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Grateful that my old roommate and Topher were both nowhere around when Dad and I arrived at Dandridge Hall, we packed my belongings into his and Mom’s van, then into my car, for over an hour until I had all my college possessions completely cleared from Annabeth’s apartment, only to return to my new place and realize the sheets wouldn’t fit the ones I’d had for the single-sized bed I’d used in my dorm apartment.
Wick offered to lend me a second set he had on hand, but stubborn, I-want-to-be-independent me resisted. Thankfully, the nearest twenty-four-hour mart was only a few blocks away, so after I shooed my parents out the door and on their way home to keep them from being on the road any later than necessary, I ran out and found myself some queen-sized sheets, trying to look at things on the bright side: I was getting a bigger bed!
When I returned, Wick walked me down to the building’s basement to show me where the laundry room was kept so I wouldn’t have to sleep in itchy, new sheets. But as soon as I stuffed the crisp linen into one of the washing machines, I realized I didn’t have any detergent.
“Let me guess,” Wick’s deep voice spoke from behind me as I stared despondently down into the metal well at my dry, unwashed sheets pooled in the bottom, still full of excess dye and scratchy starch. “If I offer to loan you my laundry detergent, you’re just going to refuse. Right?”
With a sigh, I turned to face him. “Fate is determined to keep me needy and dependent tonight, isn’t it?”
Wick tossed out an offhanded shrug. “Can’t be an island every day.”
“Of course.” I threw my hands into the air, defeated as I consulted the bare, water-stained pipes lining the ceiling. “The man quotes Donne.”
To which the man blinked. “Is that who first said that?”
I grinned at the baffled expression on this face before nodding. “John Donne. Yeah.” Cringing ruefully, I explained, “I took British poetry last semester. We had to memorize and recite a line by each poet we studied. My line for Donne was, ‘no man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.’”
When I glanced at him to catch his reaction, I realized I’d lifted my hands dramatically while speaking, and I flushed, quickly dropping them back down to my sides.
Professor Morales so would’ve marked me down for that, for sure. She had always said acting out and accenting each word of a poem when reciting detracted from the voice. Dammit. There went my A plus from Wick Webster. Then again, I’d unconsciously straightened my spine while talking. Morales would’ve been proud that her emphasis on posture had actually sunk in with me, at least.
Not that any of that mattered here and now, which the silent guy staring at me from across the room as if I’d lost my mind made very obvious.
Clearing my throat, I quickly tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and ignored the heat flushing across my face. “Sorry. I bet listening to some crazy girl who was just cheated on by her boyfriend recite seventeenth-century British poetry in a creepy basement on a Wednesday night after eleven isn’t quite how you planned to spend your evening.”
“Can’t say that it was,” he agreed solemnly.
Damn, this guy was impossible to read. He didn’t seem pissed or irritated or even charmed and entertained by me. He was just straight-faced and grave, impenetrable as a tomb. I made a mental note to never play poker against him.
Clearing my throat again and rubbing the chill from my arms because this concrete-walled basement wasn’t exactly warm, I rattled on, “So, um, yeah. I would really appreciate it if I could borrow your laundry detergent, please.”
“Or…” he countered, “you can borrow those sheets I have that are already clean and ready to go so you don’t have to wait an hour and a half for these to wash and dry.”
“Hmm, decisions,” I murmured, tapping my chin thoughtfully, before spilling out a sigh and saying, “No, thanks. I’ll just take the detergent. That’ll be easier to pay back.”
His eyebrows crinkled with confusion. “You don’t have to pay me back.” Opening a high cabinet near him, he pulled out a container of detergent with a thick chunk of tape slashed across the front with the word WEBSTER written on it in bold black marker, and he unenthusiastically held it out to me. “It’s like an ounce of detergent. I’m not going to miss it.”
“Thanks, but I want to anyway,” I said, rushing to add a dash to the wash and recapping it so I could give it back, repeating another thanks as I did.
He shrugged. “Whatever.”
As he returned the detergent to the cabinet, I started my laundry. The sound of water filling the machine echoed ominously around the room. Wondering if Wick planned to abandon me down here by myself, I whirled back, relieved to find him still there.
“Do you think it’s okay to leave this bad boy alone while it does its thing, or do I need to stick around and babysit?” I bit my lip, hoping I didn’t have to wait alone in a creepy, strange basement for over an hour. “You’ve never had anyone steal your laundry before, have you?”
If he felt the need to label his detergent the way he had, anything was possible.
> But he said, “No. It’ll be fine,” making me huff out a pleased breath. “We don’t have to stay down here.”
His use of we warmed me to the bone because it led me to believe he would’ve stayed with me if I had decided not to leave.
Which was…sweet.
Huh. It was weird to think of him as sweet when I’d always believed him to be the ultimate asshole of the universe. But everything he’d done tonight had been incredibly nice and helpful. Even when he’d been yelling at me for having boobs and trying to convince me not to rent his second room, there’d been something respectfully considerate about him. Gruff and moody, but considerate and protective. Without a doubt in my mind, I knew he was safe. And that meant a lot, especially right now, right after my foundation had been rocked and everything felt shaky and uncertain.
Felt like jumping off a sinking cruise liner and into a dinky life raft, only to be shocked that a couple of feet of plastic filled with air was safer for me than millions of dollars’ worth of a huge, flashy lie.
He led the way from the laundry room and down a cold, dark hall I may have nightmares about, then out into the cool night and up a set of stairs until we returned to the front lawn and the edge of our porch.
