Yes, Roxanne. You can help me.

“Yes. Hi. Um.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m looking for some underwear.”

“For yourself?”

I opened my mouth in shock, but she laughed, touching my arm.

“Kidding. For your girlfriend?”

Sure. What the hell. “Yeah, my girlfriend. My dog is kind of an asshole and, uh, made off with her underwear this morning. I’m trying to make it up to her.”

“Ah.” She nodded in understanding. “I’ve heard that one before. What kind of underwear are you looking for?”

How the fuck did I know? I wasn’t paying attention to Reagan’s panties until I had to get her out of them.

“I have no fucking clue,” I admitted.

With another laugh, she guided me toward a stand that held baskets of underwear. She grabbed a few of them and held them up. “Do you know what kind of underwear she wears?”

I said nothing. I may as well have been buying Reagan fucking tampons for all I knew.

“Right. Okay. This is a thong.” She held up a pair with not much fabric to them. “These are—”

“Do you have gift cards?” I was not gonna stand here and learn about the cuts of women’s underwear. That was way more information than I needed to know, and I needed to get home and shower.

It was hot as balls outside and I’d been training in it all day. I probably smelled like I needed a shower, too.

Roxanne laughed and replaced the underwear. “We do. Come on up to the register.”

I blew out a sigh of relief and followed her up there. She showed me the cards, and I picked the simplest one and put fifty dollars on it. I had no idea how much women’s underwear cost, and I figured that this way, she could get a few pairs in case Poosh went wild again.

Assuming she still wanted to sleep with me after this.

If she did, I’d buy her a fucking wall safe to keep her underwear in.

I paid for the card and put it in my wallet with my debit card, thanked Roxanne for her help, and left the store as quickly as I possibly could.

I was never going in there again.

Fucking ever.

I pulled my phone out as I walked to my truck. It was just before three, so I texted Reagan to see if she was at home. There was every chance I was going to lose this gift card, so I wanted to get it to her as soon as possible.

Also, I really needed to apologize in person.

There was something special about Reagan. Something that drew me to her. Despite the weird circumstances we’d met in, I wanted this to go as normally as possible.

My dog eating her underwear fit with the weird circumstances, but not with the ‘normal’ part.

My phone beeped with a new text.

REAGAN: I’m at home. Why?

ME: Can I stop by and talk to you for a minute?