Ten sets of lingerie later, with Scott pitching a tent in his pants the whole time, we finally relinquished our grip on him and left the store together, Missy and I with two new sets of underwear each. One set was in the bags in our arms, the other was underneath our clothes. We paid for all of them, of course—I'd worked too many summers in retail to ever even think about shoplifting. But we walked out with them on because we knew Scott would know they were there. They were his top picks.
Mine was a tiny blue thong that disappeared in the curves of my ass, slender as it was, and a push-up bra that seemed to turn my B's into largish C's. Missy's was a pair of teeny tiny blue boyshorts that showed off her curvaceous ass, and a plunge bra that emphasized the fantastic cleavage of her natural D's.
I'd gone with a black, slinky dress for the day, while Missy had gone with a skimpy yellow sundress that barely managed to conceal the bottom edge of the boyshorts. Together, we were Scott's walking wet dream.
"Okay, like, seriously, after that performance I feel like I should pay for dinner myself," said Scott in the back of my Civic, shaking his head. "I mean, that was just all the two of you giving. I feel like I should be giving back."
I gave Missy a seductive glance. Her eyes met mine, and I felt the same twinging between my legs that I was sure she felt. "Oh, don't worry," I said. "We probably got more out of it than you two did."
Scott snickered. "When you say it that way, it makes it sound like you two fucked in the dressing room."
Silence reigned in the car.
"Wait..." said Scott.
"Oh, don't be silly," I said, shaking my head. "We didn't fuck. It was just foreplay."
"Oh my God," Scott stammered. "There was foreplay?"
"Whoops, we're here," said Missy devilishly. "Looks like we'll have to explain that another time."
We pulled into the parking lot of the Cheesecake Factory, my favorite restaurant. I wasn't a delicate eater like a lot of girls in L.A. I didn't pig out often, but when I did, I wanted
steak
and
