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“I have t-shirts.”
She reaches the bottom of my suitcase, and I finally take a breath. Bennett came through for me. Thank fuck.
I step closer to her. “I don’t want to look ridiculous, pet. Can’t we just go like this?”
“Are you sayingIlook ridiculous?”
“No, that isn’t what I meant.”
Kindra’s eyes widen as she comes up with an idea that I’ll surely dread. She leaves me alone with my decimated suitcase,and I hear every cabinet in the kitchen being opened and closed. She reappears with scissors and a devilish expression.
I fear for my life.
She comes at my crotch with the scissors, but I put my hand on her head to keep distance between us.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making some khorts,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“Khaki shorts.”
“I have khaki shorts. You cast them aside.”
“Shorter than those.”
“I am not rifling through a dead man’s things with shorts that your friend would wear. It’s not work appropriate.”
“You have to.”
“I don’t have to do any such thing.”
“Well, you don’t have a leather catsuit, and I won’t be the only one dressedridiculously.” She darts forward again.
I try to stop her, but she’s already at my crotch, and all I can do is defend my balls from the dual blades. The legs of my expensive pants fall, and jagged, frayed fabric hangs at heights it shouldn’t. I look like a plonker.
“My khaks,” I whisper in mourning.
Khaki booty shorts shouldn’t be a thing. For anyone. Ever. They aren’t so short that my balls might hang out like Grim’s, but they’re still a little too Richard Simmons for me to pull off.
But if it makes her feel better and brings that smile onto her face, I’ll wear the damn things.
With that settled, we exit my villa and start toward Eighties’, which is at the end of the row. Kindra’s sneakers are silent on the boardwalk, but my thongs make a racket on the worn boards.
Flip, flop, flip, flop.
Kindra looks back at me and stares at my feet.
“What? I would have looked ridiculous in my nice shoes and thesekhorts,” I say.
“You look ridiculous anyway,” she whispers.
“I wouldn’t have if someone had let me wear what I was comfortable in.”
“Try a hoodie next time. I promise you’ll never go back. Besides, you look pretty comfortable in those shorts now,” she says, waggling her eyebrows at me.
“Tell you what. I’ll buy a t-shirt just for you if you promise you’ll never cut my clothes again.”
