I smooth my lips together and then clarify, “It’s distracting.” Why am I clarifying at all? Hands full, I nod to his package. “Your dick.” End this quickly, Jane. “You’re big, which you know—we both know.” Oh my God. He goes to speak, and I cut him off, “It’s just that you’re not wearing boxer-briefs.” He’s my boyfriend; I shouldn’t be this flustered around him anymore. Thatcher nods, looking me over from head-to-toe. “I almost never wear them with drawstring pants.” “And the fabric is thin,” I add for some reason.
Lol
