Her chest rose and fell, then she dropped into a crouch, hands flying as if she could erase the image burned into my brain if she moved fast enough.
I bent down, mirroring her crouch. Coral and summer-yellow undies tangled with a judgmental-looking sports bra lay awkwardly on the pavement. A flush of heat rose in me, the kind that assaults you when you’re caught in something too personal, too sudden.
My brain kicked into gear, I stuck my hand out and grabbed something.
The brush of lace registered before my mind fully processed the coral fabric. I dropped it in the luggage as if it were scalding hot. My eyes flicked between hers and the open suitcase—a silent witness, ready to swallow the evidence.
Three underwear for a same day trip? Or backup reinforcement in case we’d spent the night?
Mel’s cheeks flared—not the soft blush of flirtation, but a full-on flush that crept down her neck. Her lips clamped shut, her eyes looking anywhere but me. She probably wished the asphalt would open up and swallow her whole.
“All done!” she said, sweeping what looked like a travel-sized bodywash that had rolled off and shoved it into the luggage.
I stayed crouched, trying not to make the moment worse by saying the wrong thing. She was a whirlwind of mortification, mouth parted in a shaky almost-apology that never fully landed.
I straightened, giving her space as laughter threatened to break through my composure.
“Definitely not how I pictured my 3 a.m. going,” she muttered, slamming the lid shut with a thwack.
“I swear, lingerie wasn’t part of the ride-share plan.”
She avoided eye contact. “My dignity had clocked out and went home.”
I grinned. Mel was usually composed, but this rainbow-color spill revealed a wild, playful side of her. Mismatched underwear and a plush emotional-support avocado, that was how I’d picture her now.
“But…strong color choice,” I offered.
Her neck, already flushed, deepened to the exact shade of one of the rogue panties.
We walked to my car. I carefully placed her bag in the trunk and slid behind the wheel.
“Folsom,” she said, buckling in. “I live in Folsom.”
Of course she did. Long drive ahead, and now I was on a spontaneous road trip with the new assistant. Definitely not thinking about the parade of lace that had launched itself across the asphalt. Nope. Not at all.
The ride was mostly quiet, except for tires on the road and the occasional thump of our luggage shifting in back.
“Your parents made it okay?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, they took the taxi.”
“Big year for your sister.”
“Yep. Med school graduation for the long-haul brain in the family. For twenty-five years, she knew what she wanted.”
I grinned. “And you?”
She shrugged. “Scenic route. Bachelor’s in management.”
“Fitting,” I said.
She squinted. “Is that a compliment?”
I smirked. “You decide.”
She laughed softly. That sound filled the car, pushing back on the awkwardness from the parking lot.
After a while, she yawned.
