Page 31 of Across the Boards

“Yes, you are,” she says cheerfully. “Because you secretly want my approval, and because you know I’ll keep asking until you give in. Save us both time.”

She’s not wrong. I set my coffee down on my dresser with a sigh. “Fine. Hold on.”

I rummage in my underwear drawer, pushing past practical cottons to the tissue-wrapped package at the back. I hadn’t even tried the set on since bringing it home, half-convinced returning it was the sensible option. But Sarah’s challenge—and the thought of seeing Brody at the gala—has me unwrapping the black lace before I can reconsider.

“I’m waiting,” Sarah sing-songs through the phone. “Don’t tell me you chickened out.”

“Give me a minute,” I mutter, shimmying out of my pajama pants. “Some of us weren’t born knowing how to take lingerie selfies.”

“Just put it on and use the mirror. I’m not asking for professional boudoir shots.”

I change quickly, avoiding my reflection until the matching set is in place. When I finally look up, I barely recognize the woman in the mirror. The black lace is more revealing than anything I’ve worn in years—delicate straps crisscrossing my back, sheer panels strategically placed. Not vulgar, but definitely not the practical cotton Sarah had teased me about.

“Hello?” Sarah prompts. “Did you fall in? Or are you just admiring yourself? Because I would not blame you.”

“I’m here,” I say, adjusting the straps. “Just... this was definitely an aspirational purchase.”

“Show me!”

I position myself in front of the mirror, angling the phone to capture a selfie that shows the lingerie without veering into territory I’d regret sharing. The resulting image is more revealing than I’d intended but not inappropriate—me in black lace, face partially obscured by the phone, bedroom visible in the background.

“Sending it now,” I said, opening my text messages. “But I reserve the right to delete it from your phone the next time I see you.”

“Noted. Though why you think I’d want to keep—oh my GOD!”

Sarah’s exclamation coincides with my finger hitting the send button.

“It’s not that revealing,” I protest. “The important bits are covered.”

“Not the lingerie—though we WILL be discussing that in detail momentarily,” Sarah says with alarming intensity. “I just realized. Does Brody know?”

“Know what?” I frown at the non sequitur, setting the phone down to pull a robe over my lingerie-clad form.

“About your thing for hockey players with literary interests and blue eyes,” Sarah replies, as if it were obvious. “Because Tommy says he was asking all these questions about what books you like now and if you’re still into Russian literature, which is both adorably nerdy and clear evidence that man has not forgotten a single detail of your interaction.”

“I don’t have a ‘thing’ for hockey players,” I say automatically, the familiar denial rising to my lips. “And he’s just being friendly.”

“Right,” Sarah drawls. “That’s why you’ve been glowing like a teenager since he reappeared. Because you’re so unaffected by his friendly neighborhood hockey player routine.”

“I have not been ‘glowing,’” I argue, though a treacherous warmth creeps up my neck at her accusation. “And even if Brody is... interested... that doesn’t mean anything has to happen. The gala is a professional obligation, nothing more.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie. But new lingerie tells a different story. That’s not ‘I’m attending a work function’ lingerie. That’s ‘I want someone specific to see me in this’ lingerie.”

“It is not,” I insist, though the thought of Brody seeing me in the lace set sends a decidedly unprofessional thrill through me. “It’s ‘I’m reclaiming my sexuality post-divorce’ lingerie. It has nothing to do with him.”

“Mmhmm.” Sarah’s skepticism could fill a swimming pool.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text that cuts me off mid-retort. I glance down, expecting Sarah’s commentary on the lingerie photo.

Instead, I see a message from Brody.

This is definitely unexpected, but I’m not complaining. Though I think it might make the gala a bit awkward if this is all you’re planning to wear...

For one bewildered moment, I can’t understand what he’s talking about. Then horror dawns with the force of a truck collision.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, blood draining from my face. “OH. MY. GOD!”

“What?” Sarah demands. “What happened? Did you send the picture yet? I want to see the set!”

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