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“Damn. No, I didn’t. I’m probably going to need those for the trip, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Remind me to give you my card before you leave, and you can grab me a pair. Actually, grab me two. You never know what could happen.”
“Any special requests?”
“Nope. You know my style just as well as I do.”
“You mean clean, wrinkled, and some just a little bit faded from welding all day.”
“Smartass.” I reach over and poke her side, making her splutter with laughter. “And yes, that’s exactly it,” I concede. “But the wrinkle thing is no more. Not since I started giving my clothes a couple of spins in the dryer. I’m wrinkle-free.”
“You know that’s wear and tear on your dryer and hell on your electric bill. You could just hang them up or fold them as soon as they’re dry, and voilà, no wrinkles.”
“I seriously hate laundry.”
“Your future wife is in for a battle with that one, huh?” she teases.
“It’s called compromise.”
“What are we compromising on?” Archer asks, taking a seat in the recliner with a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs.
“I was just telling Sterling his future wife is going to have a field day with the way he does laundry.”
“She’s right.” Archer points his fork at me. “You suck at it.”
“Like you’re any better.”
“Hey, I might live out of clothes baskets, but at least they’re all folded.”
“Progress.” Alyssa nods her approval. “Oh, do you want me to make you a salad?” she offers.
“Nah, if I’m still hungry after this, I’ll make one. It’s great, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re spoiled,” Archer tells me. “Not only do you have a cool-as-hell best friend, but she also makes you these awesome dinners.”
“Don’t forget that I do his shopping too.”
“Shopping?”
“Yep. The girls and I are going shopping for our trip tomorrow, and I’m going to pick up some swim trunks for him.”
“Oh, shit, that night was the best. It’s a good thing Blakely wasn’t there when you jumped out of the pool with your twig and berries hanging out for all to see.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I defend.
“It was pretty bad,” Alyssa tells me. “All I saw was your bare ass, but rumor has it the front was just as bad.”
“They split up both sides. I couldn’t do that again if I tried.”
“Let’s not try,” Archer says, reaching for his beer. “I’m scarred for life. I can’t afford any more damage.”
“Whatever.” I flip him off, and he rolls with laughter, almost spilling his plate of spaghetti on my floor.
“Are you ready for the movie?”
