Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Breakfast of champions.”
“The store two blocks from here has an olive bar. You get to fill your own container. I couldn’t just bypass that.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to be eating olives for weeks.”
Chuckling, he pushed off the jamb and walked in her direction. “But at least you got detergent . . .” He winced when he got closer and picked up the bottle. “Ah. Hate to break this to you, but this is fabric softener.”
“What?”
“Still important. Just not the main event.”
She looked down at the overflowing laundry basket on the concrete floor, deflated. “What am I going to use to wash my clothes? I’m on my last pair of—” She cut herself off before she could say the word panties, but when his gaze climbed her thighs and teased the apex of her leggings, it was obvious Sig knew what she’d been about to say.
“We can’t have you going out without them, can we?” His tongue rested on his bottom lip a moment and she got the sense he was trying to control his breathing. What a coincidence—she was doing the same, because he smelled incredible; it was a struggle not to yank him closer by his lapels and inhale the cloves and pepper that was his signature scent. “Don’t worry, I brought a couple of Tide Pods from home.” He unearthed them from his jacket pocket, holding them up. “You’re safe from indecency.”
“Is it indecent to forgo underwear?”
“If someone knew you’d forgone them, yeah. It would be a little indecent.” He took the fabric softener bottle away from Chloe, setting it on the neighboring machine . . . and then he framed her waist in his hands, lifting her off the machine and settling her down in front of him and tipping her chin up with a finger. “And I’d know you weren’t wearing any. I might start thinking about things that I shouldn’t.”
Chloe swallowed. So many throbs in so many places. “Guess we better start washing.”
Neither one of them moved for several seconds, then his fingertips skimmed down her throat and away, so casually, as if they hadn’t left fire in their wake.
“First thing we have to do is separate lights and darks,” Sig said, tone hoarse, nudging her basket with his toe. “If you put in a red shirt with a bunch of white laundry, you’ll end up with a lot of pink shit. Believe me, I learned that the hard way.”
“Are you a self-taught laundryman? Or did your parents teach you?”
Sig was quiet for a second. “It was just my mother and I growing up. Harvey wasn’t really in the picture until I hit college—and only because I tracked him down out of curiosity. Then again, he’s not really the type to pass on laundry tips, is he?”
“No,” Chloe said slowly, studying him. As deeply as she felt she knew Sig after such a brief window of time, the truth was, she didn’t know a lot about his past. And God, she wanted to know every detail of every single day that led up to creating this person standing in front of her. This professional athlete who carried Tide Pods in his pocket and championed her new start and installed extra locks on her door. “Your parents divorced when you were young?”
“They were never married, actually,” he said, a hint of color flushing into his cheeks. He hunkered down and started dividing her laundry, prompting Chloe to kneel and follow his lead, putting whites in one pile, colors in another. “My mother grew up with money, a big family, but her parents didn’t approve of Harvey. And I guess they were right, since he ended up leaving shortly after I was born. I’m not sure if my mother resented her family for never accepting Harvey or if him leaving just scored her pride and she couldn’t face them, but . . . we moved away from them after Harvey bailed. My mom wanted to make her own way, without their help. But she never liked talking about the circumstances.” His brows drew together. “I’ve got a lot more questions than answers when it comes to how I grew up.”
“I’m sorry, Sig.”
“It’s okay. If I’d grown up all posh like you, I wouldn’t be able to teach you how to do laundry now. See?” He winked at her. “Everything happens for a reason. My mom was too busy working two jobs to teach me how to wash clothes, so I did what any hockey player would do. I asked my coach. His wife came over and showed me the basics.”
“How old were you during all of this?”
He squinted an eye. “Seven, maybe?”
“Wow,” she whispered, only vaguely aware that they’d gravitated together over the course of Sig’s story and now their foreheads were almost touching. “Did she teach you anything else?”