I unload my whites from the dryer and then work quickly to unload my colors so he can wash his clothes. I’ve got two bras and their matching panties that need to be hung before I head back upstairs. When I turn around, Greyston is looking down, seemingly stunned. It’s when I follow his eyes that I see he’s staring at my hands…at my underwear.
“Sorry,” I apologize with a casual shrug, moving around him and hanging them before grabbing the few pairs of white ones and tossing them in the basket with my clean clothes. “Being a girl comes with some extra laundry.”
He’s facing the washer now, busily shoving his whites inside before turning the temperature back up and adding detergent. “Right. I suppose it does.”
“Okay, well I’ll be back up in my room. I’ll come check on my last load in a bit,” I tell him, heading back upstairs. He doesn’t follow me right away, and I swear I hear him curse when I reach the stairs.
Just as I turn to see if something’s wrong, he exits the laundry room, looking surprised to still see me. “Oh,” he says roughly. “I thought you’d gone upstairs already.”
“I was, but then I heard you say something… Are you okay?” I look him over, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Greyston lets out a single breathy laugh. “Oh, uh, I closed the washer door on my thumb. I’ll be fine.”
My eyes fall to his hands, and he quickly hides one of his thumbs within a fist. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m going to go out for a quick run,” he announces out of nowhere. “Give you some quiet to get your studying done. I’ll have my phone if you need me.”
Greyston walks around me and dashes up the stairs. I follow, but not nearly as quickly. He goes up to his room, and when he reemerges, he’s wearing a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
I step into my room. “Sure. Have fun.” I feel like he’s acting weird, but I don’t know him well enough to call him on it.
After I hear the front door close, I fold my laundry before returning to my studies…or, try to. I’m finding it hard to tear my mind from Greyston’s behavior. I’m not sure what it was, but there had definitely been something in his eyes that I just can’t pinpoint.
I check my alarm clock and see that almost an hour has passed. This means my laundry should be ready. Before heading down into the basement, I check out the front door to see if I can spot Greyston anywhere. I can’t. While I know he’s probably fine, I’m still feeling a bit weird about his sudden departure.
I’m probably over-thinking it; I usually do.
When I reach the basement, I realize I forgot my hamper upstairs, so I decide to just fold my small load and carry it upstairs instead of risking the laundry trail that I’ll inevitably leave in my wake if I carry a rumpled pile.
I fold my pajama bottoms, then a couple of tank tops. As I pull my socks out, I toss them into a pile, always leaving them for last because then they’ll all be there and I won’t be searching for them as I go. It’s really a huge time-saver.
Or, so I used to think.
I’ve got all of my laundry folded and have almost finished matching my pile of socks…all but one. With a sigh, I toss the lone red sock on the dryer and open it again, looking inside for the straggler. It’s not there. I check the floor around me. Nothing. I think back to when I gathered my laundry this morning, and I specifically remember having both red socks in my hamper. They were right on top for crying out loud.
So where is it?
The washer next to me buzzes, and my eyes go wide. Really wide.
“Noooooooooo,” I groan, reaching out and pulling the door open. What I find inside is a nightmare. There, on top of his freshly washed clothes is my missing red sock.
After removing it, I pull out one of Greyston’s t-shirts. Pink.
A couple of his socks. Pink and pink.
Another shirt. Pink.
Then…a pair of boxer briefs. Pink.
“Oh God,” I groan, dropping my face into my hands. I’m so upset by this huge err on my part that I haven’t even dropped his underpants.
“Juliette?”
Chapter 12
Frightened, I shriek, dropping his boxers back into the washer and slamming the lid back in place. “Jesus! You scared me.”
Laughing, he pushes his sweat-dampened hair back off his forehead. He looks a lot more relaxed than when he left, and for a very brief moment, I’m glad.
Then I remember his new pink laundry.
“Nope, not Jesus. Just me.” He places a hand flat on his chest. “Greyston.” I laugh, but it’s forced, and he can tell. “I, uh, just came to check my laundry.” He peers around me, one of his eyebrows arched high. “What are you doing?”