse. My list is inside, a secret, hidden treasure trove of carnal delights. ‘Nope. I’ve got it all covered. But I’ve got to go to the store. You know, one of the adult ones.’

‘You do?’ She sounds concerned. ‘What is he planning on doing to you?’

‘Oh, he hasn’t planned anything. But there’s a few things I want to pick up.’

‘Cat, you might want to check with him—’

‘I’ve got to hurry before he gets back,’ I quickly interrupt, starting Old Blue. ‘So I’ll talk to you later about how it all goes, ’kay? Bye!’

I hang up and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. My phone starts ringing. Maya. I send her to voicemail. I’m starting to pull out of the driveway when my phone rings again.

‘Oh, for the love of Pete,’ I gripe. I send her voicemail again, but also mute my phone. There. Now there won’t be any interruptions.

Torn between my two shopping choices, I decide to start with the groceries. There’s no way I’m going to leave my adult store purchases waiting in the car, even if I hide them under the extra beach towel I brought and threw in the back seat for that reason alone.

In and out in less than twenty minutes and diligently ignoring Maya’s seven missed phone calls, I continue on to my final destination. It’s a little sketchy. The building’s not old or anything, but the blacked out windows and bare bones sign declaring the store’s wares aren’t exactly high quality either.

I delay the inevitable by reading over my list a few more times. When I notice I’ve been sitting in the car for fifteen minutes like a creeper, I have to accept it’s now or never.

The door chimes when I walk in. The lady behind the counter is younger, fairly pretty except for the mask of make-up she’s hiding under, and gives me a world-weary, ‘Welcome to Bangz Adult Boutique. Let me know if I can help you with anything.’

Her tone indicates she hopes I will not ask for her assistance and I must admit it’s not high on my list of things to do either. ‘Thanks,’ I reply as I get a basket. ‘I’m just looking.’

Again, that bored acknowledgement. I move past her and examine the selection of products in front of me. This doesn’t look too bad. There are racks of lingerie. I wander, trying to figure out if there’s anything I should try on.

What kind of lingerie does Dally like?

The question makes me pause. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk about a girl’s underwear before. Like … ever. Even during the summer when we hit the beach and girls are running around in swimsuits that make butt floss look classy.

I examine a teddy, surprised to see that there’s nothing to cover the breasts. They’d hang out there like they’re waiting to be milked. Do guys actually like that? I don’t see the point. It would be easier to go naked. At another rack I find some fairly modest bra and underwear sets. They’re classy, with soft, muted colours and a little bit of lace and ribbon.

I pick out my size and head toward the dressing room. On the way I find a smooth black teddy. This one actually covers the breasts—well, sort of since it’s see-through mesh—but has a V-cut that goes all the way down, stopping just short of the pubic bone. Would Dally like that one? I grab one in case and go into one of the empty stalls.

My lingerie pick is exactly what I expected: cute. The teddy surprises me; it’s a good fit and looks pretty sexy. But I don’t feel like either one is a perfect match. I wish I could just ask Dally what he wants, but every article I read said lingerie is supposed to be a surprise. Maybe it’s not meant to be.

I give up on those two and wander the rest of the selection. There are some beautiful fabrics, some lovely cuts, but nothing that calls to me. A sex therapist’s column comes to mind: if you don’t feel sexy, you won’t look sexy.

There must be a site that gives advice on what kind of lingerie looks best on different body types. I dig out my phone and am surprised to see Dally’s called twelve times. A bit of overkill for my low-key messages. He picks up the first ring and I’m shocked by the frantic edge in his voice.

‘Cat? Thank God! I was going crazy—’

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask as I inspect a pair of crotchless panties. They’re kind of pretty … except for the slit that extends way past the necessary access point. I quickly move on.

‘Where are you? I’ve been calling you for almost an hour!’