Page 88 of Ladybirds

He looks down at himself, shrugging. “My trousers were dirty. Besides,” says, nose wrinkling in distaste, “after two centuries, I’d be just as happy to burn them.” He puts his hands in the pockets, smiling giddily. “I must say, while I wouldn’t dream of wearing them in front of company, they are quite cozy.”

“They’re also very, very pink.”

He waves her off. “Color is nothing more than a social construct.”

“A lot of guys would disagree.”

“A lot of guys would be cowards,” he says primly. “Though I dare say I’ll let you keep the other pair. I still find the labeling of one’s buttocks to be peculiar at best.”

Setting the bags on the table, Sara fights a smile. The thought of him wearing the pair with ‘juicy’ stamped across the backside is both hilarious and somehow… arousing? Probably something to do with him still walking around shirtless.

She pulls his antibiotics out of her purse, setting it in front of him. “One every twelve hours.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, already screwing off the cap. A pill lands in his palm and he pops it into his mouth before swallowing it down with a gulp of milk leftover from his bowl of cereal.

Then he stands, reaching for the bags of clothing. The waistline of her sweats stretches with him, pulling the fabric low on his hips, and Sara flushes ten shades of red as she realizes her crucial mistake. “I forgot underwear.”

He jerks, eyes wide and voice a notch higher. “What?”

“I forgot to buy you underwear.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine.”

She bites her lip to stifle her smile as she starts unpacking the grocery bags. “Pervert.”

His mouth tightens. Suddenly, he’s much more interested in investigating the clothes she brought home. He looks through the first bag, his hand pausing when he sees that one is full of plaid. The glare he shoots her is venomous.

She shrugs, trying for innocent. “That’s all they had.”

“Somehow, I’m not inclined to believe you.”

“Would you forgive me if I told you I got cake mix, too?”

“… Possibly.” The smile teasing his lips says otherwise. “Is it the one with the—”

“The ridiculous rainbow chips?” Sara finishes, grinning. “So little faith.”

His laugh is nothing more than a huff of breath, but it’s so genuinely pleased it makes her heart ache. She busies her hands, folding her reusable bag and wondering how to address their evening plans. “By the way… do you feel up to dinner tonight?”

He’s still picking through the clothing—disgust warring with gratitude. “As opposed to going hungry? Certainly.”

She shakes her head. “No, I meant—last night. Miles asked if we could do dinner. Tonight. At their place.”

He stills, eyes finding hers. “Is it an invitation or an execution?”

Sara rolls her eyes. “He didn’t exactly get the whole story last night, Seth. And Jen—”

“You don’t need to justify it,” he grouses. “I’m merely curious. He doesn’t seem to be my biggest fan.”

“Yeah, well, in his defense, you weren’t exactly looking like prime boyfriend material, last night.” She’s teasing when she says it, but the way his lips thin and his brows draw together—the way he seems happy to look at anything but her—makes her smile fall flat. She can’t tell if he’s upset with the assumption or the poor first impression.

“So, yeah, anyway,” she mumbles, fingers picking at the folded corner of the bag. “Do you think you’re up for it?”

“Do you want me there?”

It’s such a ridiculous question, it inspires a breathy laugh. “Don’t be stupid. Of course I want you there. But if you’re too tired, I totally understand.”

He wets his lips. “Very well, then.” He runs a hand over his jaw, wincing at the stubble. “I don’t suppose you remembered a razor? If I’m to be forced to wear that ghastly print, I would like to do so with a clean face.”

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