9. What I Like About You
CHAPTER 9
What I Like About You
DUSTY
I haven’t heard from my mystery caller, and I’m grateful. His last call was intense, and I’m not sure what the next one might be like. Plus, I gave part of myself away. Forgetting my accent? That’s never happened before. I suppose now there’s no point in using it with him if he ever calls back. Now that it’s Tuesday, I’m grateful for my first day off in over a week. Even though my job isn’t physically taxing, it can be hard emotionally. There are days where everything is great and golden, then there are days like today where I hate myself. Not necessarily hate my job, but hate the way others feel about it, because all it does is change how they feel about me. It’s the reason I wish I could just find a normal job like any other woman in her twenties.
But I’ve been in this life now for so many years that it’s really all I know. Or rather, it’s all I know how to do well. Plus, the thought of working a nine-to-five terrifies me. I don’t have a high school diploma and thanks to my fuckup parents, I don’t have many useful skills for the workforce. I can’t type fast enough for a secretarial job, I’m not strong enough for manual labor, and anything to do with math? Forget it . . . they might as well just toss my résumé in the garbage.
My voice is rough from talking for hours on end, so I make myself a mug of boiling water, add lemon and honey, grab my Walkman and laundry basket, and head downstairs to the laundromat. When I step through the back door, I scan the room, and I know it’s silly, but I can’t help but hope, for one brief moment, that Joel might be here. He’s not. Of course he’s not. Why would he be? I basically told him to go away and never come back. In fact, I didn’t even tell him my real name. It should come as a relief that he’s not here. It’s what I wanted, but I’ll admit, now that I’m here, it hurts. Like a bruise deep, down under the skin.
Shaking my head, I walk over to my usual machine, thankfully free, and open the lid. I pull on my headphones and can already feel the comforting sound of Frank Sinatra calming my soul. Before I can reach for my hidden stash of detergent, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and Doris is standing next to me.
Her body is hunched over from her sciatica, and she gestures with one long polka dotted nail for me to lean in.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, slipping off the headphones.
“Do me a favor, love, and tell that young man to find another laundromat.”
I narrow my eyes. “Tell who?”
She waves her hand. “The one who’s been here every day looking for you,” she says, her voice like gravel.
In an instant my heart is in my throat. “Someone’s been here looking for me?” I ask.
“The man with the long dark hair,” she continues. “Told him to stop coming around unless he has actual laundry to do. This is a business, not a bar.”
I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out, and with a huff, Doris turns and shuffles off back to her desk by the windows. I turn to stare at my clothes in the drum. Joel came back for me? And not just once but every day? Why would he do that?
He likes you!
There’s a rising heat in my cheeks as I try to reason with myself. Does he really?
The bell above the door jingles, and I freeze, terrified to look, but it seems I don’t even need to. I can feel him. Feel the heavy presence of his gaze on me, and my knees wobble as I continue to methodically toss my clothes into the washing machine.
His heavy footsteps travel across the room, and a shiver shoots down my spine as he stops right behind me. There’s a tap on my shoulder, and the rest of body breaks out into goose bumps.
“Excuse me, is this machine taken?”
I turn, and there he is. Smile radiating happiness as he stands across from me with a laundry basket tucked under one arm.
“It’s you again,” I say.
“Me again.”
After staring at his face for a little longer than is probably considered normal, I clear my throat. “I, uh . . . I didn’t think you’d be back. With the amount of laundry you did last week I was sure you’d have enough clean clothes to last a month.”
His eyes sparkle. “Yeah, well, it would seem you underestimate just how many clothes I go through in a week.” He hikes up the basket on his hip and my eyebrows rise when I catch its contents.
“One sock?”
He nods, then settles at the machine next to me. “As I said, the need to get to the laundromat was dire.”
I can’t seem to stop it. A smile blooms across my face so wide my muscles hurt, or maybe it’s just that I don’t use them much. He came all the way here to see me with his one sock. My chest aches with the desire to trust him. That this isn’t just a game he’s playing. Can he really be genuine? With a short laugh, his eyes crinkle.
“Yes, I suppose ‘dire’ is the appropriate word for your laundry situation.”
For a long time we just stand, goofily staring at each other, but I’ve never felt more comfortable. Finally he blinks and dumps his soiled item into the machine.
