Brent, I think, has a thing for bras.
After that first week with Amy, what she had been wearing underneath her shirt on various nights was about all he ever talked about.
Technically, that classified as “too much information,” but since I didn’t think he had ever gotten a girl’s shirt off before, I figured it was forgivable. I mean, he needed to brag to somebody, right? And his not-really-paying-attention roommate was a better option than the local bar-tender.
“Are you paying attention?” he asked, fifteen minutes into a monologue about red silk and the funny clasp on the back.
“No, not really,” I said, half-attentively. We were in the middle of a shopping trip for light bulbs and he was babbling about underwear. I tried not to contemplate the surrealism of the situation.
“Oh,” Brent said. He knew me well enough to not be surprised. “I suppose Amy’s underwear really isn’t that interesting, is it?”
“No, not really,” I answered. “After all, I only get to hear about it.”
“Uh, sure,” Brent said, not certain what to do with that. “I guess we can probably talk about something else.”
“Nah, it’s okay,” I said. “I’d rather hear about her underwear than yours.”
“Ha ha,” Brent answered. I grinned at him.
I found what I needed and we were on our way out. Halfway there, Brent stopped, staring. I followed his eyes. Ogling mannequins in lingerie now? “What is it?” I asked.
Brent caught himself and blushed guiltily. “Just… uh, contemplating an… uh, gift. Do you think it would be too much?”
I shrugged. “You’ve slept with her, right?”
Brent looked even more embarrassed. What’s the deal? I wondered. Just minutes ago you were talking all about her cleavage.
“Actually, no,” he said, “I haven’t.”
“Oh,” I said. Then thought about it. “You’re kidding.”
“No, actually I’m not.” Brent choked out, looking like he wished he hadn’t brought the matter up.
“Too much alcohol, I take it?”
“No!” Brent said heatedly.
“Then what?” I asked. “You’ve been coming home at ten in the morning every day. Don’t tell me you’re sleeping on the couch?”
“No, with her… it’s just, just… uh….” Brent trailed off. I just glared at him until he forced himself to explain. “I just… that is, we just didn’t feel ready. I mean, we just met…”
I frowned at him. So what you’re really saying is that you were too chicken to stick your hand down her panties. “In that case…” I shrugged. “Hell, buy her a brand new brassiere if you want. I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
I rolled my eyes. “Think about it. Lingerie is for when you’re screwing, not for when you’re holding hands.”
Brent flushed angrily at the comment, but ignored it. “That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen her in her underwear already.”
“That’s not the point. Lingerie is made to be taken off.”
“So you really think it’s that bad an idea?”
“Definitely,” I said. “Get her something harmless, like…” I thought about it. “A locket’s good. It’s jewelry, kind of.”
Brent looked at me like I was crazy. “A locket’s harmless? Are you mad? I might as well put a ring on her finger…” He considered that for a moment. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. But still…” He looked longingly at the row of mannequins advertising the latest fashions.
I laughed out loud. “Whatever you want. But I wouldn’t buy her underwear, at least, I wouldn’t buy it here.”
“Huh?” Brent asked. “Why not?”
“Think about it,” I said. “It’s K-Mart.”
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