Page 52 of Good Enough

She giggled at the horror on his face. “It was a stupid girly trend. Not everyone is OCD regarding matching like you military types. You probably iron yours, everything’s always so neat.”

“I promise. I do not iron my socks.” He considered. “So, why no mismatching socks?”

She contemplated her response. Finally, she replied, “I think it’s a control thing. I did try. I closed my eyes and tried to pull two different colors out of the drawer and put them on, but I couldn’t even stand up and walk across the room in them. Made me feel like the world was tilting on its axis. I’m that way about everything. Everything always matches. I’m even more fanatical about my bras and underwear.”

His hands froze, placing pressure in the arch.

What the hell, woman? For once, can you please filter your thoughts from your tongue?

All she could hear again were the muted announcers, the fire popping, and a distant rumble of thunder.

Then she heard, “So, what color are they?

“What?” she squeaked.

“I can see you’re wearing matching Dodger-blue socks. So, what color are your bra and underwear?”

“Umm… pink?”

“You’re not sure?”

“Why are we talking about this?” She squirmed.

“You brought it up.”

“Yeah, but it was an oops. And I didn’t think you’d latch onto that and wanna discuss it. A gentleman would ignore it.”

“I’m not a gentleman, Kubrick,” he warned. “You can’t put that out there and leave a warm-blooded man wondering about that information. Besides, ‘oops’ comments of yours are my favorite. Keeps me on my toes. Soooo???” He circled one hand in the air, suggesting she get on with it. “And please tell me they’re sexier than your socks.”

“What is wrong with you?”

He chuckled. “Depends on whom you ask.” His hands stopped moving on her foot. “They’re not Dodger themed, are they? For the love of all things good in this world, tell me no.”

“They only make boxer shorts,” she grumbled.

“Good grief. You’ve actually researched that, haven’t you?”

“What if I have?” she defended herself. “A girl’s gotta support her boys.”

“I’m thinking a bra is supposed to support her girls, but that’s a whole other conversation. So. Pink.” His fingers had crept up her legs and were working out the knots in the base of her calves. “Just pink?”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, why can’t you let this go?”

He stopped his massage but kept pressing into the muscles.

“Ow! Fine! Be a dick. They’re pink with black polka dots.”

He began massaging her calves again. “I like pink.”

She huffed. “I bet you do.” She picked up a throw pillow from underneath her and tossed it at his head. “Just for that, I’m not telling you if they’re sexy or not. You’ll just have to let your imagination run wild.”

“Mmm.” He closed his eyes and engaged in a pleasure-filled smile.

“Oh my God! Get your dirty mind off my underwear!”

He started laughing and tossed the pillow back at her. “You’re so easy.”

“You wish. Okay. Turnabout’s fair play. Tell me something I wouldn’t find in the file of Super-Secret Badass Waters.”

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