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“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But you’re bankrolling me until that happens. If I had my choice, I’d be at work.”
I grinned at that.
“You technically should already be bankrolled by the McDempsey name. If you weren’t so stubborn and independent, then that would’ve happened.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I need you to take me to work tomorrow to gather some of my stuff out of my locker. I left a couple of books there that I need to study for my finals this week. You also need to call your new job and tell them you won’t be there.”
“Okay,” I said. “You want to shower?”
She looked at her dirty clothes that she hadn’t yet changed out of.
“Yes,” she hesitated. “But I need to find something to wear. Can I borrow your washer? I need clothes for tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Toss ’em out to me. I’ll get them put in and start it when you’re out. I’ll leave a shirt and a pair of boxers on the door handle for you.”
She sighed. “Are you sure that you want to give me a shirt? I steal them.”
I laughed. “Steal all you want, darlin’.”
I was fairly sure she’d taken one from my car the night that I’d taken her to prom. I’d dropped her off and had intended to change out of my dress uniform into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt once I’d dropped her off at home—because I hadn’t planned on going home just yet—but when I’d gone to the gas station to do just that, I hadn’t been able to find my shirt. So I’d had to go shirtless back home and grab one before spending the rest of the night hanging out with friends.
The only person that could’ve taken it was her. I’d never seen the shirt since.
“Deal.” She smirked. “Make it a really soft, really big one. I like my night clothes really loose, or really tight. No in between.”
Upon hearing her demands, I winked at her and gestured toward my bathroom. “Have at it. In fact, you can just pick one out of my laundry basket when you get in there. I haven’t had a chance to hang any of my clothes up yet.”
She turned around and shut the door.
I waited with bated breath for her to throw the door open and toss her clothes out to me.
The thought of her naked in my bathroom was doing things to me.
Things that I shouldn’t acknowledge since I was expected to behave while sleeping next to her tonight.
The door opened infinitesimally and then her clothes were shoved through the smallest gap in existence. So small, in fact, that I had to practically yank them through.
“Sorry,” she squeaked.
I chuckled as I walked to the laundry room and looked around.
I had no clue how to do my laundry.
I hadn’t had to do it since I was born.
Even now, my mother came over to do it once a week to make sure that I had clean stuff.
When I needed something before she came over, I’d either drop it off with her, or drop it off at the laundromat if she didn’t have time to do it, or she wasn’t there.
So, what was a man to do that didn’t know how to do his laundry?
He called his mom.
I dialed her number and put it on speakerphone.
She answered on the third ring.
“You’re not in jail again, are you?” she asked worriedly.
I snorted. “No. What makes you think that?”
“You only call me this late when you’re in jail,” she pointed out.
I rolled my eyes. “That happened one time, Mom!”
“One time was enough for me to remember it for the rest of my life. If you’re not in jail, why are you calling me so late? You interrupted Captain Furious.”
I had no idea who Captain Furious was, but if I had to guess, it was a hero in one of her books. Mom was an avid romance reader, and she never left her house without her Kindle. At every family dinner, she had a book in her hand.
“Well,” I hesitated, “Luce had an incident at the school. Since I was her emergency contact, they called me. And now, she’s at my house and I need to wash her clothes, so she has clean ones for tomorrow.”
There was a long pause and then, “Is she okay?”
I smirked. “She’s more than okay. She’s just shaken up. There was a guy that tried to mug her.”
I hated lying to my mother, but she was a big softy. She had her rose-colored glasses on when it came to the state of the world and nothing would change that.
Especially not me.
“You don’t know how to turn on the washer, do you?” she guessed.
I grinned, unrepentant.
“Nope,” I chirped. “Or the dryer for that matter. What do I do?”
“Are they all dark-colored clothes?” she asked.
