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“Oh, yeah. My partner and I crafted it together. Our advisor looked it over but made minimal changes.”
He nods. “You’ll get in, then. I couldn’t understand half of it.”
He couldn’t understand it? We tried to use layman’s terms whenever possible. “That’s not good.”
“No, it is. That means it was smart.”
My mouth opens and closes, not sure what to say, but the dryer’s buzzer goes off, saving me from commenting.
I measure out my laundry detergent instead, dump everything into the washer, and crank the dial to start.
He pulls a basket out from under his chair and stands, seeming to take up so much more of the room now. Opening the dryer door, he tugs out a black shirt, folding it neatly before placing it in his basket.
I can’t explain it, but there’s something almost… intimate about watching him do such a personal task. Like I don’t know him well enough to be here while he does this.
“I guess I’ll come back later to switch this over,” I say, putting my detergent away.
He pulls another black shirt out of the dryer that’s identical to the first. “I’d be careful if I were you.”
“Hmm?”
“I had clothes stolen out of here once. I stay the whole time now.”
As if on cue, the door behind us opens, a frazzled middle-aged woman there with her basket perched on her hip. “How much longer will you be?” she demands without preamble.
“Um, I just put my stuff in.”
“Typical,” she huffs, slamming the door shut.
I glance over at Austin, who merely keeps folding his laundry.
“You think she would have taken my clothes out if I hadn’t been here?”
He shrugs. “What do you think?”
“Right. So, paper-thin walls, only one washer and dryer for the whole complex, and neighbors that steal your clothes. Anything else I should know about this place?”
He strokes his beard, noticeably shorter and trimmed up compared to a couple of days ago. The style suits him.
“The front gate at the entrance is always out of order. I think they have it there so they can say it’s a gated community. But the rent’s cheaper here than anywhere else nearby, so there’s that.”
A shiver runs through me as a thought occurs. “Have there ever been any problems with break-ins?” Please say no.
He frowns. “Not that I know of.”
Good.
I glance over to find him studying me. Crap.
“Can I help you fold?” I ask, pointing to the dryer. “I like to keep busy.”
He gestures toward his clothes. “Have at it.”
And of course the first thing I pull out is… his boxers.
Why is the universe hellbent on embarrassing me in front of this man? Did I do something in a past life to piss off one of the gods?
He takes them gently from me when all I do is stand there, unsure what to do. After how flustered I got the other day thinking about his butt in the lab, no wonder he doesn’t trust me with his underwear.
