“I’m sorry. Are you teaching me how to use the washer, or…?”
With a sigh, Jay put the socks back into the basket. “Okay. Fair point. Don’t put whites with colors.”
“Or darks. You should do three loads a week.”
“Three loads?”
“Or you can toss them in together and get pink socks. Your choice.”
“Three loads it is.” There was a slight grumble in his tone, and by God, he would be a terrible househusband.
“Now measure the detergent and softener and put them in, too.” I handed him the box and the bottle. “Use the cap on the bottle for that, and you’ll find a little scoop in the box before you ask.”
I took a step back and watched as he side-eyed me before he did it. He added the detergent and softener with more hesitance than a grown man should before putting them off to the side.
“Now set the temperature setting three and make sure the other dial is pointing toward cotton, shut the lid, and press the little button under the power one.”
I fought laughter as I watched him. Honestly, I wished I had my phone to record this and send it to his mom to use in a video compilation somewhere. It was great entertainment.
Jay finally put down the lid and pressed the button. He actually jerked as the machine clicked to life, and I dipped my chin, almost suffocating myself as I held in my laughter.
“Congratulations,” I said, my voice wavering with amusement. “You’ve made it twenty-six years and finally done your own laundry!”
He turned around, glaring at me. “I’m annoyed it was that simple.”
This time, I didn’t fight my laugh as I grabbed the laundry things and put them back in my basket. “What? Did you think you needed to offer the blood of your firstborn, sacrifice a goat, and dance naked on the roof to get it to work?”
“No, but if that will shut you up, I might just do it.”
I reached back and punched him in the arm. “Nobody wants to see you naked on the roof. Or anywhere else for that matter,” I added as the elevator doors dinged open.
“You say that, but it wasn’t my personality that made the new girl give me her number today.” He grinned, reaching over me to hit the button for our floor.
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the annoying little pang of jealousy that hit me. It had no business here, thank you very much. “You can’t date employees. Remember the last time Keegan hit on a new employee? He didn’t think through the hitting-and-quitting thing.”
“Yeah, but Keegan isn’t a gentleman like me.”
I snorted and stepped out of the elevator. “You? A gentleman? When was the last time you did anything remotely gentleman-like for anyone?”
He held up one finger, darted in front of me, and put his key in the door before opening it for me. Then, he held it, sweeping his arm out for me to go in first.
I shot him a withering look and walked into the apartment, shaking my head.
“Just then,” Jay added, following me inside.
“Doesn’t count,” I sang, putting the basket down and going into the kitchen. “You did that to make a backward point. You’re not a gentleman.”
“How do you know that?” He leaned on the island, resting on his forearms. “Are you the gentleman police?”
“No. I’m a woman with eyes,” I said dryly. “Also, the basic understanding of what a gentleman is.”
“Yeah, well, you’re no lady. I’ve seen you eat pizza and scratch your ass at the same time.”
“Aha.” I pointed my teaspoon in his direction. “I, however, never claimed to be a lady. If I was, I would have washed my hair at some point in the past five days, and my sweatshirt wouldn’t be two days old.”
Jay paused, then slowly grimaced and nodded his head. “Right. I have to do my own laundry, and you can’t even wash yourself.”
“I wash myself. I shower every morning. I just don’t wash my hair. Buns were created for lazy bitches.”
“I’ll never understand women.”
“And that’s why you’re single and live with your best friend.”
“Shelby, you are the reason I don’t understand women.”
“More fool you if you’re using me as the benchmark.” I shrugged and pulled last night’s leftover pizza from the fridge, grabbed a slice, and tore a big bite off to prove my point.
Jay glanced at the box. “Your diet sucks.”
“You ate more pizza than I did last night,” I reminded him, turning the box around. It held four pepperoni slices and two of his vegetable pizza. “Who the fuck puts vegetables on pizza? If I wanted to eat healthily, I wouldn’t be eating pizza.”
“I hate it when you use logic on me.” He leaned over and grabbed one of his cold slices. “Makes it hard to live with you.”
“You chose to move in.” I shoved the last bite of pizza in my mouth.