“What are you smiling at?” Beth’s sly tone brings me back to the moment.
“I was just thinking.” About him. Again. A sure-fire way to torture myself.
“It’s been a while since I’ve come close to having a man peel me out of anything unless I count my ex trying to skin me out of fifty percent of my apartment.” Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh as she stares longingly at the nightie.
“Come on, let's go in. You never know when you might find yourself in the position to wow Mr Right.” I pull on the door, a dainty peel of a bell announcing our intentions.
“Mr Right Now would do,” she mutters as she follows me in.
I don’t remember the last time I went shopping, or even shopping with another woman. You know, just for fun. My clothing buys have been mostly online since becoming a mother, or else lone lightning raids between other commitments, and very occasionally, shopping a deux with Lu. Which is about as fun as a case of tonsilitis as well as leaving me suffering the same symptoms. Sore ears and throat along with a splitting headache.
But I’m reminded that shopping with another woman can be fun, and after lots of banter back and forth, even more giggles, and a little encouragement from the sales assistant, I find myself leaving the store with one or two purchases of my own.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever wear these knickers.” Back on the sidewalk outside, I peer into the bag filled with froufrou underwear and crinkling silver tissue as I wonder if this statement is the same as when I wore my sexiest and barely-there bra, telling myself that Carson would never see it. And he did. “How can anyone justify paying so much for what is essentially a couple of triangles of ribbon?”
“That is such a cute word.”
“What, ribbon?”
“No, knickers. It makes me think of the kind of undergarments that came down to a lady’s knees. Once upon a time, maybe.”
“Once upon a time now, because it seems to me these are exactly the kind of knickers just begging to be pulled down.”
“If you get lucky.”
“Well, I’m lucky I got them on sale, at least.”
Her arm tightens on mine as she gives a little laugh. “You should’ve picked up that cute little bullet vibe, too.”
“We’re not having this conversation.” I’m glad it’s chilly out. It gives me something to blame for my red cheeks. Inside the shop and in front of the sales assistants, there was no such reprieve. Oh my God, it’s so cute. Look, it has a dozen settings labelled from mmm to toe-curling, and it’s pink!
What she doesn’t know is I fully intend on going back to buy it. Alone. Because something needs to give . . . it to me?
“Ah, you’re probably right.” Her voice takes on a curious tone. “A girl should never buy a cheap vibrator. Believe me, and I should know.” She pauses, but I don’t think it’ll last very long. “Want to know how I know?”
Called it.
“Is this going to be one of those stories that will make me want to cover my ears and sing really, really loud?”
“It’s not a kinky story. More a cautionary tale.”
“I’m dreading it already, but come one, we’d better get a move on. We’re supposed to be back at the office already.”
“Relax. Ethan’s not likely to complain. Not when he thinks he’s so close to getting his hands on all of this.” She flutters her hand over her body as she does what I think is supposed to be a sexy wiggle. “So anyway. The tale of the cheap vibe goes a little like this. Me and the ex, we were recently over, and I was crying myself into a bottle of wine or two that night when, in my infinite wisdom, I decided an orgasm might improve my mood.”
“Maybe someone should suggest that on a greeting card,” I say with a snicker. “A finger bang a day keeps the blues away!”
Ignoring my faux shudder, she carries on. “The shithead felt threatened by sex toys while we were together, so after the split, I’d bought myself a cheap rabbit, and well, I got down and dirty and put it to good use.” Beth slides me a look that seems to say you know how it goes. But there’s no way I’m touching that. “Well, I had a good old time and cranked a few out.”
“Don’t!” I grab her arm to stop her from making the accompanying gesture.
“Do you want to hear the end of this story or not?”
“Does it matter?”
“No,” she answers with a shrug. “Because I’m telling it anyway.”
Just as I thought.
“So, I fell asleep mid-coitus.”
“I’m not sure it’s considered coitus if the penis is made from plastic.”
“Okay, so I fell asleep on the job—banging my battery-operated boyfriend!”