Page 36 of Come Back to Bed
He has not sent any messages.
I realize that I am staring at an overflowing laundry basket, and now I can cross one more thing off of my Will Do list for today. Get back on track with my weekend plans. The plans that don’t involve thinking about or banging my hot neighbor.
Again, I barely remember walking down four flights of stairs while carrying my laundry basket and detergent, which is a tad alarming. But not as alarming as walking into the laundry room while thinking about Matt McGovern and then seeing Matt McGovern leaning against one of the washing machines, arms crossed, facing the door like he’s waiting for me. I don’t scream, but I do stand frozen in the doorway. Because he is looking at me in a way that he has never looked at me before. The way a man looks at a woman in a night club. His eyes move so slowly down the front of me, to the cement floor.
“Nice boots.”
“Nicewhat?”
“Boots. On your feet.”
“Oh! Thank you.” It’s weird that I forgot to take off my high-heeled boots before coming down here. Normally I’d be in my Ugg boots. Normally, I wouldn’t be trying to make so much noise while walking around the building. I finally remember how to move and place my laundry basket on the floor in front of the other washing machine, the one against the opposite wall from the one he’s using. “You doing laundry?”
“No, I just like to come down here to think.” He’s grinning at me. Well, at least he’s not frowning. “Areyoudoing laundry?”
“Yes. I’m doing laundry.”
“You really shouldn’t be doing laundry down here by yourself at night.”
“Good thing I’m not by myself, then.”
He blows air out of his nostrils, which I am counting as a little laugh. I made Matt McGovern laugh a little. What a magical night. I think we can be friends.
“You have fun at your thing?”
“Yes. I did.”Even though I was thinking about you the whole time.
“Great.”
“Did you have a good evening?”
“Fantastic.”
“Great.”
I don’t think the laundry room has ever smelled this good, like clean clothes and dirty man and dear lord—how can anyone look so attractive in sweatpants and a T-shirt—it’s just not right. Maybe if I don’t look at or smell him it will be easier to be friends. If I were smart, I’d keep my eyes shut and hold my breath until I can get away from him.
As I bend down to place all of my clothes into the washing machine, I am suddenly very conscious of how unbearably amazing my ass probably looks in these jeans and decide to squat instead. I don’t want him to think I’m bending over to flaunt my amazing ass in his face. But I can’t squat. Because my jeans are too tight. So, my soon-to-be-friend Matt McGovern is getting a sweet eyeful of premium Bernadette Butt. I know this, because I peek over my shoulder and catch him staring. Instead of quickly looking away, his gaze slowly rises to meet mine.
“Nice jeans,” he says. “They look expensive.”
I clear my throat. “They weren’t cheap.”
“Guess that’s one of the benefits of working for Sebastian Smith.”
“And one of the benefits of living in this building,” I say coyly. I wait for him to smirk before turning back to face the washing machine.
“You’re mixing your lights and darks?” He just can’t stop judging me.
“It’s a big machine and I don’t practice segregation. So far, in my whole life, I’ve only ruined two white shirts.” I shrug. “They’re just clothes.”
“You’re as serious about laundry as you are about being a vegetarian.”
“Except I don’t even feel guilty about turning white shirts pale blue. You having any luck with the apartment hunting?”
“I’m not having any luck finding the time to apartment hunt.”
“Oh really? I would have thought you had plenty of free time, given that your cool downtown friends refuse to hang out with you up here and apparently you don’t like to hang out down there anymore.”
