“Six o’clock.”“Cool.” I spent the rest of the day thinking about Irina. Of course she wasn’t scared of accepting a dinner invitation. I like to think I come across as a nice guy, I know for a fact I’m not a danger to women and this one could punch holes in me anyway.I Googled her and there she was: regional super-middleweight champion. Soon to be fighting for the national title.Most of the pictures were in fighting gear, with ugly, voluminous male-style shorts and short halter-neck tops, but there were some in feminine attire, slinky dresses, and her face, as I already knew, didn’t look like it had been knocked around.Somehow I couldn’t shake off the idea that it wasn’t really her.The other thing I couldn’t shake was the feeling that a sizeable proportion of top sportswomen are lesbians. And boxing is not a dainty sport. That’s not being judgmental, just realistic. And so what if she was, anyway? Irina was a good-looking girl and I felt comfortable with her - comfortable enough to. She sighed. This seemed to be a real winner, tonight. She needed to wear her bra, but for how long? She sighed again and tossed it on the blanket. Reluctantly she slipped on her blouse and began hunting around for her shoes.Jeff was stirring, slowly getting himself put back together. He finished dressing about the same time she did."You ready?" she asked."All set," he said, his voice still shaky. He collected the blanket as she slipped her shoes on. Walking on broken ground in the dark wearing heels wasn't the smartest thing to do, but she didn't want to ruin her nylons, either. She felt something chafing against her legs. After a moment she realized it had to be her panties. They were probably still all twisted up and half-hanging down.Nobody was around the car. Jeff pulled out onto the county road. Devlin slipped her sweater on and folded her arms beneath her boobs. She felt like every car or person who saw them could see she wasn't wearing a bra. Well, once she got home it.
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