“No,” I answered simply. Then after a moment, “I’m just passing through.” He nodded but said nothing more, so I continued. “Kind of shitty town to be honest.”
He huffed in amusement. “Yeah. I’m not sure how it’s possible for an entire town to smell like mold.”
I couldn’t help the genuine chuckle that earned. “Even the people.”
He huffed again, this one almost sounding like a laugh. The leg closest to me dropped from the seat to the floor. “Shit, my clothes are gonna start smelling like yours, aren’t they?”
So maybe it did matter what I smelled like because apparently I found that offensive. At least until he side-eyed me and his lips pulled into a brief smirk like he had to force himself to stop it.
I laughed.
How long had it been since I’d laughed?
“Hope there’s nothing expensive in there.” I gestured to his machine. “Because you’ll never get the Hollow Creek stink off it.”
“It’s only Prada,” he groaned.
Prada. Somehow I wasn’t surprised by that. Not just because of the car he drove, but from the overall vibe of him. He seemed… expensive. Polished. Refined. He didn’t fit here, and I was all the more curious to figure him out.
We fell back into silence, until his clothes were ready and he moved them to the dryer.
I tried not to be obvious as I took him in, but those legs seemed so long when his shorts were so small, and he definitely caught me looking at his ass. He said nothing about it, but I definitely noticed him smirking. When he sat back down, he seemed more relaxed.
“So, what is there even to do around here?” he asked.
“Drink, mostly.”
“You do a lot of that?”
“I don’t do any of that,” I answered honestly. I told myself I didn’t drink so I could stay alert, keep my mind sharp. It had nothing to do withhim.
“So what is ityoudo around here, then?”
“Work.”
“In the mines?”
“At the pub.”
“Ah.”
We fell into silence again, each of us no doubt trying to figure the other out. “I’m working tonight. You could stop by if you’re bored.”
“Maybe I will.”
Was this normal? Was I making friends? It had been so long, I couldn’t really tell.
Pink-Sweater did stop by the bar that night. I really needed to find out his name or something. It hadn’t come up at the laundromat. Conversation had died off again until his clothes were ready and he’d left me there with a “See you around.”
It was late, an hour until closing time, and I’d assumed that meant he wasn’t coming. But then in he walked, booty shorts and pink probably Prada sweater.
Hank was here and gave him a glance over that wasn’t at all subtle with his disdain. It made me wonder if I could get away with spitting in his next beer unnoticed.
The guy didn’t seem to notice or care about the looks he was getting, though, as he made his way over and took a seat at the bar right in front of me.
“Hello again, Mr. Bar Man.” He smiled at me, seeming far more friendly than he’d been this afternoon in the laundromat.
“Hello again,” I grumbled back, trying not to seem pleased—to him or myself—that he was here.
