“Eight.”
“Where can I get quarters? Do I have to go to the bank, or do you have some?”
“Some get them from me; if you have cash, I can change it, but most keep a jar at home and bring what they need.”
There are so many things I need to learn. I should buy a notebook and a pen because every day I discover another new thing I should have been doing all along.
I offer him five dollars that I pull from my jeans pocket. “Can I buy some quarters from you? And the detergent. Can I get it here?”
He takes the folded bill, and I follow him back to the counter as he answers. “I sell detergent, but it’s cheaper to get it from the store. Get the pods or get yourself a small container so you’re not loading yourself down like a mule. Once your back goes, it’s gone. Ask me how I know.”
From his hunched back, I don’t need to ask.
When he gives me quarters, they add up to five dollars. He gave me detergent for free and did the first load for me.
“You gave me too much money back.” I start to hand him quarters.
He waves off my offer. “Better someone ask me how somethin’ works and I show them than they break my machines fooling around with things they don’t understand.”
“Thank you. You’ve been really helpful.” And kind. Much kinder than I thought he would be after I nearly killed him.
He makes a sound in his throat as he settles back on his stool behind the counter. Crossing his arms, he closes his eyes and returns to the nap I disturbed him from.
I check on my washing machine, and it’s doing what it’s supposed to do. Water is filling the machine, and it’s rumbling as loudly as the one beside it. Then I head back to my apartment, hoping the bug spray has killed whatever bit me last night.
I can barely breathe without the fumes chasing me out. I open all the windows and use the lint roller over every bit of fabric on the mattress—front and back. Then I move onto the couch.
My back aches from hunching over for so long. Even after I’ve used the lint roller over the mattress and the couch, I keep thinking I see something moving out of the corner of my eye.
Suddenly remembering my laundry, I hurry out of my apartment, sprint down the road, turn a corner, and bounce off something so hard the impact knocks me on my ass.
“Are you okay?” a concerned male voice calls out.
Everything about the man who helps me up from the ground is perfect. From the top of his sandy dark-blond hair, his handsome sun-kissed face, gray eyes, perfectly tailored shirt and pants, to the tips of his Italian brown leather loafers.
An alpha.
He comes from money, maybe even more of it than my parents. His scent hits me next: caramel and peppermint. Not an unpleasant combination, but an unusual one.
“Fine.” I retreat a step the second he helps me up.
Omegas are the rarest designation, so they have nests and packs in the nicer parts of town. I should know; once I was one of those pampered omegas. Alphas are too dominant and ambitious to stay poor for long. Running into one in the not-so-nice part of town is a shock to the senses. I briefly wonder what he’s doing here, but decide I don’t care. I have no interest in alphas. Not even pretty ones like this one.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His concerned gaze sweeps over me, lingering for a second too long on the bites on my neck.
“No.” I dip my chin to hide the bites from him.
He flashes a mouthful of straight white teeth at me. “Sorry about knocking you down. I was in a hurry and not paying nearly enough attention to where I was going.”
“Me too,” I admit, my eyes darting past him and to the laundromat where I have a washing machine full of wet clothes I need to move into the dryer. “I have laundry.”
He steps aside, his smile warm and friendly. “Sorry to keep you. Maybe I’ll see you around again without the knocking you down part?”
“Maybe.” I move past him.
“Oscar,” he introduces himself, as if an afterthought. “I figure I should probably introduce myself since we had an accident.”
Scrunching my nose, I tilt my head, confused.
