Rowan

Doing laundry naked is one of my favorite pastimes.

Too bad I can’t bring that up at job interviews …

My curtains are drawn tight, my TV is blaring the latest Real Housewives franchise, and three heaping piles of cotton-smelling clothes are calling for me.

The whole naked laundry thing started fresh out of college, when I was finally able to have my own place. Growing up in a large family, there’s basically zero privacy. Going from that to a dorm with communal bathrooms is even worse.

But now, living on my own, I’ve basically turned my apartment into my own private nudist sanctuary, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fluffing a white towel, I fold it in half, then in half once more, before rewinding my show to see if the blonde Botoxed housewife really just said what I thought she said, only my phone starts ringing the second I try to hear it again.

Pausing the TV, I see my mom’s name flash across my phone screen and debate letting it go to voicemail. But my mom never calls unless someone dies or she needs something immediately, so I figure I better answer.

“Hi, darling,” she says, her voice sugary sweet. She must be with people. “I was just having dinner with a few ladies I met doing my Dallas TED talk. One of them runs a not-for-profit business that sends care packages to overseas soldiers, so it made me think of you and that summer you sent over a hundred packages.”

There’s a smile in her voice. I only wish I knew if it were genuine, if she truly were proud of me or if she’s trying to look good in front of her new friends.

My mom is a skilled professional at the whole humble brag thing.

She practically invented it.

The phone gets muffled for a moment, and I hear what sounds like my mom saying goodbye to a few people.

“Anyway,” she comes back, her tone less jovial. “I know your last day in the office has come and gone, and I’m sorry I missed your goodbye party, but I was wondering if you could come back just for a week or two and help me fill your position?”

My jaw hangs.

“You told me you were promoting Lexi into my position,” I say.

I know what this is. She’s going to ask me to come back to do one thing and it’s going to turn into fifty million other things and I’ll be back to running the show while she tours the world raking in tax write offs every step of the way.

“I don’t know, Mom …” I try to think on my feet, but she truly caught me off guard.

“What, did you find another job already?”

“I have some prospects.”

“Okay, but you’re not working.”

“Not yet,” I say.

She exhales into the phone. “Then come back to the office. We’ll give you a nice per diem rate and you can get things back in order. I swear that place fell apart as soon as you left. Still don’t understand why you quit. We were so good to you, Row.”

“Mom.” I sit the phone down for two seconds, desperate for some kind of distance or reprieve from the sound of her voice. Lifting it to my ear, I say, “Where’s Lexi? I trained her before I left.”

“We fired her, Row,” Mom says like it’s nothing.

“What? When? Why?” I take a seat, my naked ass brushing against my pristine cream sofa, but I don’t care. “So all that time I spent training her was for nothing?”

“She kept showing up late,” Mom says.

“How would you know? You and Dad are always on the road.”

“Well that’s what everyone was saying. Supposedly she got her promotion and got a big head about her and started acting different and—”

“You know she’s a Harvard-educated woman,” I say. “And a single mom.”

“Your point, Rowan?” Her tone is snide.

“You couldn’t have talked to her about her behavior?” I ask. “And what if your source was just some jealous co-worker who had it in for her?”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to run my business, thankyouverymuch.” My mom’s Southern drawl is thicker than ever, as it tends to be when she’s throwing a little fit.

I begin to respond when another call comes through. Glancing at the screen, my heart falls to my feet when I see Keir’s number.

He promised he wouldn’t call.

But right now, talking to him holds more appeal than continuing this conversation with my mother.

“Mom, I have another call coming in,” I cut her off. “It’s a weird number … might be one of those jobs I interviewed for …” She tries to talk over me. Repeatedly. “Mom, I’ll call you later.”

She tries to ask me one last time if I’ll come back, but I hang up.

And subsequently hang up on Keir in the process.

Whoops.

My heart races a little faster than it should when I think about calling him back, and I clutch the phone against my chest as I weigh my options.

Calling him back might make him think I want to date him. And I don’t.

But if I don’t call him back, I’m going to spend the rest of the night wondering what he wanted.

Exhaling, I fold a few more towels, all the while eyeing my phone.

I give it a good twenty minutes and finish the rest of my show before finally giving in.

“Why don’t you like me?” he answers on the second ring, his voice slow and drawn out.

“You’re drunk. On a Monday night,” I say. “Keep it classy, Keir.”

“I realize I sound like a desperate tool, but I have to know.” He ignores my comment.

“You promised you wouldn’t contact me again,” I say. “Promised.”

“You saw me today. I know you did. And you looked away and kept walking.” There’s a darker, angrier quality to his words.

“There was a crowd,” I say. “And I was headed somewhere.”

“Where?” He calls my bluff.

“Job interview,” I lie.

He’s quiet for a second. “Okay, so just answer my fucking question so I can get on with the rest of my life. Why don’t you like me?”

Draping a throw blanket over my naked body, I sink into my sofa pillows and gaze up at the ceiling, trying not to laugh. He’s clearly hammered, and I bet sober Keir would have a conniption if he knew drunk Keir was doing this.

“Because you’re you … and I’m me,” I finally say.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re good for a fun time,” I say. “And that’s all I wanted. Objective fulfilled. Thank you for your service.”

He breathes into the phone.

“I’m not going to apologize for feeling the way I do especially, when I made it completely clear to you from the moment we met that I only wanted one night,” I say.

“Jesus, it’s like you took a page out of my book.” His words are low, muttered under his breath.

“But I thought you were a changed man?” I bite back a smile. I knew he was full of shit. Men like him don’t change. Not for anyone or anything. They’re mustangs and everyone knows you can’t tame wild horses—not completely.

“I am a changed man,” he says, slurring. “But you wouldn’t know that since you refuse to give me the time of day.”

I don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have to.

“You remind me so much of the old me,” he says, “but I can’t figure you out, and it’s driving me insane.”

“Then do your sanity a favor and stop trying.”

“Don’t you think I would if I could?” he asks. “God, I wish I could. You have no idea.”

I try not to laugh. “What do you want, Keir? I don’t have time to keep going in circles with you. You know how I feel. My mind’s not going to change.”

“I want to see you again,” he says without missing a beat, clear as day like he hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol all night.

My heart doesn’t ask for permission before it decides to flutter. Slapping my hand over my bare chest, I pull in a cleansing breath. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t feel good to hear someone say those words to me, but that’s all they are … words.

Strengthening my resolve, I say, “Keir—”

“—I want to see you again, and I want to fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight for days.” His voice is a low growl, ripe with determination. My pussy pulses in response, enveloped in heat, and I graze my teeth along my lower lip before biting down.

I want to fuck him again too.

But it’s not going to happen.

I won’t allow it.

“You’re treading on dangerous waters,” I say. “You have no business getting attached to me. I don’t want what you want. You’re going to get hurt.”

“You could never hurt me. I wouldn’t allow it,” he says. “Promise.”

“You also promised you’d never bother me again, and here you are ringing me up two days after we had sex because you can’t stop thinking about me,” I say. He begins to respond, but I interrupt. “Goodnight, Keir.”

I almost feel bad for hanging up on him, for crushing his hopes of ever seeing me again, but the feeling passes, and I return to my laundry.

Keir will find someone new. He’ll move on. And I’ll just be some girl he fucked, another notch on the bedpost, which is all I wanted to be in the first place.