Page 37 of Come As You Are

I do, however, know how to do it myself, which I guess puts me a step above Salem… or maybe three steps, considering that when he opens the door to let me in that night, I see piles of dirty clothes all over the place. “Whaaaat is happening here?” I ask, dropping my hamper and surveying the black cotton landscape.

“I know there’s something about lights and darks, but I don’t really wear much light,” he says, scratching his headas he returns to the mess. “So I thought maybe the lighterstuff?” He holds up a pair of jeans.

“Okay, no.” I rescue the jeans from his hands and flip them inside out before tossing them into his now-empty laundry bag. “Colors get washed in cold water, and that definitely includes jeans, unless you want them to shrink into doll clothes. Washing them inside out helps keep the color. White stuff gets washed in warm or hot water, but you can just throw everything in cold; that way you only need one machine for everything, and… I literally do not see a single white article of clothing here anyway. Now come on, get all this stuff back in the bag.”

While he scoops his pants, shirts, and shorts back into his big black laundry bag, I realize something. “Why don’t I hate this music?” I ask.

He grins. “Someonetold me to try new things. This is Måneskin—one of Sabs’s favorites. She has a massive crush on their bassist.”

“Finally, someone in the Grayson family with taste.”

“Are you referring to the music or the bassist?” he asks with a waggle of his brows, and I roll my eyes even though I am definitely going to Google her later. But the music really is catchy, and as Salem walks around the room, yanking stray socks and boxers off the floor and stuffing them into his laundry bag, I can’t resist moving a little to the beat. Itcouldbe a fun song to do some cardistry to…

“It’s not terrible,” he concedes, “but I stand by my personal taste being supreme. Have you ever even listened to Nirvana? Or Garbage? Or the Pixies?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

“Yeah, well, you should try, at least.”

I roll my eyes again and he goes back to picking up his clothes while I start taking notes on my phone of which tricks I wanna do now that I’ve heard potential musical accompaniment. But I’m not typing long before the door swings open and Matt stands in the doorway, surveying the scene in front of him. “This is adorably domestic,” he observes, earning himself a scowl from Salem. “I could definitely use a hand with my laundry, if you’re offering. I couldn’t tell you what that stain is on the pants I wore last night, or, well, I could, but—”

“You’re on your own,” Salem and I tell him simultaneously, then exchange a glance before Salem stuffs in the last pair of shorts. “Come on, Skeevy.”

“Uh, you may wanna wash those sheets, bro,” Matt tells him with a nod at the bed. “And that gnarly towel of yours.”

“Okay, yes, you should definitely wash those,” I confirm. “Where are your towels?”

“I have one towel. It’s hanging on a hook in the bathroom, and it’s wet.”

“Good news—it’s going to stay wet in the wash, so you can go ahead and get it. I’ll even strip your bed for you.” I immediately throw a glare Matt’s way. “No stripping jokes.”

He holds up his hands innocently. “It was too easy anyway.”

“I thought ‘too easy’ was exactly how you like it,” I shoot back as Salem heads to the communal bathroom and I yank his sheet from the mattress.

“That’s my girl,” Matt says with a grin.

It strikes me then that I am in the presence of the one person who is the genuine male equivalent of what everyonethinksI am, and he doesn’t seem to give a shit about his reputation one bit. Matt could probably give me some decent tips for how to handle it, and for all he loves to joke around about everything, I also know he’ll take me seriously.

“Hey, can I ask you for some advice?” I glance at the door. “Later, I guess.”

“My door is always open to you, dormie. And yeah, later’s good; I’ve gotta go meet my study group at the library now anyway.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“I wish.” He stuffs a few books in his bag. “That sounds a lot more fun than AP Bio.”

“You’re inAP Bio?” I immediately feel bad for how incredulous I sound, but the way he smirks, he’s clearly used to it.

“Me and pretty much all the other kids planning to go premed.” He says it casually, as if the guy best known at Camden for his bedroom skills planning to become a doctor is no big deal. And, technically, I guess it isn’t. I mean, he certainly knows human anatomy. “I’ll see you later, Skeevy.”

“Oh my God, don’t you dare start calling me that!” I yell after him, his laughter carrying over his shoulder as he heads out to campus.

Shaking my head, I return to the task of Salem’s sheets, pulling off his top pillowcase and then the bottom one. As I pick up the latter, I see something black underneath, and I pinch it between two fingers, figuring it’s another piece of Salem’s laundry left behind.

But unless Salem’s got a hobby I don’t know about, that is definitely not his underwear.

In fact, Iknowthat underwear, or at least that brand; I’ve got a pair in the very laundry at my feet.

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