“textile damages”
I laughed out loud while finding his name in my contacts, my thumbs flying as I typed a quick text.
Hallie:That makes me feel like a prostitute, Knox.
Knox:I’m just paying for the bra.
Hallie:Um, I get my bras from Walmart these days. I assure you it wasn’t $100.
Venmo
Knox Ballard sent you $200.00
“Then upgrade.”
Hallie:Knox wtf
Venmo
You sent Knox Ballard $300.00
“I don’t want your money.”
Knox:Wanna be a brat? Fine. I know what size you wear. And now I get to choose.
I scoffed as I read the text, wondering exactly how he’d worked out my bra size as he was cutting it off of me. He’d probably just guess, I told myself. Guys like Knox probably had a good eye for measurements.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and forced myself to get up. My legs felt like Jell-o, reminded me with every step what Knox had done to me. I took a long shower, letting the hot water soothe the faint rope burn on my wrists and the ache between my thighs.
Still exhausted, I spent the day puttering around the apartment, trying to reclaim some normalcy. I cleaned. I updated my Indeed profile. I scrolled through available marketing jobs, hovering over a few of them but never submitting my résumé.
It was like I was frozen in place here. I was wasting my college degree, running food deliveries while avoiding looking for something better. But my old job drained me, too, so for now I was just suspended in place. I had no idea how to work toward my future when I didn’t know what I wanted it to look like yet.
And every day that passed, it got harder to dodge questions about my coming and going at odd hours. I almost wondered if it would be better to just tell my family the truth:You all were right. I couldn’t cut it on my own in a new city. I fucked up.
How much longer could I last here?
The sun was dipping low by the time I finally dragged myself out of the apartment for a DoorDash shift. My car was parked in its usual spot at the back of our house, on the side of the detached garage. But as I slid into the driver's seat, a black shopping bag on the passenger side caught my eye.
I froze. The doors had been locked, and my windows were up. No one could have gotten in. So how the hell...?
My eyes dropped to the gold script on the front of the bag:Solène.I knew it was a luxury lingerie store in Gold Coast, a neighborhood I didn’t exactly frequent with my dwindling bank account. In fact, I’d never set foot inside the place.
But somehow, Knox not only knew of its existence but had also walked in there, picked out something for me, and somehow left it in my car without any evidence he’d broken in. Was he some kind of fucking wizard?
Whatelsedidn’t I know about Knox?
I’d have to contemplate that later. I reached into the bag like I was opening a birthday present, my fingers grazing tissue paper inside. I pulled it out and unfolded it, revealing a black lace balconette bra and matching thong–a delicate set that screamed "look at me" before it begged to be torn off. There were subtle wildflowers embroidered along the sides of the cups with little pops of yellow, orange, and sage green woven into the black lace. The design reminded me of the wildflower patch outside of thegarage apartment.
The thought of him seeing the wildflower design and connecting it to me made my head spin. I was starting to realize Knox paid attention in a way most people didn’t, and I couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked that closely. God, it was such a fucking turn-on.
And then I noticed the tag.$179. 34D.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, a tingle settling between my legs.
I sighed, feeling overwhelmed, and carefully placed the lacy set on my center console. Underneath another layer of tissue, there was a soft, seamless T-shirt bra in an identical style to the one he’d cut off of me before. But this one seemed sturdier and softer–nothing at all like the flimsy Wal-mart bras I made do with. And, just like the lace one, it was exactly my size. Most of the bras I wore were one wrong move away from a sudden underwire impalement, so I was as happy as a kid on Christmas morning.
“I fucking love you, Knox Ballard,” I said, hugging the new bra to my chest. I hadn’t wanted him to spend any money on me, but I had to admit, being spoiled felt pretty nice.
