though too scared to touch it.
Of course. What else were they but the very same hideous, satiny white nightmare knickers I had tried to forget about? How did they even get in the laundry pile anyway?
I turned deep red (probably) and he looked at the pair, limp like the carcass of an old fashioned angel or a strange butterfly that had died in his zinnia bushes. I snatched them from him, laughing nervously. He was obviously amused.
“Oh, so they are yours. I just …they don’t look like …I mean, no offense but they don’t seem like something a girl like you would wear…”
It was his turn to go red.
“I’m sorry, that’s stupid, I have no idea about…” he gestured to the knickers, shrugging.
We stood, staring at each other, the offending knickers hanging limply between us. I heard the wind stirring up again.
“Hey, I’ve actually just moved in here, do you want to …come in for some tea or something?”
In hindsight, this was the first thing Liam tried to convince me of. I laughed, saying, “yes, of course” and truthfully, everything from that moment got the same answer from me.
I went inside.
There was nowhere to sit. He turned his back to me and started to make some tea, his back and shoulder muscles moving visibly under the thin cotton of his shirt. Nervous as hell, I began chattering, staring at the empty space and unpacked boxes strewn everywhere. “So you’re new here? I never really spoke to the lady that lived here before you, although she looked nice. It’s two bedrooms, right? Nice. I don’t have this balcony thing in my place. I mean, I’m kind of offended now that I think about it – what’s wrong with my knickers anyway?”
I said this last bit a little too quickly, and when his eyes flashed to meet mine, I smiled back a little too awkwardly. I laughed, to show I was only joking, but this also came out awkwardly, and I looked away again. Typical. This ugly pair of panties couldn’t just exist. Oh no, it had to lead me here, to this strange guy’s apartment, where he’d probably murder me and chop me into bits or something. Or discover what a completely awkward idiot I am, which is worse.
There was nothing left in the room for me to pretend I was casually looking at. He handed me a cup of chamomile tea, fumbling for something to say, but as I reached for the cup, the tips of his fingers grazed mine and my eyes caught the flicker of a gold wedding band. All in the space of one giddy heartbeat, I knocked the tea from his hands, where it flew up, dumping its contents directly onto me. The pain was unbearable. A dark, chamomile scented wet patch was spreading down over the front of my jeans and legs, searing the skin underneath it.
“Shit!” I screamed, and began doing a little dance from one leg to the other. His eyes were wide and he stared slack jawed at my crotch.
“Oh god, oh god, I’m so sorry!” he said, panicking and looking around for a cloth to mop up the mess. By this point, I’m sure I could feel the top layers of my epidermis peeling off. I was nearly bent double – the pain didn’t seem to be stopping. My eyes prickled with hot tears.
He was dabbing helplessly now at me with a tea towel, which did precisely nothing, and I was sobbing, mentally running through a future in which I didn’t have the use of my legs anymore, when he snapped his fingers and said, “Aha! I have some ice in the freezer…”
He turned his back to me again and then, possessed by God-knows-what and unable to bear the torture anymore, I unbuttoned my jeans and tore them off my body, flinging them away. A rush of cold air came to the rescue. He turned around again, staring straight at my now pink, parboiled thighs.
“Oh,” he said.
We both stared at the pink blotch, while he nervously tried to find a place to put down the ice cubes and then figure out what to do with himself.
“Is this where I make a joke about making you wet?” he said, followed with a look of instant regret
Of course. What else were they but the very same hideous, satiny white nightmare knickers I had tried to forget about? How did they even get in the laundry pile anyway?
I turned deep red (probably) and he looked at the pair, limp like the carcass of an old fashioned angel or a strange butterfly that had died in his zinnia bushes. I snatched them from him, laughing nervously. He was obviously amused.
“Oh, so they are yours. I just …they don’t look like …I mean, no offense but they don’t seem like something a girl like you would wear…”
It was his turn to go red.
“I’m sorry, that’s stupid, I have no idea about…” he gestured to the knickers, shrugging.
We stood, staring at each other, the offending knickers hanging limply between us. I heard the wind stirring up again.
“Hey, I’ve actually just moved in here, do you want to …come in for some tea or something?”
In hindsight, this was the first thing Liam tried to convince me of. I laughed, saying, “yes, of course” and truthfully, everything from that moment got the same answer from me.
I went inside.
There was nowhere to sit. He turned his back to me and started to make some tea, his back and shoulder muscles moving visibly under the thin cotton of his shirt. Nervous as hell, I began chattering, staring at the empty space and unpacked boxes strewn everywhere. “So you’re new here? I never really spoke to the lady that lived here before you, although she looked nice. It’s two bedrooms, right? Nice. I don’t have this balcony thing in my place. I mean, I’m kind of offended now that I think about it – what’s wrong with my knickers anyway?”
I said this last bit a little too quickly, and when his eyes flashed to meet mine, I smiled back a little too awkwardly. I laughed, to show I was only joking, but this also came out awkwardly, and I looked away again. Typical. This ugly pair of panties couldn’t just exist. Oh no, it had to lead me here, to this strange guy’s apartment, where he’d probably murder me and chop me into bits or something. Or discover what a completely awkward idiot I am, which is worse.
There was nothing left in the room for me to pretend I was casually looking at. He handed me a cup of chamomile tea, fumbling for something to say, but as I reached for the cup, the tips of his fingers grazed mine and my eyes caught the flicker of a gold wedding band. All in the space of one giddy heartbeat, I knocked the tea from his hands, where it flew up, dumping its contents directly onto me. The pain was unbearable. A dark, chamomile scented wet patch was spreading down over the front of my jeans and legs, searing the skin underneath it.
“Shit!” I screamed, and began doing a little dance from one leg to the other. His eyes were wide and he stared slack jawed at my crotch.
“Oh god, oh god, I’m so sorry!” he said, panicking and looking around for a cloth to mop up the mess. By this point, I’m sure I could feel the top layers of my epidermis peeling off. I was nearly bent double – the pain didn’t seem to be stopping. My eyes prickled with hot tears.
He was dabbing helplessly now at me with a tea towel, which did precisely nothing, and I was sobbing, mentally running through a future in which I didn’t have the use of my legs anymore, when he snapped his fingers and said, “Aha! I have some ice in the freezer…”
He turned his back to me again and then, possessed by God-knows-what and unable to bear the torture anymore, I unbuttoned my jeans and tore them off my body, flinging them away. A rush of cold air came to the rescue. He turned around again, staring straight at my now pink, parboiled thighs.
“Oh,” he said.
We both stared at the pink blotch, while he nervously tried to find a place to put down the ice cubes and then figure out what to do with himself.
“Is this where I make a joke about making you wet?” he said, followed with a look of instant regret
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