“If we could access the hinges…” He looked up and sighed, shaking his head. “Everything I could unscrew is on the wrong side of the door.”
He folded up his multi-tool and stood, brushing the dust off his jeans. “I guess we might as well wait it out. We’re stuck in here.”
He went back to his laundry baskets and started shoving the contents into two different washers. “This is a breach of like six different safety codes,” he muttered. “Why didn’t they prop the door open with something more than a rubber doorstop? Or tape off the latch so no one would get trapped in here? So many options, and the damn building chose none of them.”
I stayed quiet, watching him work. This was a different Rhett than I was used to—no jokes, no easy smiles, none of the playful banter that usually characterized our interactions. He seemed genuinely upset, and not just about the door.
I pulled out my phone, already knowing it was useless. The building management had installed a tap-to-pay payment system, bragging that they could now accept mobile payments, failing to realize that cell phones never worked in this room. “No signal.”
“Great,” Rhett muttered, swiping his card across the card reader and starting his load. “So we’re stuck until someone else needs to do laundry.”
“Shit. How long will that be?”
He spun, examining the machines in the room. “That washer over there isn’t yours, is it?” He pointed to a machine that was chugging away.
“Nah.”
“Good news. When they come down to change their laundry to the dryer, we’ll be free.” He exhaled heavily and hopped onto the washing machine he’d just loaded, letting his long legs dangle.
“Let’s hope they’re the type to be diligent about not letting it sit. I have a podcast to edit.”
“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to trap us in here.”
“It’s okay,” I said, hopping up onto the dryer across from his machine. “It’s not your fault the door’s broken.”
“No, but it is my fault I didn’t notice the sign.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m not usually this…” He gestured vaguely at himself.
“Sleep-deprived and grumpy?” I supplied.
A ghost of his usual smile flickered across his face. “Yeah, that.”
I hesitated, torn between curiosity about the kittens and concern about his obvious distress. The second won out.
“What’s going on, Rhett? And don’t say ‘nothing’ or ‘kittens’ because I’m not buying it.”
He started fidgeting with the Leatherman again, turning it over and over in his hands, staring down at it like it might offer answers. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
“Aims, I’m so confused.”
The raw honesty in those four words hit me harder than I expected. Rhett—confident, easygoing Rhett who always seemed to have his shit together despite his class clown act—looked genuinely lost.
“About Troy?” I asked gently.
He nodded, still not looking up. “About Troy. About feelings in general. About the fact that I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. But he’s completely dismissed it. And I’m still crushing on…” His eyes darted to me, and he cleared his throat. “Maybe I’m just gross.”
“You’re not gross. You’re hot as hell, and you damn well know that.”
“Then why does everyone friendzone me? It’s not just Troy. There’s this girl too—” He cleared his throat. “Um, a random girl. You don’t know her. Never met her.”
“But she’s nice?”
“So cool, brilliant, beautiful, the whole package. Slightly off-limits because, um. Never mind. Anyway, I’ve been nursing acrush for a while. And I don’t know how to deal with having feelings for multiple people at once. Hell, I barely know how to deal with feelings for one person.”
“Sweetheart, people get mixed-up feelings all the time. It’ll sort itself out.”
He let out a hollow laugh. “Must be handy to be an expert on relationships. You don’t need to ask anyone for advice.”
I reached out and nudged his boot with my slipper. “Just because I can give other people fantastic, research-backed advice doesn’t mean I have my own shit together. Just because I know the science doesn’t mean I listen to the science.”
