Friday stretches before me, blank and empty. I scowl at the ceiling from where I sprawl on the bed, in the same position I’ve been in since I came home half an hour ago. I’d forced myself to go to my summer classes at Southern Michigan University this morning, despite just wanting to stay under the covers after the text I’d received.
Chad broke up with me.
The thought has been playing on repeat in my head since I read the message. I’d known the breakup was looming, but had expected him to at least tell me face to face. We’d been together for four months, after all. I deserve more than a text.
Another ripple of anger washes over me, and I huff then flop onto my side, yanking my extra pillow into my arms before hugging it to my chest. It’s not that I’m heartbroken or anything. Chad and I had a good run and he was a fun guy, but he isn’t the love of my life. He’d been a stable presence for me after so many one-night stands and disappointing blind dates.
The only thing missing was the spark.
I let out a despondent sigh as I stare unseeingly at my wall, thinking of the one time I’d found that elusive spark, that connection. But he hadn’t lasted, just like every other guy to date, starting with my dad taking off when I was ten. Why do I even bother?
I wish I could talk to someone. Ideally, my best friend Leah, but she’s working at the campus library. And when she does come home, she’ll probably hang out with her boyfriend. Not that I begrudge her that happiness, but it has made getting together with her more difficult.
If I were working today, I’d be able to vent to one of my coworkers, but I’m not close enough to call any of them out of the blue and dump all my problems on them. I’m sure they have more important things to do.
Picking up my phone, I scan my pathetically short list of contacts and one name catches my eye. Mom.
We haven’t spoken much since Chad and I went to visit her a couple of months ago. Between that and the disaster of our family Spring Break trip earlier this year, I don’t know that I want to call her. But the idea stabs me until I sigh and push her name.
She answers after a few short rings and I can hear my half-sisters screaming in the background. Georgina is eight and Naomi is six, more than old enough to listen when Mom tells them to quiet down. Yet the noise doesn’t lessen.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Meg, you’ll have to speak up. The girls are at it again.”
I hold my tongue against the snarky comment I want to make. Instead, I say, “I thought maybe we could catch up?”
She sighs and I can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t have time for idle chitchat.”
The words sting, but I try once more. “Well, maybe we could get together soon? Sounds like you could use a break.” An old memory of the two of us pops into my head and I smile, remembering how things were. Before. “What about getting a pedicure? Like we used to?”
“Oh, that sounds lovely. I’m just not sure how I’d find the time…”
A glimmer of hope peeks through the black cloud hanging over my head. “I could stop by tomorrow afternoon?”
Several moments pass, then she says, “Okay. I’ll take you up on that. Say one o’clock?”
A full smile stretches my lips. “Great, Mom. See you then.”
The idea of reconnecting with my mom bolsters me, and I pop off the bed with renewed energy after I hang up. Time to tackle my laundry. Grabbing one of my earbuds from the nightstand, I shove it in my ear and connect my music from my phone. I leave my other ear free in case I run into one of my housemates. Shinedown blares in my head, and I find myself bobbing along to the heavy beat as I gather the clothes near my bed.
Balancing the full clothes basket on my hip, I sashay through the house to the laundry nook off the kitchen. When I lift the lid of the washing machine, I instantly wrinkle my nose at the musty, stale smell of clothes that have sat for way too long.
My housemates are pretty tidy overall. I’ve lived in the mini-suite with my best friend and cousin Leah since I started college. We each have our own bedroom with a shared sitting room and bathroom, but it’s part of a larger house that we share with the four Wrighting brothers. We all make it a point to keep up the public spaces like the kitchen and main living room.
But we draw the line at taking care of each other’s laundry. It’s every person for themselves.
I start searching for clues as to who the clothes belong to. They’re definitely men’s clothes, based on the pair of khaki shorts on top. Steven, the oldest, is too responsible to forget he had laundry going, so I rule him out. I could see Shawn getting distracted by Leah, since they’re together. Sebastian is out because this load has both whites and colors in it.
Then I spy a pair of black briefs with the word Jockey written across the waistband and I shake my head. Growing up with the Wrightings and sharing a house, not to mention a laundry area, I know most of the guys prefer boxers, or at least boxer briefs. Only one wears briefs—the youngest and closest to my twenty-two years.
Silas.
The name conjures an image of his stupidly handsome face as well as a complicated mix of emotions left over from our tangled history. The pair of underwear taunts me because I know just how good Silas looks in them. Or, better yet, in nothing at all.
Memories threaten to slip past my carefully constructed walls that are already fragile from my breakup. I grit my teeth, then set about pulling the damp clothes out of the wash machine. Annoyance flares within me as I toss them in a heap on the dryer. I mutter the entire time about how he’s a grown-ass man who should be able to remember a simple thing like finishing his laundry.
Once I’ve replaced his clothes with my own and shut the lid, I listen to the washer fill as I run through my options. The clothes need to be washed again, so it’s not like I could just throw them in the dryer. Not that I would anyway. Did that once for Steven and he got upset with me for drying his favorite silk shirt. I no longer wash or dry anyone else’s clothes, just in case.
