That was as good as it got with her, lately.
After a few minutes of us eating in relatively amicable quiet, Jen sighed and propped her cheek on her arm. “So, that Vacation Vixens show comes out tonight. Does anyone wanna get some snacks and watch it with me?”
Dad cleared his throat. “Doesn’t sound like my cup of tea. But you two can have fun.”
“I’m closing, so I’m not sure how late I’ll be,” I said quickly.
Jen dragged her food before shoveling it onto her fork. “It’s streaming, so we can watch it whenever you get back, assuming you’re not hanging out with Kat.”
“R-right.” I should just tell her I have a date.
She was happy. Fed. But she also had a pointy utensil in her hand.
“Can we watch it tomorrow, instead?” I asked.
“I guess.” She bit into metal, and I flinched.
If only there was an easier way to treat our fractured relationships.
***
As I cleaned out a dressing room at The Closette, I tried to sort my thoughts and the discarded items. It wasn’t like Jen would hate me for dating someone. That’d be irrational.
Although she had been lashing out lately. She’d banged the pots and pans because my shower woke her. And she’d implied Kat’s boyfriend only wanted her for sex. And was generally sour on relationships thanks to her current situation.
But I was probably overthinking this. It wasn’t like Angel was my boyfriend yet. In a few weeks, he’d be busy with school, and I’d be brushing up on newborn care with Jen.
Unless I re-enrolled in med school too.
I took my phone out to text him, then thought better of it.
He hadn’t sent me that heart emoji. I had.
Bothering him like all the girls in his messages wouldn’t solve any problems. I had to focus. Reset.
I stretched the waistband of some shapewear. It was almost like a compression band. Increased blood flow, not much breathability, but if someone was exercising their lower half, it might be helpful, at least until the inevitable time came for removal.
I bit my lip and rubbed the silky fabric.
Angel would probably know how to get me out of them. I giggled softly at the mental image of him yanking these down my thighs in two-inch increments. Or using medical shears to cut me out of them.
“Planning to wear those on your date?” Giselle asked curtly.
I gasped, the material snapping against my fingers, then crumpled the shapewear in my hands. “I—no. I mean, yes, I have a date, but I wasn’t browsing for it. I was trying to figure out the fit.” I cleared my throat. “Besides, I’m sure he’d rather I wear something like this.” I plucked at the waistband of a thong. It’d be a lot easier to maneuver.
She gave me an incredulous look. “Lingerie isn’t for a partner. It’s for yourself. For a feeling.”
“Right.” Now, I was feeling slightly mortified. For myself.
But this was her business. She probably knew what she was talking about.
“How did you know I was going on a date?” I asked.
“You’ve been flitting around all day fixing things, checking your reflection like a little parakeet.” She whistled and flapped her fingers to imitate a bird’s wings.
Was I preening that much? I fixed my hair on instinct.
“You’ve also been ‘checking the time’ quite a bit.” She arched her eyebrow. “Maybe texting during your shift?”