“Oh, I uh—” He clears his throat. Is he nervous? “I brought you something.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” He reaches into the pocket of his baggy jeans, and something in me freezes. I’ve never accepted gifts well, what if it’s something important or valuable? What if?—
My thoughts are cut off when he pulls out a small box tied with a red ribbon.
“Laundry detergent?” I ask.
Now it’s his turn for his cheeks to turn pink. “I thought, you know . . . because you let me borrow some of yours last week.” At my silence he fidgets and licks his lips. “Sorry, it’s stupid, I?—”
Don’t give too much away. Be careful. I look sideways at him and allow my smile to pull at the side of my mouth. “Cute,” I say, taking the box and putting it in my basket even though I just want to hold it to my chest like it’s made of gold. Guys have tried to buy my affection before, and it’s never meant anything, but this? This is worth more than any of that.
His shoulders relax. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s very sweet of you.”
A throat clears behind us and there’s Doris, glaring at Joel. He leans in toward me and says, “I don’t think she likes me very much.”
I whisper back, “To be fair, she doesn’t like anyone much.”
“She seems to like you though,” he offers. “Practically ran me out of here the last time I dropped by to see you.”
Feigning ignorance, I arch an eyebrow. “You stopped by to see me?”
“Well, I’d hoped to see you, but she really has a thing against loitering so I made sure I came with laundry today.”
I grin. “Hence the single sock?”
“Single sock for a single man.”
Suppressing my smile, I cross my arms over my chest. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of reminding me you’re single?”
He shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”
I bite my lip and look away, opening the new box of detergent and filling my machine before placing the coins in the slot. After a few moments, Joel does the same, silently gesturing to me for some powder. We make quick work of shutting our respective lids, the water whooshing through the hoses with a loud gurgle, and head toward the window seats.
Doris is still glaring at Joel, but when I give her a look, she returns to hiding behind her magazine. The Price is Right is on the TV in the background, and I’m overtly aware of the heat from Joel’s body as he sits close to me. I try to keep my eyes on the screen, but I’m acutely aware that Joel is staring at me. Finally, I turn to him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
“Because you’re beautiful,” he responds without missing a beat. The bluntness of it has my cheeks scorching hot in a moment.
“You’re very direct.”
“Considering you hardly gave me the time of day last week, I want to be clear about my intentions.”
“And what are those?”
He steeples his fingers and props his chin on them. “Well, I’d like to take you on a date. Preferably somewhere with pizza and music but if you like fancy shit, I’m okay with that too. Then maybe to the arcade or bowling. After I’ve wildly impressed you with my skills, we’d come back here and we’d pretend like all of our clothes went missing from the laundromat so our only option under the terrible circumstances would be to get naked.”
I can’t help but laugh. “And then what? Naked twister?”
His mouth twists. “Naked twister? Now there’s a sport I would participate in. Great idea.”
I kick at his boots with my trainers.
“Okay,” he continues, “but after you beat my ass at naked twister—even though, let’s be real, I’m still winning—I’d probably move on to trying to impress you with my random animal fact knowledge. For example, did you know that polar bears actually have black skin underneath all that fur?”
My eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“And penguins mate for life.”
I press my lips together and stare at my lap. “Hmm, I wonder what that’s like.”
“What? Being a penguin?”
I shake my head. “No. Someone loving you permanently.”
It’s been quiet for a long time. I shouldn’t have said anything. What a pathetic thing to say—my god, he’s going to think I’m some unlovable maniac.
Looking up, I blink furiously. “Sorry, that—I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
I rear back. “Do what?”
“Say something vulnerable and immediately try and take it back?”
I squeeze my thigh, and let out a long breath. I could try to deny it but where would that get me? “Not often. I’ve made a living acting the part.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And what part is that?”
“Whatever part I need to.”
Again, silence, and this time I know I’ve said too much.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says quietly.
Our eyes meet again, and waves crash and swirl inside me, igniting my nerves. It makes me want to just pour myself out onto the floor and show him all the battered and bruised pieces of me.
“I only ever wanted to know the real you. Remember? The woman who turned down Victor Von Douche and his guaranteed cash to give the outcast a chance.”