I could leave Silas’ stuff there in a heap. It would serve him right, plus eventually he’d run out of clean clothes and come looking for his stuff. Right?
My gut twists, though, and I curl my lip as my conscience pokes me. I could at least text him. That would be the nicer thing to do.
But I know Silas and as soon as he read the text, he’d forget it. Despite his best intentions, he gets sidetracked easily. This isn’t the first time this has happened. I stare at the wet heap of clothes and let out a resigned sigh. I guess I could take them up to Silas’ room where he’ll be sure to see them.
Then they’ll also be out of my way and I don’t have to smell them anymore.
An empty clothes basket sits on the shelf above the dryer so I toss his laundry into it, fighting a groan at the odor when I set the weighted basket on my hip. I make the trek upstairs into the guys’ territory—a place I rarely venture.
The unspoken rule used to be that the upstairs belonged to the guys while the mini-suite downstairs was only for me and Lee. Although lately that line has been blurred. Shawn is a frequent guest of Leah’s now that they’ve been dating for several months. On top of that, Sebastian’s girlfriend Callie moved into his room.
But I still feel like I’m trespassing whenever I walk upstairs.
Plus, I prefer to keep my distance from Silas when I’m able. Once upon a time, I wished for all that distance to disappear, but that was before. That flame has long since died, buried in the rubble of secrets and resentment that has piled up ever since.
Silas’ door sits almost closed as I reach the landing, a sure sign he’s home. Since it’s not shut completely, I stalk over and nudge it open with my toe—
Getting a full glimpse of a wide-eyed Silas wearing only a pair of his signature underwear.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of all that skin. He’s always been the perfect eye candy—lean and muscular, fit from playing soccer, with sun-kissed skin from all his time outdoors. His unruly curls are damp and sticking every which way, the way they always do right after he’s showered.
I want to run my fingers through them, to tame them. But I clench my free hand into a fist instead and work on finding my voice. “It wasn’t closed,” I explain. “I thought…”
His ever-present confidence snaps back into place and a smirk tips his lips as his amber eyes twinkle. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
The reminder only raises my hackles, and I pin him with my fiercest glare, unable to find a snarky retort.
“What’s up?”
I drop the heavy basket of clothes onto the messy floor where it makes a dull thud. “Forget something?”
“Shit.” He frowns. “How’d you know they’re mine?”
I wrinkle my nose and dip my finger under the waistband of a pair of his Jockeys. “It wasn’t rocket science.”
His smirk grows into an infuriating smile as I drop the briefs back onto the pile. When I look at him once more, I can’t help scanning his sculpted legs and the way the underwear hugs his trim hips. My mouth goes dry.
“See something you like?” He folds his arms, making his biceps stand out.
I know he’s only doing it to taunt me and I retort the first thing that pops into my head. “Just because you have a nice package doesn’t mean I want to open it.”
He blinks as my words settle between us.
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. The anger I’ve been fighting seeps out of me, overtaken by embarrassment. “I-I mean…” I stammer, wishing I could fall through the floor and disappear forever. I drop my head with a quiet, “Fuck.”
Normally I’d be able to own the compliment, raise my chin and stay defiant in the face of inflating his already-too-big ego. But not today. The walls I keep in place for interactions with him already feel flimsy in the wake of my breakup. I try to brace myself for whatever teasing comment Silas will come up with, hoping I’m strong enough today to handle him.
“Take off your shirt, and we’ll call it even.”
The outrageous request has my fight rushing back in and I snap my head up to meet his audacious gaze. He smirks, but a knowing reassurance rests in his eyes as he stares at me. As if he prodded me on purpose. I feel unsettled that he can still read me that well, even as a subtle warmth steals over me and I melt. Just a little. I know on some level he still cares and always will.
Because I feel exactly the same way.
Another moment passes as he holds my gaze. My heart stutters when a flash of longing appears in those amber orbs, then heat flares between us. Just because we’ve tried this and failed doesn’t mean there’s nothing here. Not that I’d admit that to him.
He clears his throat, then reaches for his jeans. “I need to get ready for work.”
“Fine. I’ve got my own laundry to tend to.” But I can’t help lingering in the doorway, watching him button his pants. A wisp of desire grounds me to my spot, as I wish for what could have been.
Then Silas puts on his most charming smile and strides over. He’s all smooth confidence, a walking sex magnet as he leans into my space and props his arm on the doorjamb above my head. I’m a solid five foot eight, and he’s got a good six inches on me. My stomach flips as I inhale his familiar scent—sandalwood and oak.
I can’t help staring at his perfect bare chest, then he clears his throat. I meet that intense gaze as he quirks a suggestive eyebrow.
“You wanna do me a favor?”
I feel my forehead crinkle as I narrow my eyes.
“Maybe you could pop those clothes back into the wash?” He tilts his head. “I’m sure I can find some way to repay you.”
The arrogant tone is exactly what I need to free myself from his magnetic spell. “Fuck off, Silas.” I toss my hair and walk down the hall without a backward glance.
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