I hadn’t seen Pete for several minutes, so I excused myself
from the conversation and looked for him. I found him in one of the bedrooms,
digging through drawers. And bras.
“The hell are you doing?” I whispered.
“Being a good wingman. See?”
He held up a black bra and matching panties.
“Black underwear means they totally put out.”
“No it doesn’t, you idiot. It just means they have black
clothing. Red, that means they’re up for it, probably.”
“And what does this mean?” he asked, holding up a barely
there leather strap outfit.
“That I’m in love.” I replied.
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