Page 87 of We Met Like This
Oliver:Will do. Should I let her listen to your drunken voicemail as well?
Me:You’re dead to me.
Our exchanges seemed normal. But he hadn’t texted agood morningtoday. In fact, he hadn’t initiated conversation at all over the last two days. That was a bad sign. A sense of panic welled up in me. I didn’t want to be ghosted by Oliver. I didn’t even want to be haunted by him. The thought scared me because I sensed that was exactly what he was doing.
There was no response from wet-clothes person.
I tossed Lord Leopold onto the folding table. Touching other people’s clothes, clean or not, gave me the ick, but I grabbed the communal basket and set it on the floor in front of the washer. It was a man, I established very quickly as I pulled out wet T-shirts and athletic shorts and long socks. He wore boxer briefs. Colorful ones. I moved them over, using as little of my thumb and pointer finger as possible, pinching the very corner of the red material.
“Excuse me?” came a deep voice from behind me. I whirled around, underwear still in hand, to see a guy standing in the doorway. He was handsome. Dark hair and dark eyes. He worea tank and swim trunks. He was even holding a book, like he’d been reading out by the pool while he was waiting for his laundry. “I was coming,” he said.
“Anon my waytext is all it would’ve taken,” I said, flinging his underwear into the basket.
“You gave me five minutes.” He stepped forward, threw his book next to mine on the table, and joined me at the washer. Our books collided. He was reading Jane Austen.
My eyes went wide, but still I said, “I should’ve given you no minutes.”
“I got this,” he said when I reached into the washer for another article of clothing.
I raised my hands and took a step back, then picked up my basket, waiting for him to finish.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed out.
“What?”
“I would be annoyed if someone left their clothes too.”
His words defused the anger that had obviously been pouring off me. “Yeah… thanks. It’s okay.”
My phone chimed with an email notification. I balanced my basket on my hip and dug out my phone. The wordquery, bold and bright, seemed to shine at me from the subject line of my inbox. My cheeks felt numb and my chest felt like it was going to explode. My first potential client. “Oh my god.”
“Is everything okay?” Laundry Man asked.
“What? Oh, yes. I just… Are you done?” I shoved my phone into my pocket and pointed to the washer.
“Yes,” he said, moving to the dryer across the aisle.
I dumped my clothes into the washing machine as fast as possible, sloppily poured my detergent, and shut the lid. It slammed in my haste and I startled. “Sorry.” I pushed thenormal wash cycle button and rushed for the door, empty basket in hand.
“Hey,” Laundry Man called from behind me. I turned. “Is this your book?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” I tried to grab it from him but he held on.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m Aaron.”
I laughed a little. Wasn’t that the name I had assigned to Oliver on our first date?
“Is that funny?” Aaron asked.
“Oh, no, it just reminded me of something. Hi, nice to meet you. I have to go.”
“Can I text you sometime?”
I stopped cold.
