I was at home and she was in her car when I asked her what she was wearing.

“Just my work clothes.”

“What are your work clothes?”

“You know, the usual.”

“I might not. Go ahead and tell me.”

“Well… My jeans. A green shirt.”

“And underneath?”

She paused. Knowing her, she was thinking of an attractive lie.

“A black bra and black panties.”

“And when you get here?”

“… just a dress. Maybe my flowered one.”

It was as awkward as it reads. I prefer demonstration over conversation.

As we continued we discussed how much I was looking forward to seeing her, how I’d been thinking of her, etc. Partial lies, of course, since I’d been thinking of more than her. Being on the rebound will do that. She’d have all of me when she arrived for dinner anyway.

“One more thing,” I said.

“Yea?”

“Is your apron with you?”

I could hear shuffling noises. “Yes, one of them. I need to get it washed.”

“Don’t do that. Bring it with you.”

“Um, I guess I could. Why?”

“I’ll show when you get here.”

And in spite of that momentary innocent lull, she knew why I wanted her to bring the apron. I’d like to think she smiled knowingly.