Page 80 of In Somnis

He startles, eyes widening in horror. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I wanted to check how it should be washed.”

Oh.

Of course.

“It’s a delicate cycle, but you don’t need to wash my underwear. God, everything about this is so embarrassing.”

At this point, I kind of hope he’ll kill me already, but instead, he holds out his hand again, smiling tentatively. “May I? I have a good delicate setting.”

Maybe exhaustion at this entire situation is what makes me give this stranger my bra again. But good manners are why I mumble, “Thank you.”

He carefully puts it into the machine next to the other one, like my laundry is precious. Which, to me, it is, but when the silence presses on, I hear myself say, “I like lingerie. It’s like… something nice. Just for me.”

He glances at me, then back at the machine. “It’s definitely nice,” he says, then closes the washer.

Our gazes meet, and I huff out a quiet, awkward laugh. “Well, that was me accidentally announcing that men haven’t seen my underwear lately. I had a boyfriend until recently. We were together for a year and a half, but he hadn’t really seen me naked for… most of it.” I swallow. “And it’s not like he liked the lingerie. If we had sex, it was always in the dark.”

What the hell is wrong with me? Shut up, Lenny.

Cold dread creeps up my spine as I realize what I just told a man I barely know. What I’ve been telling him.

Why do I keep doing this?

Why does he make my rambling jump straight past awkward and land on painfully honest?

Maybe I’ll die from embarrassment before he gets a chance to do the job.

“I’ve been celibate for almost five years.”

My head snaps up, sure I’ve misheard him. But the calm way he said it replays clearly in my mind. He has a talent for that, I’m realizing, letting me unravel just enough before stopping it dead.

“I struggle with sleep,” he continues when I don’t respond, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I suffer from night terrors and sleep paralysis. Rules and routines help me think, so I made a pact with myself to remain celibate for five years. In trauma therapy, especially somatic frameworks, there’s this idea that deeply entrenched patterns often need multiple years of consistent stability before you reintroduce high-risk stimuli.”

His gaze travels from my bare feet up to my eyes. “I have two months left.”

I swallow so hard it almost echoes in the quiet laundry room.

“Oh.”

Damn. He’s not only hot but also smart. Probably too smart for me because my brain has fully blue-screened.

“Too much?” He exhales, then gives me that small, downward smile again. “I wanted to share something to balance things.”

I huff a surprised laugh. “You’re going to have to balance a lot then. You may have noticed, but I ramble when I’m nervous.”

His mouth curves further. “I’m making you nervous?”

I hesitate, then nod. “In the spirit of honesty… yes.”

“I like that we can be this unfiltered with each other. I’m not very good at hiding what I’m thinking.” His words turn into a murmur when he adds, “And it seems you aren’t either.”

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, and the motion lifts the hem of his shirt just enough to give me an unfortunate glimpse of toned abs and a dark happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats.

Shit.

I drop my gaze to my feet on the white tiles. The yellow polish on my toenails stands out against everything else in this house that is so bright. So clean.

Maybe I did die when he ran me over.