I’m being sarcastic, ladies and gents. It’snotnice that he’s taunting me with those stupid shoulders of his.
I pick up my basket and use my knee to push open the screen door. Once out, I set everything down again and close and lock my door. With my basket in hand again, I take my steps down and hear the voice I’ve wanted to hear for days say, “Colette?”
I’m tempted to ignore him, but the minute I see his face, I can’t. “What?” I snap.
Just because I can’t ignore him doesn’t mean I can’t still be bitchy.
“Where you goin’?”
Is he blind? I’m holding a basket full of dirty laundry.
“It’s laundry day.”
Sam sets the hose down and walks up to me. “You want to use my washer?”
Yes. “No. Thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.” I’m positive the last thing I want to do is spend another minute with a man who doesn’t want to spend any minutes with me.
“Seems sort of silly to drive somewhere to do laundry when you could use mine.”
“Well,” I adjust the basket higher on my hip because it’s heavy and it keeps sliding down, “I’m a silly woman, so…”
“You’re not silly.”
We’re staring at one another, and the basket keeps slipping, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move any closer to my car.
“Look…”
I know my expression looks expectant. Hopeful. It can’t be helped.
“I’m sorry…”
Sorry? About what? Which part? The part where he forgot I was there when he ran into his ex-wife, or the part where he forgot about me once he got home? Or is he sorry he started anything with me at all? How vague can one man be? “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He poses it like a question. One that doesn’t require an answer, because I have no idea what the hell any of this means.
“Okay.” I nod because I’m not about to put myself out there any further.
“We good, then?”
No. “Sure. We’re good.” I shrug because, again, I’m trying to save face here.
“Great.” He nods and smiles. “Good.”
Ugh. What is great? What is good about any of this? I still don’t know what that conversation was about, and I’m not about to ask.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by Sam’s hands on my basket. “Let me carry this for you.”
I release the heavy thing and let him take it. I half expect him to carry it to my car, but he goes the other way, like he’s heading to his house. “Where are you going?”
He stops and turns. “I’m taking it to my place so you can do your laundry there.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I just told you,” and boy, is the man pissing me off, “I’m going to the laundromat.”
