The problem was that when True was stirring the penne for dinner, he’d caught a glimpse of her bra strap. He hadn’t been able to forget it all night long, throughout the meal (which was delicious) and afterward when they’d all taken a walk with the dogs and then come home to watch an episode of a reality show singing competition. That bra strap had been lacy and French looking. True might buy her flatware at Target, but she didn’t skimp on her lingerie. He couldn’t help imagining her slipping off that dadgum bra along with the rest of her clothes before donning a nightie to get ready for bed. In fact, he paused the daydream at the naked part. Maybe she slept in the buff. He knew the real True. And she knew he knew. It was enough to drive a man crazy to have to pretend that he didn’t, especially when he was told to use her private bathroom and stumbled upon a mysterious package in the drawer she told him to put his razor. The label said NIPPLE PETALS, and they looked like flower-shaped Band-Aids.
