Jordyn's Army, page 10
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll let you know in a few.” I drop my voice. “I’m hoping to be entertained.”
“Oh, dear lord,” she groans.
My stomach swirls, my face heats, as the man clears his throat. I position my finger over the red button on my phone. “I’ll call you later.”
“But—”
I end the call.
2
Boone
This might not be as bad as I thought.
I lean against the table. My bag of dirty laundry sits behind me, digging into my shoulder. Ignoring it, I keep my eyes trained on the cute raven-haired stunner that clearly wasn’t expecting me.
She slides her phone in her pocket. Her pale skin hosts the rosiest cheeks I may have ever seen. Her blush is adorable.
And sexy as fuck.
She settles in her seat. A deeply inhaled breath causes her breasts to rise and fall. The motion causes my brain to misfire … and my cock to twitch.
“Hi,” she says finally.
Her voice is sweet and playful, like she’s hiding a laugh. It makes me grin.
“Hi,” I say back.
“You look a little lost.”
“Is it that obvious?”
I look around at the small, ill-maintained laundromat. The woman at the hotel my brother Holt and I are staying in didn’t mention that this was a hole-in-the-wall. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe this is what laundromats are like. If so, my brothers and I are going to have to have a meeting when I get back to Savannah. There’s money to be made here.
She laughs. “Let’s just say you don’t look sure this is where you’re supposed to be.”
“This is definitely not where I’m supposed to be, in all actuality,” I say. “I should be home, playing a round of golf right now, but my brother conned me into taking a trip with him and here I am.” I raise my arms out to my sides. “Doing my own laundry. Wild, huh?”
“I guess. I mean, if the wild part is the part about taking a trip. Because doing laundry is a pretty routine thing, you know.” She furrows her brow. “Or it should be if you don’t want to stink.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
She’s adorable as she is fire, her eyes shining as she banters back and forth with me. It’s an exchange that feels easy. Comfortable. Nice, even.
Weird.
“Does that mean you know how these things work?” I ask.
“What things?”
“Washers and dryers.”
Her laugh—loud and quick—takes me by surprise. She sits up, pulling her leg off the chair in front of her, and looks at me with sparkling eyes. “Um, yeah. Don’t you?”
“Well … no.”
She leans forward. Her dark hair falls across her shoulders and I want to sweep it back so I can see her face clearly again.
“Don’t tell me you’ve always had a woman do it because I might throw my shoe at you,” she says.
Her lips are pressed together in the sexiest pout and it takes everything I can muster to remember what we’re talking about and not about kissing the shit out of her.
“Actually,” I say, shoving off the table. I mosey across the building, cheered on by the buzzing machines. “I do have women do it for me.”
She sticks a finger in the air. “Ah-ha! I knew it.”
“Women I pay.” I grin. “That quite like their jobs, I think.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
Her lips work back and forth. “Then I should probably say I’m sorry.”
“For …” I goad.
For a split second, I don’t think she’s going to play along. I think she’s going to shrug, pull her leg to the floor, and go on about her business. Just as I open my mouth to prod her along, she speaks.
“For … you know …” She tries to hide a smile. “Assuming a guy that looks like you would have a woman do his laundry. That wasn’t nice of me in retrospect.”
“No. It wasn’t. But let’s go back to the part where you said I was good-looking,” I say with a grin. “Care to elaborate?”
Her cheeks flush.
I head her way again and don’t stop until I’m in front of her. The air is scented with a citrusy aroma that flutters around me.
She sits back, trying to blow off the fact that my proximity is getting to her. It’s her eyes that give her away. Her pupils are dilated, the green darkening as I watch them.
“I didn’t say you were good-looking,” she replies.
I pretend to consider this. “Yeah, you kind of did.”
“Take it however you want.”
“Curious choice of words.”
Her lips break the line they’d been trying to hold. A smile stretches across her face, pulling mine up right along with it.
“I’m Boone Mason,” I say. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you that. But since you know my laundry status and I know you’re curious since you think I’m hot—”
“Wow. Okay. Jumping to conclusions a little there, don’t you think?”
I hold her gaze. She squirms in her seat, wanting to look away. But she doesn’t. She can’t.
“I don’t think so,” I tease.
I toss her a wink. Turning away, I head back toward my bag. Her eyes bore into my back as I walk. I adjust myself as discreetly as possible.
Of all the people I’ve met on this stupid trip to Illinois, this girl, whose name I’ve yet to acquire, is the most interesting. Learning how to do laundry is suddenly less irritating.
“So,” I say. “Want to teach me how to do laundry?”
“Can’t.”
I glance over my shoulder. She points to her leg.
“I’m injured,” she says.
“What did you do?”
“That’s a secret.”
My brows pull together as I look at her foot. Red painted toes wiggle as I look for signs of trauma. There’s nothing.
“Looks fine to me,” I say.
“Well, it’s not.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “So, if you think I’m doing your laundry, think again, pal.”
