I crack up every time I say that phrase "granny knickers." Normally, I say, granny panties, but after reading an excerpt from Bunco Babes Gone Wild someone at Fresh Fiction used the term and I've adopted it. From now on, it's granny knickers for sure.
Here's the excerpt in question. Reprinted with permission by the author (that would be me). Warning: 1 mild expletive. No Raunch.
Bunco Babes Gone Wild
Set up: Georgia and Dave have just finished tearing down a wall at the Senior Center. The air conditioner in the building is off and they want to cool off...
Dave pulled off his jeans. Underneath he had on a pair of board shorts. Georgia crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s a bathing suit.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Well, I’m not.”
He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her. “Your turn.”
“I’m not stripping down to my underwear.”
He walked out the sliding glass doors and onto the beach. Georgia watched, blatantly jealous as he dove into the cool blue water. He made her feel prudish. But she wasn’t a prude. There was just something… unnerving about him. Like she was betraying Spencer. Which was ridiculous. Dave had absolutely nothing over Spencer. Spencer was classically handsome, smooth, successful, smart, urbane, thoughtful (well, most of the time). Dave on the other hand, was just sort of good looking. Sure, he had a nice butt and every once in a while he could be funny, but he was like beer. It was tasty, but who wanted beer if you could have champagne? And she was definitely a champagne kind of girl.
If Dave could strip down to almost nothing, then so could she. Besides, he’d already seen her boobs. And it wasn’t like she was naked. She was wearing a bra and underwear.
Her bikini was a lot more revealing than—
Her fingers froze on the jeans zipper. Shit. She’d forgotten she was wearing granny panties.
But that was good, wasn’t it? It was in no way revealing. Or sexy. Or anything remotely connected to sexy.
She bit her bottom lip. What if Dave thought this was the sort of underwear she wore all the time? She craned her neck to see him floating on top of the calm water. It looked absolutely blissful. A river of sweat ran down her back, pooling into her already damp jeans.
The hell with it. What did she care what Dave Hernandez thought of her underwear?
She peeled off the jeans and dumped them onto the floor. Just stripping down felt good. She could only imagine how the cool ocean water would feel next to her overheated skin. She’d keep the sweaty T-shirt on till the last second. Just in case someone should come by.
She waded over the shore and dipped her toe into the ocean. Dave was still floating, oblivious to her.
“Go ahead, it feels great,” he called out.
What? Did he have eyelids on the side of his head?
“Don’t look!” she yelled, hastily working her way out of the T-shirt. She dumped it onto the sand then ran into the water and dove in. It felt as delicious as she had imagined, the salty water all cold and tingly against her skin. She surfaced and planted her feet on the sandy bottom. The water was chest deep.
“What wasn’t I supposed to look at?” Dave asked, coming out of his floating position. He ran his hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. It emphasized his strong cheekbones and square jaw. Her gaze drifted lower, to his mouth. She remembered how slowly he’d kissed her—
“Nothing,” she said, relieved that he’d obviously not caught sight of her granny panties. She’d worry later about him seeing them when they got out of the water.
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