Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Nori
“Nooooo.” I let out a long, low groan. “I think my thong is missing.”
“Huh?” Hayden grunts, not looking my way. We’re in the living room watching the second half of The Bachelorette. We’re also eating Red Vines and folding laundry. It’s our Thursday night ritual. The coffee table is piled with clean clothes. Two laundry baskets sit at our feet.
“Scratch that.” I frown. “It’s definitely missing.”
“What’s missing?” Hayden’s eyes stay glued to the twelfth victim stepping out of the bachelor limo, even though she already saw this episode Monday. Personally, I watch The Bachelorette with mild enthusiasm, but Hayden’s addicted. The girl has watched every single season, including the ones they film in paradise.
Twice.
“My underwear,” I hiss.
“What underwear?” she asks, finally darting a quick look at me.
“The skimpy red thong you insisted on giving all your bridesmaids as a joke when you asked us to be in your wedding party.” I toss a pink tank top on one of my piles without folding it. “ That underwear.”
Hayden grabs the remote and pauses the show. “I’ll have you know I bought those panties at Victoria’s Secret.” She sets the remote next to a mound of sock balls. “And I paid full price. They’re one hundred percent satin. Those panties are definitely not a joke.”
I cringe. “Can you please stop saying the word ‘panties’ when the pair in question is currently MIA?”
“Fine.” She plucks a Red Vine from the package on the couch between us and aims it at me. “So where exactly did your rogue pair of underwear go?”
“I must’ve left them in the dryer.” I chew my lip, considering other options. “Or maybe they got stuck in the washing machine. There isn’t much fabric involved, so I might not have seen a small strip of red caught against the wall of the drum.”
“Hold on a minute.” Hayden takes a bite of Red Vine, then talks with her mouth full. “Is this your way of admitting you actually wore the red satin pant?—”
“Don’t say that word again.”
“Okay.” She swallows, choking back a laugh. “So you actually wore the gorgeous, full-priced, not-a-joke Victoria’s Secret underwear I gave you?”
“I definitely did not.”
“Then why were you washing said underwear?”
“Because.” I lower my volume, like someone else in our apartment might overhear. Which is an impossibility since there’s only two of us living here. Soon to be one, after Hayden gets married. “I wanted them to be clean,” I say primly. “You know. Just in case.”
“In case your dinner with that lawyer tomorrow night goes better than last week’s date?”
I roll my eyes. “Any date would be better than Warren Snuze.”
Hayden arches a brow. “And are we thinking you might find yourself in need of sexy lingerie?”
“Ha!” I snort. “I’ve never even met this guy before. So no lingerie of any kind will be making an appearance.”
“Then please explain why you washed a pair of underwear you have zero intention of wearing … just in case. ” She puts those last three words in air quotes, and shifts her voice to sound like me. It’s an annoyingly accurate imitation based on two decades of listening to each other speak.
Our twenty-year friendship is full of pros and cons.
Pros: A roommate to be with while folding laundry, eating Red Vines, and watching garbage TV like The Bachelorette .
Cons: Losing that same roommate, along with the sexy lingerie I never wanted in the first place.
“I was worried I might run out of all my regular underwear,” I say. “And I’m tired of resorting to bathing suit bottoms as backups.”
“You mean if you run out of all your boring underwear.”
“White cotton isn’t boring.” I fold my arms. “It’s bleach-able.”
Hayden coughs out the word “boring” under her breath. Then she gnaws off another length of Red Vine. “Anyway, if the thong I gave you is such a joke, wouldn’t bathing suit bottoms be a better substitute?”
“Yes, and that’s why all my old suits are stretched out. And this season’s options won’t be on sale for another month.”
She chews, swallows, smirks. “You don’t even swim.”
“But I love the sunshine and tanning and being by the water. And those things are definitely better in a bathing suit.”
“So let me get this straight.” Hayden narrows her eyes. “Your plan is to buy a new bathing suit once they go on sale and use the bottoms as backup underwear. And until then, your spare pair is a thong. Got it.”
“That is so not the point,” I say, ignoring her sarcasm. “My point is, I would never wear any piece of clothing that hadn’t been washed beforehand. Especially clothing that goes … there.” I surrender to a wince. “And now that particular piece of clothing is missing.”
Hayden glances at my empty laundry basket. “You’re right. Better check the laundry room.” She picks up the remote again.
“But I’m already in my pajamas.” I sweep an arm down to indicate the sky-blue flannel covered in snoring sheep. “And you’re the one who bought the stupid thong for me in the first place.”
“Hey!” Hayden aims the remote at my forehead. “I gave you a special gift for being my best, most favorite maid of honor in the whole wide world.”
“I’m your only maid of honor.” I smirk. “Which also makes me your least favorite.”
“Good point.” She nods. “Then I’m definitely not rescuing your underwear from the laundry room.”
“Come on, Hayden,” I protest. “You owe me.”
At this, she guffaws. “How do you figure?”
“You’re sticking me with an entire apartment’s worth of rent when you move out.”
“I already told you I’m cool with kicking in my half until you find a new roommate.”
“But I don’t want a new roommate,” I moan, probably sounding like the whiniest of her preteen students. “And that’s all your fault, you know. I got super-spoiled by your total awesomeness.” Including a compliment along with a complaint is something I learned in multiple business classes.
For all the good those courses did me .
“You could always find a more affordable place,” Hayden suggests, completely ignoring my compliment.
“I can’t move. This apartment is my home.” I stick my lip out in an exaggerated pout. “The only home I remember, that is.”
When Hayden’s face falls, I realize I’ve probably laid the teasing on a little thick. But the truth is I don’t want to leave The Serendipity.