I lean against the table again. “I didn’t ask you to do my laundry. I asked if you’d teach me how to do it. Big difference there.”
“Oh. Good point.”
I laugh at the puzzled look on her pretty face. “You’re something else.”
“Why are you here, anyway? I mean, I know you said you were on a trip with your brother, but why are you in Suds N Spins?”
“You’re nosy.”
“You keep talking to me.”
Pulling out the shirts and jeans from my bag, I shrug. “My brother is infatuated with this girl from here. Well, she lives in Chicago but she grew up here. So, he set up a business meeting with a company in Chicago—but really it was an excuse to see her. I’m not an idiot.” I look at her over my shoulder. “Maybe I am because I agreed to come along.”
“Maybe he’s just a good negotiator.”
“He is. That’s true.”
“And maybe you’re a sucker.”
My jaw falls open as a one-syllable laugh spills into the air. “I’m not either.”
“Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t. I don’t know you well enough to judge.”
“Since when has that stopped you from making assumptions?” I tease. Holding up a pair of jeans, I look at her. “So, what do I do with this laundry?”
She opens a piece of gum and pops it in her mouth. The package is offered to me. I wave a hand in the air, turning down the offer, and pick up more of my clothes.
“Put them in a washer,” she says. “But not the third one because it takes almost double the time to wash. Trust me.”
I nod as if she’s just given me the secret to world peace and point to door number two. She gives me a thumbs-up. I open the door and shove my clothes in.
“You should’ve separated them by color,” she tells me.
“It’ll be fine.” I close the door. “Now what?’
“Add soap.”
I slow blink.
Soap? I have to bring soap? No one told me that.
Shit.
“Um …” I stammer. “Where can I buy some of that?”
She rolls her eyes and points to a blue tub on the adjoining table. “Open that and take out a pod. But you’ll owe me.”
I do as instructed. “Thanks,” I say, holding up a green and blue squishy balloon-like thing.
“Now put that in with your clothes. Close the door. Put your quarters in and hit start,” she says. “And if you don’t have quarters, you can get some over there in the exchange thing.”
“I have quarters, thank you very much.”
I give her a playful glare as I get the washer started. Once it’s whirling around, I turn my attention back to her.
“Thanks for the soap,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
The air is warm and humid. The room smells like the laundry room at my house mixed with stale popcorn. I await the orangey scent of her as I walk her way.
Her fingers fly across her phone, a mischievous smile licking at her lips as I approach. I take the time to really look at her.
She’s pretty if not gorgeous in a very real kind of way. There’s nothing put-on or fake about her and I find that insanely attractive.
A pale pink shirt is cut decently low—long enough for me to see the top of her breasts. There are freckles spattering the bridge of her nose and a mole hiding on the underside of her chin.
I pull out a chair and sit a couple of feet away.
She looks up. Nodding to the phone she sticks back in her pocket, she laughs. “My friend worries.”
“Is that the friend you said, and I quote, ‘Oh, shit’ when I walked in?”
“It was ‘Holy shit’ and, yes, it was the same friend.” She rolls her eyes to distract from the hint of embarrassment on her face.
I chuckle.
“Anyway,” she says, “she—ouch.” She flinches as she sets her foot on the floor.
“Are you really hurt? I thought you were just fucking with me.”
“I’m not hurt-hurt. Just twisted it or something.”
“Want me to look at it?” I offer.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No. I’m an investor.”
She laughs. “What are you going to do? Take your shirt off and make me a sling?”
“If you want me to take my shirt off, all you have to do is ask.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she says, shaking her head. “I just meant that you’ve probably seen that on TV or something.” She blows out a breath. “You know what? Let’s just move on.”
I settle in, resting my forearms on my knees. “Fine. Let’s start by you telling me your name.”
“Fine. It’s Delaney.”
“Pretty name.”
“Thanks.” She grins. “What’s your name again?”
“Boone.”
“Like Daniel Boone?”
I sigh. “Like I’ve never heard that before.”
“Hey, I can’t help it. It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“I expected more from you.”
We sit quietly for a few moments. She taps her foot against the floor as a dryer begins to buzz.
“That’s my stuff,” she says. She gets to her feet, testing the ankle she was complaining about before committing to it. “It was nice meeting you, Boone.”
My heart races as the thought of her walking out disturbs me. I don’t know why.
She starts to unload her clothes into a big bin.
“Hey,” I say before I can think about it. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Depends on who is asking.”
“Me.”
“Depends on why,” she says with a coy smile. She shuts the dryer door.
“If I’m forced to eat dinner with my brother tonight, I might lose my damn mind.”
“Is he that bad?” she asks.
“No. It’s just that eating with you seems much more preferable.”
“Well, I don’t know him, but I assure you I’m probably better dinner company,” she says. “What are you thinking?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I know nothing about anything here. We’ve eaten at a place called Peaches a time or two.”
“Are you thinking fancy or casual? I mean, I’d say casual but you seem a little hoity-toity, if I can be honest.”
