Page 15 of The Player in New Zealand
I dropped the stuff that was still contained in the other bag and chased after my things. But, in a move that would never happen in Boston, people stopped to help. I wasn’t sure if I was thankful or mortified. Strangers were handing me my underwear as I put my stuff to the side in a pile blocked from the wind.
“Thank you so much,” I said, crouching down as the last sock got added to the pile, and the stranger, a kid who was probably fifteen years old, dusted his hands off and walked away.
“Claire?” a deep, tentative voice asked.
I looked up. Tane stood at the open door of a black sedan stopped in the street, his brow furrowed as he took in the scene. He was dressed up, much more than he would be at the bar, in slacks and a collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He bent down and said something to the driver before stepping away and closing the door. He jogged the few steps over to me and came to a stop, taking in the mess and picking up the last errant pair of panties from the street. He frowned at it, but handed it to me with concern in his eyes rather than disgust.
We eyed each other warily as people stepped around us, loud groups of friends going out to dinner or people going home from work.
“Your bundle didn’t work, eh?” he asked, nudging a sock.
“The trash bag wasn’t even my idea.” When he looked over at me, I explained further. “I’m kind of new to the hostel scene.”
“Are you”—his brow furrowed again, his gaze taking in my things—“in between hostels?”
“Yeah,” I said, reaching over and untying the mouth of the other bag. My dignity was too far gone today. I had no fucks left to give. “Maybe I can fit my dirty clothes in with my clean?”
“Hey, wait, what about—” He paused before reaching into the bag. “May I?”
I made asuregesture and he reached in and pulled out the giant fluffy towel. He spread it out on the ground and started to shovel my clothes into the center. Once we had a somewhat organized pile, he brought the corners together, making a bundle that he then hefted up easily. Even though he clearly wasn’t in peak physical condition anymore, he was much better equipped in the muscle department than I was to just deadlift thirty pounds of laundry.
I tried not to stare as the muscles of his forearm flexed and rolled. The pictures Iris and I had ogled online showed muscular and veined arms. I thought I liked this better—dark hair over tawny skin with just enough definition to see the strength behind it.
“Where to?”
“You really don’t have to do this. I can manage.”
Tane gave me some solid side-eye, the crease deepening between his black eyebrows. Didn’t blame him for his doubt.
“Okay, fine.” I gave him the name of the hostel and we started off down the street. I hugged the intact bag to my chest, wrapping my arms underneath the weight to try to prevent a second laundry kerfuffle.
“Which hostelwereyou in?”
He grimaced when I gave him the name. “It’s good you’re moving. This one’s better. Were you in the dorms?”
“Yeah,” I said, defensiveness creeping in, “but I have a private room now.”
Tane said something not in English—I assumed Maori—but it had the edge of a curse word. “I’m surprised you still have this much stuff. It’s a miracle it didn’t get stolen.”
“Hey, don’t be a snob. We aren’t all ex-superstars.”
“It’s just common safety. And comfort. And obviously I’m right; otherwise, you wouldn’t be moving,” he said, looking smug—and correct.
I remembered he was my boss and bit my tongue before I said something even more argumentative. We trudged along in silence.
“Are you meeting some friends for dinner or something?” I asked. It was interesting that we’d run into each other, but Wellington wasn’t that big and this was a busy part of town. Tane was being nice enough to help; the least I could do was carry a conversation.
“A friend,” he said. “She’s waiting for me at the restaurant.”
“Oh, well, thanks. For making her wait, I mean. I’m not necessarily sure you want to tell her you were late because you were picking up my, uh, unmentionables?”
That made Tane chuckle, and for a moment I smiled too. “I’ll be sure to wash my hands first.”
The smile dropped off my face. The thought of my eau-de-laundry stink all over Tane’s hands made me want to curl up and die of mortification.
Two more blocks to go. I suppose I could bring up the cocktails I wanted to do for the bar, but there was a big difference between hearing about an idea for a new cocktail menu versus tasting the new cocktails.
