“Did I tell you I didn’t wear panties?” I blurt out. Again, the car swerves. “Ben!” I say, once again reaching for the wheel. “Lola, you can’t just say shit like that and expect me to be able to keep this fuckin’ car on the road.” “Sorry.” I stare at the hands I’ve balled in my lap, now self-conscious. “It wasn’t like . . . a sexual thing. I was rushing around and this dress . . . panty lines . . . ” I’m wearing a knee-length bodycon dress with thin straps, and while it’s so comfy it might as well be pajamas, the only panties that don’t show in it are hella uncomfortable. So I made a
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