This is too much. No one is really this nice. Who the hell does he think he is? What is he playing at? I stand abruptly. “I need a smoke.” I turn and head out the door into the fresh air. Twisting my bag around, I fish out my pack of cigarettes and place one between my lips. Furiously, I dig for a lighter, my heart racing. When I find it, I click and click and click but the damn thing just won’t light.
“God damnit,” I mutter.
“Need a light?” Joel asks, placing his own cigarette between his teeth and holding up his lighter.
I sigh, then nod. “Yes, thanks.”
He sparks it, covering the flame with his palm against the wind, and holds it out for me. He doesn’t invade my space, but rather lets me come to him. It’s a subtle thing. I don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose, but I appreciate it.
“Sorry, I just—” I inhale when the cigarette lights and step back. “I needed some air. Didn’t mean to be so abrupt before.”
He waves me away. “It’s fine. I needed some air too. That bleach smell was starting to give me a headache.”
I hum. “I guess I’m used to it by now.”
“How so? You don’t work customer support for a bleach company, do you?” he asks.
“No, I uh—” Shit. “I live upstairs.”
His mouth drops open as he backs away from the wall to look above the neon sign for The Sudsy Dream. “You—you live right up there?”
I take another drag and nod.
“That little—” he mutters, spinning around, taking a moment to glare into the laundromat. “All week I came here and she knew?—”
“Joel, why are you here?”
“What?”
“Why are you here ?”
His brows soften. “I told you. Laundry.”
“Your one sock?”
“It really needed washing.”
I flick my cigarette away and make for the door, but as I go he gently grasps my wrist and stops me.
“No, wait. Come on. Listen, I really just wanted to see you again. I figured that was obvious.”
I watch his face. He seems sincere, his amber eyes dancing over my face. Can I trust things might be different with him? “Why would you want to waste your time with me? You don’t even know me.”
“I’m trying to change that but, if you haven’t noticed, you’re making it really hard.”
I suppose I am.
He steps toward me slowly, a gentle smile on his face. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s why I’m here, across town with a single sock and a pocket full of quarters instead of at home with my fully repaired washing machine.”
My mouth drops open. He’s so honest. “Joel?—”
“If you’re not attracted to me—if what I felt between us in Vegas . . . what I felt between us last week—what I feel today . . . was all just one-sided, tell me now. I’ll take my soggy sock and never darken the doorstep of The Sudsy Dream again.”
My heart spins in circles as his eyes trail over to my lips, lingering there.
“But if it wasn’t, all I’m asking is for one chance. You’re right, we don’t know each other, but isn’t finding out ninety percent of the fun?”
Half of me wants to take the risk and the other half is too terrified to believe life is presenting me with this opportunity again. If only there was a sign, a message . . . something to show me how to trust again.
“Hey,” Joel says, looking past me, “do you hear that?”
“I—what?”
He touches my shoulder and moves past me down the alley. “I can hear something. Hold on?—”
“Joel?” But he’s gone, and I’m left panicking about my decision. Worried I won’t choose right.
“Hey!” I hear, then Joel emerges from around the corner with something small bundled in his arms. “Look what I found.”
He jogs over to me with that bright smile.
“Check it out.”
Leaning in, he shows me what he went down the alley for.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, rushing toward him and the rumpled orange fluff ball. “Stella? How the hell did you get outside?”
Joel passes her to me, and my panic is instantly soothed by the fact he found her. I look up at the window she normally occupies and see that the screen has popped off at the corner. “Shit!” I brush leaves out of her long fur. “Oh, Stella, what were you thinking?”
“Seems like she didn’t want to go far. She must really love you.”
Joel looks up at me then, and I know this is it. If I let him leave, he won’t come back. He’ll move on and I’ll forever regret that I wasn’t brave enough to give him a chance.
You can do this. You can trust—one more time.
“Joel?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
I pull Stella tighter toward me for strength. “I-I . . .” Just say it. “Could you help me upstairs? The screen needs to be fixed so she doesn’t escape again.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Upstairs?”
“To my apartment.”
“Oh, uh . . . okay.”
I nod, tilting back on my heels. “Come on.”
There’s a small alcove tucked into the side of the building that leads to a staircase, and I lead Joel up past the front door to the laundromat. I pull my keys from my bag and open the door before heading up.