I just might not be able to stay.
“I was only kidding.” I bump her shoulder. Well, mostly kidding. I really don’t want another roommate. And I do have some savings to cover the rent for awhile. Either way, this isn’t Hayden’s problem. And I shouldn’t have made her think it was.
Yes, she took over the second bedroom here when East and Becca moved out. And yes, I thought that solution would last more than six months. But Hayden couldn’t help meeting the love of her life and falling hard.
She and Jasper are made for each other.
“I just want my bestie to be happy,” I say. “Don’t worry about me.”
“You know, you really should get on MatchYou,” she suggests for the hundredth time. “Then you can find a permanent roommate like I did.”
“No way.” I frown. “You got the only good guy left on that app. And I don’t trust technology to pick the love of my life. I can wait until I organically meet a gorgeous man who loves puppies and children and walks old ladies across the street.”
“At least you’re realistic.”
I snort. “Thank you for noticing.”
“What about them?” She nods at the TV, frozen on a commercial for Swipe Rite. Then she sings their tagline. “ You can’t go wrong with Swipe Rite. ”
“Still a dating app. ”
“But I saw they’re about to run a big Spring Into Love promotion, and they’re looking for singles to feature in their ad campaign.”
“Not interested.”
Hayden plucks another Red Vine from the package. “Then we’re back to me helping out if you run into financial trouble.”
I puff out a half-laugh that only half masks my frustration. “If I wanted pity-rent, I’d ask my brother.”
Hayden tilts her head. “You know, having a safety net isn’t the worst thing in the world, Nori.”
“Oh, really?” I heave a sigh. “Tell that to the safety net.”
“I’m serious.” Hayden’s tone goes soft. “East and Becca just want to help, you know that, right?”
“I do, and that’s the problem.” My insides are a pile of guilt ropes tying themselves into knots. “They sacrificed everything for me. And now—when they could finally be free—they’re in Boston taking care of Becca’s parents. I refuse to be a burden in any way, shape, or form ever again. I’m not a four-year-old, regardless of how East sees me.” I blow out a breath. “I’ve been an adult for a long time.”
“Right.” Hayden arches a brow. “An adult who’s got a hot dinner date planned with some lawyer. An adult who has sexy red panties and?—”
“Stop saying panties and go rescue my thong from the laundry room!” I throw my palms together begging and fake a whimper. “Pretty please? With Red Vines on top?”
“Not gonna happen, my friend.” Hayden flashes me a grin. “But I will keep The Bachelorette paused until you get back.”
“Fine.” I heave myself off the couch and head to my room to throw on slippers. At this point, I’m too lazy to change, so I’m resigned to skulking down the hall in my pajamas, hoping I won’t accidentally run into Dr. McMuffin on my way to the stairs .
He’ll still be at the hospital, Nori.
Of course he’ll still be at the hospital. The man is a workaholic. I’ll bet he doesn’t even notice puppies, children, or old ladies. But just in case he happens to be lurking around in his I’m-a-doctor scrubs, I scurry down the back stairs to the basement. The scent of detergent and fabric softener hangs in the air. I’m guessing no one else is washing clothes and eating Red Vines on a Thursday night, so I rush into the laundry room, still hoping to avoid anyone seeing me in my stupid sheep pajamas?—
—and I come to a screeching halt.
Because it’s not just anyone digging clothes from the same dryer I just used a couple hours ago. It’s Cash Briggs.
He’s bent over, scooping laundry from the barrel into a basket. His perfect butt is literally three feet from me, protruding above a pair of thick, muscular legs. Of course he’s wearing scrubs.
Isn’t he always?
I suck in a breath loud enough for him to hear, and he stiffens. Then he straightens. When he turns to face me, he’s holding a pair of black boxer briefs in one hand. My red satin thong is dangling from the other.
“Looking for this?” he asks. His thatch of dark blond hair swoops over his forehead. Instead of answering, I just stand there, gaping, taking in the depth of his eyes. The irises are blue tonight. No … gray.
Definitely gray.
And did I mention gorgeous?
“Red’s not my color,” he says with a straight face. I can’t tell if his humor is dry or if he’s serious. “So these must be yours.” As he hands over my skimpy, satiny thong, heat creeps up my chest, no doubt blooming above the top button of my sheep pajamas. Images of his beautiful girlfriend flash across my brain, alongside memories of escargot and his ghostly hand in my bathroom mirror.
“Thanks.” I square my shoulders and snatch the underwear from him. Then, without another word, I march from the room with what little dignity I have left. Once I’m out of sight, though, I flee to the stairs and charge up the three flights to my floor. The floor I share with Dr. Cash Briggs, who apparently wears black boxer briefs.
Leaning against the wall, I try to catch my breath. I’m panting now. And sweating. Not to mention dying a little bit inside. So I decide to torture myself by checking my reflection in the hallway mirror. Might as well get a look at the horror show the good doctor just witnessed, right?
I stand there for a moment, face to face with my worst fear.
I’m in sheep pajamas, with wild hair and zero makeup, unless you count the stain on my lips from the Red Vines. Turns out the artificial coloring is almost the same shade as my underwear.
Great.
I’m shoving the thong in the pocket of my flannel top when there’s a flash in the glass and my heart bolts to my throat.
Cash Briggs is behind me in the mirror, reaching for my hand.
With my pulse racing, I spin around to face … an empty hallway.
Whoa.
First Vincenzo’s escargot made me see things. Now there must be too much red dye in my bloodstream. Either way, I did not imagine Dr. McBoxer Briefs in the laundry room holding my panties.
And I’ve never hated that word more.