Chapter Twenty-Eight
Juniper
I t was official.
I hated the laundromat.
No, I hated people.
Okay, I hated the word hate, and I didn’t want to use it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
I didn’t have enough sleep or caffeine to deal with the hardcore women who ignored the backdrop of gunfire in the sketchiest neighborhood in Miami as they made rushing a washing machine just as it ended its cycle an Olympic sport.
I’d lost out on grabbing a washer six times now.
No, seven.
Screw this.
Shoving my stupid borrowed cart with the one high pole like there were seven feet tall humans who used laundromats, I whipped that sucker around in a tight arc at the last minute and beat out one of the women only because she was the oldest.
Looking like she was just shy of a hundred and ten, she glared up at me and narrowed her eyes, which was saying a lot because I was short as hell.
I glared back. But then I felt bad and used my subpar Spanish. “Gracias.” I smiled. I think.
Shoving her cart against mine, she let loose with what sounded like a curse, a death threat, and a lesson on morality all in one.
I amped up my smile. “I have no idea what you said.”
The deep voice came out of nowhere. “She told you she was there first, and to move your ass.”
Startled, I looked up.
Blond curly hair that was insanely gorgeous, two days of scruff, wearing black sunglasses that matched his black leather jacket, a ridiculously hot guy in boots and jeans walked past me.
No, he moved past me.
Because the man didn’t walk. He strode. All six feet something of him.
Speechless, I watched him scan the laundromat on his way to the machine that cashed bills into coins. He fed in a dollar, then grabbed the coins and turned back my way.
Frantically dropping my gaze, I focused on the washer like my life depended on it.
Two booted feet appeared in my line of vision, then I got that deep voice again, but this time it was quieter and laced with just a whisper of humor. “She didn’t really say ass.”
I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop myself. I inhaled. The faint hint of leather and something that was all man was mostly overpowered by laundry soap and dried clothes. “Let me guess.” I looked up. “She told me politely to move it or lose it.”
He chuckled. “It wasn’t polite, but you get the gist. Nice phone.”
The abrupt change in subject matter catching me off guard, I made the mistake of looking down to exactly where my phone was. Where it always was when I didn’t carry my giant purse.
Wedged in my bra.
Half sticking out from my tank top.
Nestled against my giant boobs.
I whipped it out. “Yeah, well.” I waved it around like an idiot. “Ultramarine is all the rage in late-model iPhones.”
He snatched it out of my hand. “Looks new.”
“Hey!” Panicked, I reached for my cell, but he held his arm up. “Give that back!”
The women all around us momentarily froze and stared. All except the older woman. She backed away.
“I have a better idea.” He smiled, and a small hoop in his left nostril glinted in a stream of sunlight filtering into the stifling laundromat.
Trying and failing to see his eyes, watching my reflection in his sunglasses, hating my shitty bun even more, and wishing I’d put on deodorant this morning, I forced myself to cross my arms. Then I played his game because I knew men like this. “What’s your better idea?”
The muscles on one side of his face moved as if he’d winked. “How about I give you my number.” Still holding his arm up and my cell phone out of my reach, he swiped across my screen. “What’s your passcode?”
“Nice try,” I deadpanned, even though I was freaking out on the inside.
“You’re right. Bad idea. I’m not trustworthy.” He swiped again, then held the phone in front of my face for exactly as long as it took for the facial ID to catch.
My panic turned to frantic alarm, but years of practice kept my voice and tone even. “Nice attempt at reverse psychology with the trust comment. What are you going to do now? Check my bank account? Transfer all my money out? I’d spare you the suspense and trouble, but why ruin the spoiler?”
“Spoiler, huh?”
“I’m in a laundromat.” Douche.
His smile tilted half his mouth as he glided his thumb across my phone in a random pattern without looking at the screen. “You really don’t want my number?”
“Do I look like I want your number?” Guys who smiled at me were a hard pass.
The laugh came again, as if it were easy for him. “I think you look like you’re fighting old women for washing machine privileges and losing.”
The half snort matched my half bun and zero patience. “I got to this washer first.”
“By banging into her cart.”
Steam rose, and whoever this guy was, I hated him as much as I hated hate. “I won fair and square.”
His head tilted as he lowered his arm partway. “You like winning?”
“I like not being hit on in a laundromat.”
His eyebrows peeked above his sunglasses. They were the same blond as his hair. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“No. You’re pretending you need change for God knows what reason and giving me my cell back.”
Lowering his arm until it was in front of his unzipped jacket, he gripped my phone with both hands. Then his thumbs danced across the screen with an almost chaotic energy that was at odds with the complete stillness of the rest of him as his sunglasses-covered gaze seemed to stay locked on mine. “Maybe I need parking meter change.”
He was lying. “Maybe you don’t need to mess with women and their cell phones before nine a.m.” Everyone ignored the parking meters around here, including the parking cops. Besides, if anyone actually put money in them, it’d be stolen, anyway.
“It’s ten, and what’re you implying? I should wait until tonight?” His smile turned megawatt. “I can work with that.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I snatched my phone back and shoved it behind me, right into the waistband of my leggings. Then I recrossed my arms and stared.
His smile held for a single second, then he laughed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. Word of advice, hellcat? Don’t cart slam any more old women in here.” Leaning toward me, he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “They might steal your detergent.” Abruptly straightening and turning, he took four strides, rounded the corner of the open-air building, and was gone.
A moment later, I heard the distinctive rumble of a Harley come to life.
I pulled out my phone.
The motorcycle’s engine roared as it took off.
I scrolled to my contacts, then my bank app.
No new number programmed, and no recent log-in to my bank.
The old lady showed back up as the washer finished its cycle. “ Tetas ,” she muttered as she took her shit out of the machine.
“Yeah.” That word I knew, and I couldn’t disagree. “They get me in more trouble than they’re worth.” Giant tits seemed to do that. Not that I could help how I was born, and not that the old lady heard me.
She’d already moved on to a dryer.
I threw my clothes into the washer.