Page 17 of Off the Wall

“You know, you really should get on MatchYou,” she suggests for the hundredth time. “Then you can find a permanent roommate like I did.”

“No way.” I frown. “You got the only good guy left on that app. And I don’t trust technology to pick the love of my life. I can wait until Iorganicallymeet a gorgeous man who loves puppies and children and walks old ladies across the street.”

“At least you’re realistic.”

I snort. “Thank you for noticing.”

“What about them?” She nods at the TV, frozen on a commercial for Swipe Rite. Then she sings their tagline. “You can’t go wrong with Swipe Rite.”

“Still a dating app.”

“But I saw they’re about to run a big Spring Into Love promotion, and they’re looking for singles to feature in their ad campaign.”

“Not interested.”

Hayden plucks another Red Vine from the package. “Then we’re back to me helping out if you run into financial trouble.”

I puff out a half-laugh that only half masks my frustration. “If I wanted pity-rent, I’d ask my brother.”

Hayden tilts her head. “You know, having a safety net isn’t the worst thing in the world, Nori.”

“Oh, really?” I heave a sigh. “Tell that to the safety net.”

“I’m serious.” Hayden’s tone goes soft. “East and Becca just want to help, you know that, right?”

“I do, and that’s the problem.” My insides are a pile of guilt ropes tying themselves into knots. “They sacrificed everything for me. And now—when they could finally be free—they’re in Boston taking care of Becca’s parents. I refuse to be a burden in any way, shape, or form ever again. I’m not a four-year-old, regardless of how East sees me.” I blow out a breath. “I’ve been an adult for a long time.”

“Right.” Hayden arches a brow. “An adult who’s got a hot dinner date planned with some lawyer. An adult who has sexy red panties and?—”

“Stop saying panties and go rescue my thong from the laundry room!” I throw my palms together begging and fake a whimper. “Pretty please? With Red Vines on top?”

“Not gonna happen, my friend.” Hayden flashes me a grin. “But I will keepThe Bachelorettepaused until you get back.”

“Fine.” I heave myself off the couch and head to my room to throw on slippers. At this point, I’m too lazy to change, so I’m resigned to skulking down the hall in my pajamas, hoping I won’t accidentally run into Dr. McMuffin on my way to the stairs.

He’ll still be at the hospital, Nori.

Of course he’ll still be at the hospital. The man is a workaholic. I’ll bet he doesn’t even notice puppies, children, or old ladies. But just in case he happens to be lurking around in his I’m-a-doctor scrubs, I scurry down the back stairs to the basement. The scent of detergent and fabric softener hangs in the air. I’m guessing no one else is washing clothes and eating Red Vines on a Thursday night, so I rush into the laundry room, still hoping to avoid anyone seeing me in my stupid sheep pajamas?—

—and I come to a screeching halt.

Because it’s not justanyonedigging clothes from the same dryer I just used a couple hours ago. It’s Cash Briggs.

He’s bent over, scooping laundry from the barrel into a basket. His perfect butt is literally three feet from me, protruding above a pair of thick, muscular legs. Of course he’s wearing scrubs.

Isn’t he always?

I suck in a breath loud enough for him to hear, and he stiffens. Then he straightens. When he turns to face me, he’s holding a pair of black boxer briefs in one hand. My red satin thong is dangling from the other.

“Looking for this?” he asks. His thatch of dark blond hair swoops over his forehead. Instead of answering, I just stand there, gaping, taking in the depth of his eyes. The irises are blue tonight. No … gray.

Definitely gray.

And did I mention gorgeous?

“Red’s not my color,” he says with a straight face. I can’t tell if his humor is dry or if he’s serious. “So these must be yours.” As he hands over my skimpy, satiny thong, heat creeps up my chest, no doubt blooming above the top button of my sheep pajamas. Images of his beautiful girlfriend flash acrossmy brain, alongside memories of escargot and his ghostly hand in my bathroom mirror.

“Thanks.” I square my shoulders and snatch the underwear from him. Then, without another word, I march from the room with what little dignity I have left. Once I’m out of sight, though, I flee to the stairs and charge up the three flights to my floor. The floor I share with Dr. Cash Briggs, who apparently wears black boxer briefs.

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