“Must be nice to only have to go downstairs to do your laundry,” Joel admits when we reach my apartment.
“Why do you think I picked this place?”
He smiles, and I can’t help but mirror it back.
I open the door, and Stella immediately jumps from my arms and shakes out her fur, dust and dirt scattering onto the floor. She meows loudly, then looks at me, as if to say I thought you weren’t going to bring this boy home, you hypocrite .
“This is Stella,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “I found her in the same alley six months ago.”
Joel chuckles. “Hey, naughty girl, it’s nice to meet you. I love that name, by the way.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Stella?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. It’s one of my favorite movie lines. You know—” He dramatically reaches out his arm with a pained expression. “Stella . . . Stella !”
Be still my heart. “You’ve seen A Streetcar Named Desire ?”
“Yeah, of course.”
A wide grin takes over my face. “It’s one of my favorite movies.”
He smirks. Damn him and that smirk. “The, uh . . . the window is just over there,” I say, pointing toward my bed, because of course the window I need fixing is right beside my bed.
Okay, just keep yourself together. He’s just here to help me fix the screen.
He shucks off his leather jacket and . . . okay, this just got a whole lot harder. The arms on this man? Black and grey tattoos cover his skin—bats and devils and all manner of hellish beasts. The juxtaposition of his skin and personality is unbelievable. Heat spreads between my legs, and I press my thighs together while remembering to close my mouth. He examines the window for a few seconds. “Doesn’t seem too bad. Looks like a screw came loose. You got a screwdriver around here?”
“Uh . . . no,” I admit. “Not exactly very handy.”
He turns to me and smiles. “No problem. I think I have an idea.”
He walks past me into my kitchen and I watch as he so confidently opens the cutlery drawer and pulls out a butterknife. He looks so good in my space, as if he’s lived here the whole time. “So, you like movies?”
I watch him, amused, as he slides back past me in his socks. “Correction. I love movies.”
“What’s your top favorite movie?” he asks, kneeling on my bed now, twisting the butterknife in his capable hands.
“ To Catch a Thief .”
He inspects his work and hums. “Never seen that one.”
“Really? You’re missing out.”
“I’ll have to check it out.” He’s standing in front of me now, placing the butterknife in my palm. “All fixed.”
I peek past him at the repaired screen where Stella has already taken up her loafing position in the sun. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
He gently shakes his head. “Nah. I’m happy to help.”
I take a deep breath as we stare at each other, not five feet from my bed. I sneak a glance at my wrinkled sheets, the fantasy of the two of us tangled up in them too much to fight against. Our eyes meet and I realize that he was looking at them too.
“I should go?—”
“So about that date?—”
His eyes widen as we both stop talking at the same time. Why is my heart beating so fast?
“Wait . . .” he says. “What did you say?”
I tuck some hair behind my ear and stand up straight. “That date you asked me on. What if I said yes?”
His brilliant white teeth shine from his wide smile. “Really?”
“Yes. I’ll give this a shot.”
My heart flutters as his eyes crinkle with joy. “You will?”
“I can’t possibly say no now,” I say with a smirk. “You saved my cat.”
Joel chuckles. “Oh, I get it. It’s a pity date. It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says when I try to correct him. “I’ll take it. And no, Stella and I were definitely not in cahoots to get you to agree.”
I laugh. “What can I say? She’s a great wingwoman.”
There’s a pause, then we slowly make our way back toward my door. “So, how about Wednesday, then?” he asks.
I pretend to mull it over. “Wednesday could work. It’ll give Stella time to do her nails . . . have a bath. You know, make herself look pretty.”
“It’s a date then,” Joel asserts.
He heads for the door, and I follow behind him, feeling lightheaded and warm.
“So I’ll see you here on Wednesday,” he confirms.
I nod. “Yes. You will. Wednesday.”
Standing in the open doorway, I wonder briefly if he’ll try to kiss me. I want to kiss him. It’s been two years of dreaming of his lips against mine, and now that I’ve agreed to give this a chance, I don’t know if I can wait anymore.
“You wanted to know my name,” I say, feeling exposed and nervous. “It’s?—”
But Joel shakes his head. He reaches forward with one hand to push back a stray curl from my face, and my body comes alive from his touch. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I have our whole date to figure it out.”