Broken Girl(35)

“Hi,” he said as he buried his hands in his pockets. God how I had wished he had leaned over and kissed my cheek, a small gesture of chivalry I had missed from him.

“Hi,” I answered, twisting the top of my bag.

“Here, let me take that for you.” He reached down and grabbed my laundry and pulled it up hoisting it over his shoulder. “I have a couple of machines over by my office.”

“Oh, okay.” I followed him through the laundromat. The girl Shane was with when I showed up gave me a dirty look. I smiled back, grateful for the fact he wanted nothing to do with her.

“I’m glad you came,” he said over his shoulder as he continued toward the washing machines with broken tags hanging from them.

I watched the muscles in his shoulders flex and the edge of his shirt as it danced across his ass as he walked. The slight glisten off his bare arms ruled my tongue as it slid across my lips. What I wouldn’t give to skate my fingers across his skin.

“You were so desperate with that text,” I clipped, hoping to stop my mind from raging for him.

“Desperate? You’re really calling my text desperate?” he quipped, dropping my laundry bag in a rolling cart before pulling off the broken tags from the two washing machine.

“Really? You put a fake broken tag on them?”

“Just for you.” He gave me a quick smile.

I pulled the drawstrings on my bag and started to collect and sort my casual non-working clothes before I tossed them into the bellies of the washing machines.

“If your text wasn’t desperate then what would you call it?” I knew my words were sharp. They could’ve even been interpreted as painful.

“Apologetic, remorseful, I’d even say, miserable. I’ve missed you, Rose. I like—” He broke off as he leaned back against the dryer across from me. “I like doing laundry with you.” He pushed his hands through his hair.

“I guess being pitiful has its advantages.”

“If that’s what you call being here with me, then I’ll take pitiful any day of the week,” he said as he crossed his feet. “But let’s not forget, you came here to see me,” he added before he slipped his hands back into his front pockets.

“I came because I have nothing clean to wear.”

“Really? What about all the laundromats between your apartment and here?”

“They’re too gross, besides, it’s a habit . . . coming to this place. I’ve been conditioned; blame it on those damn Blow Pops. I really missed all the different flavors.” My voice broke off as I busied myself with the laundry soap for the washing machine.

“Yeah, well, so did everyone else; I stopped putting them out, figured I didn’t need any Blow Pops if you weren’t here.”

“You only put them out because of me?” A smile crept over my face.

“Well, I had to impress you in some way; you weren’t very excited about my cheap suckers, so, I figured what’s better than bubble gum wrapped in crystallized sugar on a stick? It’s a Blow Pop, a two-fer for Christ’s sake,” he answered as he pulled quarters from his pocket, dropped them into the coin feeder and pushed them into the machine.

“Hey, I can pay for my own laundry.”

“I know, but you struggle with choosing the right temperature,” he teased, pointing to the machine as the water started to fill the tub. I clicked the permanent press option and spun back around to him.

“Well, now that I’m here are you going to bring back the Blow Pops?”

“Does my answer hinge on you hanging around?”

“Depends,” I huffed as I collected my next load of laundry.

“On what?” he asked as he pulled open the door of the next washing machine.

“The flavor,” I answered as I shoved my clothes into the washer.

“The flavor?” he asked confused before he shut the door.

“Of the Blow Pops! POPSYou know, for someone who claims to be quick witted . . . just tell me you had kept some stashed away in the bottom drawer of your desk.”

“Sure I do . . . my emergency stash, you like cherry, right?” His eyes glistened, matching his smart-ass remark.

“Very funny,” I quipped before he turned on his heels. “Where are you going?”

“You said you’d hang out if I bring you lollipops, Blow Pops to be exact. So, I’m going to go get them.”

I gave him a quick smile before turning back and repeating the routine of filling up the machine with a tall stack of quarters. Once I had both washing machines humming, and nothing to occupy my attention, I figured I’d go to the bathroom and then see if Shane needed help finding the box of Blow Pops. Sure I could be pissed off that he didn’t call me or text me for all that time. But truthfully, being around him again gave me a sense of normal, even if it was completely fake. When I was with him I fell right into comfortable again. I wasn’t a tangled up mess of unexpected or a total wreck filled with all the battle scars of what my life had become.

Shane has this natural talent to make me feel like a plain, ordinary girl and well, being ordinary makes me feel like I’m something special.

On my way back from the bathroom, I figured I’d stop in on Shane and find out what’s taking so long to find my Blow Pops. His office door was partly open and I saw through the door crack that he was still sitting at his desk. He wasn’t rummaging through his drawers; instead he was looking over to the other side of the room, talking to someone.