I snort. “Good to know.”
She lifts the bin. I try to take it from her, but she waves me back.
“If we’re going casual, I’d suggest a burger at Crave. It’s a bar here in Linton that’s laid-back and fun. It’s the best bet.”
“Perfect. Crave it is.”
Her eyes light up. “Meet you there?”
“At seven?”
“That works.”
She heads to the door but stops before pushing it open. Glancing at me over her shoulder, she laughs. “Hey, Boone?”
“Yeah?”
“When the washer goes off, just put your clothes in the dryer. But not the first one. And then add your money and press ‘start.’”
“Got it.”
The chimes ring as she opens the door. “Bye.”
“See you tonight.”
3
Boone
I run the towel over my head as I enter the living area of the hotel suite. Holt looks up from his notepad.
“I got us a flight out of Chicago tomorrow morning,” he says.
“Of course, you fucking did.”
“I thought you were ready to go home?”
I toss the towel on the back of a chair. “I was—I am. But I got myself a date tonight with this hot little honey I met at the laundromat and now I’ll have to cut it short. Or, at least keep track of time.”
Holt smirks, setting the notepad down slowly. “Did you just say you’re dating a girl you met in a laundromat?”
“You met Blaire in an airport, so I don’t want to hear it.”
He gets to his feet, an amused look on his face. “I … Let’s back up. You really went to the laundromat, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, lifting my chin. “I really did.”
He fights a laugh. “And did you wash your own clothes? Or did this hot little honey get conned into doing it for you?”
I gasp. It’s for effect because that’s something I’d totally do. But, being that I didn’t this time, I want to really drive that home.
“I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing,” I say, feigning exasperation.
“Oh, cut the shit, Boone.”
“I’m not lying. I put it all in the washer and added the little packet of soap stuff and turned it on. All by myself.” I grin. “I’ll accept your apology now.”
I don’t get one. Instead, my brother laughs. Loud.
“Is that why your shirt has blue streaks in the back? And looks like you wrestled a dog this afternoon?”
Glancing down, I pull at the fabric. It’s pretty wrinkled. There are faint blue shadows on the white parts that weren’t there when I wore this shirt yesterday.
“I think the washer was broken,” I say.
Holt slaps me on the back as he walks by. “I think you washed your shirt with your jeans, didn’t you?”
“You know what? I don’t like your tone.”
Holt laughs. He pulls open the fridge and takes out a beer.
“Besides,” I say, watching him take a long drink, “when is the last time you did your own laundry?”
“The day before we came here.”
“Liar.”
“I was raised a little differently than you,” he says, sitting the bottle down. “I’m the oldest. You’re the baby. There are three boys in between us. Let’s say Mom mellowed out somewhere in between.”
“Coy broke her,” I say in reference to our middle brother.
“Yeah, well, you’ll be the death of me.”
I roll my eyes and switch out shirts, opting for a solid black button-up. I glance at my watch. My heartbeat starts to race as I calculate how much time it will take to get to the bar called Crave.
“So,” Holt begins, “when is this date? Is it a date? Or just a quick fuck?”
“It’s a date, asshole. I’m meeting her at seven. Apparently, they have good burgers.”
Holt stills. “It’s not called Crave, is it?”
“How’d you know that?”
“That is Blaire’s brother’s bar. One of her brothers, anyway.” He runs a hand down his face. “I’ve avoided meeting her family and, yet, here you go meeting them first. Don’t think this doesn’t stress me out.”
I grab his beer and down the rest of it, avoiding the glare he fires my way.
“First,” I begin, “why should it stress you out? You two aren’t serious.”
He stills. If there’s one thing I can do in life, it’s read my brothers and Holt is pissed. He hasn’t banged any strange pussy since he met Blaire. He’s been to Chicago twice. He’s had her come back to Savannah once. Yet, he won’t admit he wants anything serious with her.
I wouldn’t be a good little brother if I didn’t push some buttons—for his own good, of course.
“Second,” I say, “you don’t trust me to uphold the family name?”
“Boone. Really?”
“Yes, really.” I hold my hands in front of me. “I’ll remind you that I’m a businessman same as you. As a matter of fact, I landed the biggest deal in our company’s history last quarter.”
“Your point?” he deadpans.
“That I can be serious when the situation calls for it.”
He sighs. “Boone, the deal of the century you landed was because you fucked the shit out of the—”
“Don’t be jealous.” I set the bottle down and work the buttons quickly up my torso. “I can’t help it you’re all lovey-dovey with Airport Girl.”
“Her name is Blaire, cocksucker.”
I drop my hands. “Got it. Now, what time are we rolling out of here in the morning so I can make sure I don’t miss our flight?”
“Nine.”
Grabbing my wallet off the end table, I shove it in my back pocket. “I’ll be back by then. Don’t start blowing up my phone if you don’t see me before seven.” I head to the door. “But if it’s seven and I’m radio silent, you should probably start calling. I might be a little fuck-foundered if all goes right.”
