Page 57 of EverGreene
Anything.
I think Pop-Tarts are the raviolis of the breakfast world.
What the hell are you talking about?
Pop-Tarts. If you think about it, they’re like pastry’s answer to ravioli.
Jesus Christ. That doesn’t count.
You said ANYTHING.
Christ on a bike, he was right. I should have known he was going to turn this around, that he wouldn’t give me anything tangible. I tossed the box down on my dining room table and grabbed the scissors from the kitchen. V had better thank his lucky stars he wasn’t here right now because I was feeling a tad murdery.
Fine. You win. This time.
I win all the time.
I stabbed the box, pretending it was him, gliding the blade down the taped seam. In my mind, I pictured him waiting withbated breath, even though he and his equally as massive friends were probably somewhere taking turns bench-pressing each other or whatever bullshit single men built like brick shit houses did to kill the time. The blade cut through the last bit of adhesive and, now free from its confines, I pulled the flap open, revealing…
Underwear.
He’d bought me a pair of underwear, similar in style to the ones he’d quite literally ripped from my body. Except this pair was in a shade of green.
Panties in your favorite color. Like you’re ever going to see me wearing them again. Laughable.
You want to know why it’s my favorite color?
You already told me.
I lied. The story I told you was true, but that’s not why it’s my favorite color. When you’re fired up about something, the green flecks in your eyes become illuminated like emeralds in the sun.
I thought I was the only one who noticed the green in my eyes when I was excited or angry. I’d almost begun to think it was my eyes playing tricks on me. But here V was, noticing my eyes. How long had he been watching me to notice something like that? Had I seen him before? Had a conversation with him? For all I knew, he could be the barista who made my coffee or stealing glances at me at the Speedy Lube I used when I needed my oil changed. The thought both unnerved and excited me in ways it shouldn’t.
A smaller box was inside the same box as the underwear. Ithad been opened, and I hoped it had been done so by V because inside was another pair of panties.
What is this second pair for, and why was it in its own separate box?
They’re for me. It’s a special pair, which is why they’re separated.
Special? How so?
Feel the crotch area.
I did as I was told and felt a smooth, yet thicker, area of the material with a pocket containing a small vinyl pad of sorts. Wait. Were these?
Why did you send me vibrating panties?
The better question is, why wouldn’t I send them to you?
Don’t get cute. I have nowhere to wear these to.
Was there really a good place to wear a pair of vibrating panties? Anywhere out in the world was certainly out of the question. Wasn’t it? Yes, Ever. Of course it was. One simply doesn’t walk into a Costco wearing a ticking time bomb strapped to their clit.
You have plenty of places to wear them, like around the house or running errands, for example.
Where is the control for them?
I asked, looking through the now-empty box.
