Chapter 6: Movie night part 2
The fluorescent lights of the mall buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the racks of brightly colored fabric. Carolyn shifted uncomfortably, the rough seam of her jeans grazing the tender patch of skin just below her waistband. That damn couch. The memory of the worn, scratchy velvet in the living room surfaced, followed by the phantom itch. She scratched absently, her fingers finding the slightly raised bumps beneath the denim. Definitely a rash. Great.
She pulled out her phone, the cool glass a contrast to her warm palm. Her thumb hovered over Chad’s contact picture – a goofy selfie he’d taken after fixing the leaky kitchen faucet last week. A small smile touched her lips. Just friends, she reminded herself, the phrase feeling a little worn. She typed quickly, the plastic bench beneath her creaking.
> Carolyn: Mall mission! Need fashion advice. What’s your fave color? Thinking about tonight’s ‘first date’ outfit 😉 Also… minor emergency. That ancient couch in the living room? Gave me a rash. 😬 Thinking maybe a robe is the safest bet? Comfy but… covered.
She hit send, watching the little ‘delivered’ notification appear. The air smelled faintly of pretzels and cheap perfume. She scanned the nearby lingerie section, her gaze lingering on a display of silky boy shorts in jewel tones. Too much? Mike’s slightly strained voice echoed in her head from their last text exchange, his protest about her planned cleavage-baring top. She pushed the thought aside, focusing on a soft-looking emerald green camisole.
Her phone buzzed almost instantly.
> Chad: Fave color? Easy. Whatever you look killer in. 😉 Rash? Ugh, that couch IS nasty. Mike refuses to let me burn it. But ROBE? No way! Hate that idea. Total vibe killer. Unless… 🤔
Carolyn’s breath hitched slightly. She watched the three dots dance.
> Chad: …unless you wanna upgrade? Got that new 65-inch monster mounted in my room. Way better than the living room relic. We could watch from the bed? Opposite sides, pillows as a fortress wall? 😂 Promise, zero weirdness. Scout’s honor. Nothing would happen unless you wanted it to. Seriously.
The words hung in the digital space between them. His bed. The image flashed: Chad sprawled on one side, her on the other, the giant screen flickering in the dimness. A tremor, part apprehension, part something else entirely, ran through her. She remembered his easy laugh, the way he’d carried her groceries without asking last Tuesday, the genuine warmth in his eyes when Mike told a terrible joke. He’s Mike’s best friend. The thought anchored her. Loyal. Trustworthy. A gentleman.
Her thumbs flew over the screen, the words forming almost without conscious thought, fueled by a sudden surge of conviction – or perhaps the need to convince herself.
> Carolyn: LOL pillow fortress! Deal. And okay, robe veto noted. 😉 But seriously Chad, I know you. You’re a total gentleman. Wouldn’t dream of staring at me in boy shorts, let alone… touching somewhere I didn’t want. You’re loyal to Mike. That’s just who you are. Bed it is! See you tonight. 😊
She sent it, the finality of the message settling like dust. Silence followed. No immediate reply. The mall sounds rushed back in – the clatter of hangers, the distant thump of bass from a teen clothing store, the chatter of shoppers. She stared at her phone screen, the green chat bubble containing her declaration. Loyal to Mike. The words looked stark against the bright background. A flicker of unease, sharp and cold, pierced the warmth of her certainty. Had she protested too much? To him? Or to herself?
She stood abruptly, the plastic bench scraping against the tile. The emerald camisole suddenly seemed too flimsy, too revealing. Her fingers brushed against a different rack – a deep plum lace top, sheer panels strategically placed. It was undeniably sexy. Her gaze darted back to her silent phone. Then, decisively, she grabbed the plum top. Tonight required something… special. Something that felt like stepping onto a high wire, thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. The rash on her hip throbbed faintly, a persistent reminder of the scratchy past, as she walked towards the checkout, the silky fabric cool against her skin.
The rash on her hip throbbed faintly, a persistent reminder of the scratchy past, as she walked towards the checkout, the silky plum lace top cool against her skin. Halfway there, she halted. The vibrant sleepwear section suddenly felt juvenile, like costumes for a slumber party she’d outgrown. Her feet, seemingly with a mind of their own, turned towards the darker, more intimate glow spilling from the lingerie boutique entrance nearby.
Inside, the air felt hushed, thick with the scent of vanilla and silk. Racks overflowed with delicate lace, satin sheaths, and wisps of mesh. Carolyn drifted past utilitarian bras and sensible briefs, drawn to the back where things shifted. Things that weren't meant for sleeping. Things that whispered intentions. A display held jewel-toned sets: bras that cupped and lifted with impossible delicacy, paired with panties that were little more than strategic knots of ribbon. ‘Just bra and panties?’ The thought was a sudden, illicit spark. Too blatant? Too much like an invitation she wasn't sure she wanted to explicitly send?
