Beautiful Sacrifice (The Maddox Brothers, #3)(23)

My nose wrinkled. “Huh?”

Hannah nodded to my stack of cash. “He wrote on one of the bills. I thought you knew.”

Kirby rushed to stand next to me as I fanned out my money.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“It’s on the other side, kiddo,” Phaedra said, her eyes targeting one of the singles.

I flipped over the stack and found the note scribbled in barely legible print.





COMFORT SLEEP HOTEL


ROOM 201

Kirby laughed. “He gets points for persistence. You have to give him that.”

I inhaled, the wheels in my head spinning a hundred miles per hour. Now that I had somewhat of a plan, it was hard to be patient. But being patient was the only way it could work.

“It’s not cute. It’s obnoxious. But keep seating them in my section, okay?”

“You got it,” she said, climbing onto a stool and dangling her feet like a child.

Phaedra patted Chuck’s face. “Remember when you were obnoxious, honey?”

“How could I forget?” he said, waggling an eyebrow.

“Please stop,” Kirby said, looking ill.

A knock sounded on the door.

Kirby sighed. “He’s actually on time for once.”

When she didn’t move and didn’t say anything else, I turned to see Taylor standing in a white hat, a gray hoodie, and navy basketball shorts with flip-flops, holding a laundry basket full of clothes.

“I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Phaedra said with her gravelly low voice.

“Should I let him in?” Kirby asked.

Everyone looked at me.

“Just … nobody say a word. Let me handle it.”

“I feel like this is a joke,” Hannah said. “Is she playing a joke on us?”

“No, but it’s still funny,” Chuck said, trying not to laugh.

I made my way to the front door, not at all in a hurry, stopping just shy of an arm’s length away. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to seem exasperated.

“Laundry day,” he said, grinning from one ear to the other.

“Okay. You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”

“Do you have a washer and dryer?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Do people not know how to ask to borrow things where you’re from?”

“Illinois.”

“I know where you’re from!” I growled.

Taylor’s smile faded. “Can I borrow your washer and dryer?”

“No!”

He looked both ways, down each direction of the street, and then back at me. “Well … is there a Laundromat nearby?”

“On Platte Avenue. Just turn left on Platte, off Tejon. It’s just before you get to Institute Street. Right across from the supply store,” Phaedra called.

I spun around to see her pointing in the correct direction. I shot her a look, and she shrugged her shoulders.

“You wanna come?” he asked. “Laundromats are boring as f*ck.”

I pressed my lips together and then pulled them to the side, trying not to smile. This is it. I reached over and turned the key that was already in the lock. “Come in.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, now, you’re worried about overstepping?”

“Not really,” he said, walking past me. “Up the stairs, right?”

It had to be fate. Taylor was like a stray puppy that I’d fed once, and now, he wouldn’t go away. He also happened to be from the exact town I’d been saving money to visit all this time.

I closed the door and cranked the key before facing four identical smirks from my coworkers.

“You coming?” Taylor asked from the bottom of the stairs, still hugging his full laundry basket.

“Well,” I said, blowing my bangs from my eyes, “why the hell not?”





I opened the door for Taylor, watching with a glimmer of amusement while he made a show of glancing around. His shorts sat low on his hips, and he turned his white hat backward, taking in every corner of the room. He was a man I would normally stay far away from, and there he was, beautifully sloppy, standing in my apartment.

“Is this a satisfactory location to do your laundry?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Monumentally better than the Laundromat.” He pushed the door close. “Where’s your laundry room?”

I gestured for him to follow and then slid open a set of doors situated in the wall between the kitchen and the bathroom. The washer and dryer, probably purchased the same year I was born, were just barely set inside the shallow rectangular closet.

“Still better than the Laundromat?” I asked.

“Yes, but I can go if you want me to.”

“Just turn it to whatever setting and pull the dial to start it.”

Taylor’s appreciative smile was actually a little—okay, a lot—cute. He followed my directions, turning the dial on the washer and pulling. The water began to pour out from the back of the drum. He bent down, grabbed several pairs of jeans, and threw them in.

I retreated to my bedroom, organizing my tips. I added half to the previous day’s collection in my wallet and the other half to the shoebox. After stashing both, I changed into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized gray T-shirt.