Will is peering in her direction, his eyes are trained on her red silk shirt, and he doesn’t see her. He’s looking right through her. Or rather, Kalinda realizes, he’s looking right above her shoulder. She turns her head, follows his gaze and understands immediately.
She was wearing that red shirt on the one night something happened. It had been unexpected, a spur-of-the-moment thing Kalinda rarely lets herself indulge in. Everything seemed red that night, and somehow, it burnt their defenses, their last shreds of common sense. Red surge of desire that brought them flush against one another. Red shirt and red underwear quickly discarded with a smug smile, red tie haphazardly thrown on the couch. Red haze as they touched and stroked and groped, fighting for the upper hand as much as actually fucking. Red also, her knees, rug burnt on the carpet of his office. Not that he was in better shape after they’d finished, but it’s not as if they minded sore knees, at the time.
She takes a couple of steps towards him. The blur of movement seems to make him acknowledge her presence. His eyes notice the luxurious red silk; he brushes her sleeve with the tip of his fingers and smiles in remembrance.
The smile makes her shake her head.
“Red is so passé,” she whispers as he watches Alicia move in her dark pant suit. “Just a one-time trend. Charcoal is a lot more fashionable these days. I have to say that I like its classic feel and sense of respectability. I've heard that some people are just heels over head about it.”
She eyes the sleek and elegant figure of Alicia Florrick and cocks her head. She can understand where those people are coming from.