Her fingers brushed against a navy silk teddy, short and sleek, but its modest hemline felt safe. Boring. Then she saw it: a deep crimson bralette, sheer panels revealing more than they concealed, clipped to matching panties. Not panties. A thong. Scandalously narrow, a mere slash of lace designed to disappear, barely containing anything. Heat flooded her face. He likes cameltoe. The memory of Chad’s offhand comment weeks ago, watching a model strut on TV, slammed into her. A physical reaction followed, unwelcome and undeniable. Was this the barely better option? Respectful? She snorted softly at the absurdity. It was barely there.
One hanger held a black lace bodysuit, offering slightly more coverage down below but hugging every potential curve. Safer? Or just a different kind of tease? She pulled the crimson thong set free, holding it up. The fabric felt insubstantial, weightless. Imagining it against her skin, under the plum top... a dangerous warmth pooled low in her belly. Could she? Would it be a joke gone too far? Proof she trusted him absolutely? Or a line crossed? Her knuckles whitened on the hanger. The mall’s distant pulse faded beneath the roaring in her ears. This tiny scrap of fabric held the weight of the evening, of the fluttering lie she’d texted Chad about his gentlemanly loyalty. Her breath hitched.
The crimson fabric felt cool and insubstantial against her fingertips. Carolyn slipped into the cramped fitting room, the flimsy latch clicking shut behind her. The harsh overhead light buzzed, bleaching color from her skin as she quickly shimmied out of her jeans and cotton underwear, the rough denim grazing the angry little rash near her hipbone.
She held the thong up again, its design suddenly starkly functional under the fluorescent glare. Just two narrow triangles connected by whispering-thin strings. Swallowing hard, she stepped into it, pulling the fragile lace up over her hips. The silk whispered against her skin, cool and alien. She turned, craning her neck to see her reflection in the angled triple mirror.
A choked breath escaped her. The front panel was minuscule, a tiny, sheer crimson shield. It barely covered her. The delicate lace framed rather than concealed, revealing the soft, dark shadow of her pubic mound, the edges of her labia faintly visible through the almost-transparent mesh. Heat flooded her face, spreading down her neck. "Barely better?" she muttered to her reflection, the words thick. The saleswoman’s earlier description – ‘playful’ – felt like a sick joke. This wasn’t playful. This was a dare.
Panic fluttered in her chest, warring with a strange, unwelcome thrill. Could she actually wear this? For Chad? She tugged at the sides, trying to adjust, but it only emphasized the stark lack of coverage. The narrow strip between her legs felt impossibly exposed. Her reflection stared back, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. Mike’s face flashed into her mind, his slight frown earlier over the cleavage. This felt like a betrayal amplified a thousand times.
Her gaze darted to the pile of discarded clothes, landing on the black lace bodysuit she’d grabbed as an alternative. Practical. Safer. More fabric. She snatched it up, the weight of the heavier lace instantly more grounding. Fumbling, she pulled it on, the stretchy material hugging her torso, the high-cut legs offering actual coverage over her hips and rear. It was still undeniably sexy, clinging to her curves, but it felt like armor compared to the vulnerability of the thong.
She stared at her reflection now clad in the bodysuit. Still sensual, but contained. Manageable. The frantic edge of her panic began to recede, replaced by a shaky resolve. She could wear this. It wouldn’t scream intent. She peeled the bodysuit off, carefully folding the thong set and the bodysuit separately. The decision wasn’t made. Not yet. Both hung in her hands, one a whisper of risk, the other a sigh of caution. She needed options. Tonight demanded options.
Dressed again in her street clothes, the rash prickling uncomfortably, she carried both sets to the counter. The saleswoman, impossibly serene, rang them up. "Found something special for tonight?" she asked lightly, folding the crimson lace with practiced ease.
Carolyn forced a smile, feeling the heat return to her face. "Just... keeping my options open," she managed, her voice slightly tight. She avoided looking directly at the woman, focusing instead on digging her wallet from her bag, her fingers trembling slightly.
"Excellent choices," the woman said smoothly, placing the lingerie into a crisp, opaque bag. "The red is particularly adventurous. Good for the confidence." She winked.
Carolyn accepted the bag, the weight of the contents suddenly immense. "Thanks," she mumbled, turning quickly towards the mall exit. The air felt cooler out here, the pretzel scent stronger. Her phone, silent in her pocket, felt like a heavy stone. She clutched the bag tightly, the thin plastic crinkling. Later, she told herself firmly, pushing through the glass doors into the fading afternoon light. I'll decide tonight. The image of Chad's bed, the giant TV, the pillow fortress, and the tiny, dangerous scrap of crimson lace warred violently in her mind as she walked towards her car. The rash flared hotly, a sharp counterpoint to the cool, unsettling anticipation tightening in her stomach.