Clothes Encounters

By Nicole Garcia

Elian

First impressions are everything. It can take less than a second to judge someone and in that short amount of time, I knew I hated him. 

 

Elijah

From the moment I saw him, I knew he was a complete loon. Now that I've gotten to spend some time with him, I have come to the conclusion that he is crazier than I thought he was. 

 

When two people who don't get along are forced to work together to achieve a common goal, tempers will flare and gauntlets will be thrown. To the victor belong the spoils, but sometimes in the art of war casualties are experienced on both sides. For Elijah, losing is not an option, and winning is by default is not something Elian can live with. Yet, the chemistry buzzing between them is too great to ignore. The question isn't whether they will submit to their desires, but who will fold under the pressure first

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicole Garcia
• Release date: Feb 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393765721

Book preview

Chapter One

Elian

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Squish. Squish. Squish. Squish. Squish.

With each step I take, the bottom of my feet get wetter and wetter. And with each droplet of water that slides between my toes and the flip-flops I’m wearing is making it that much more difficult to schlep this damn heavy laundry bag up the street and down five more blocks.

Drip.

I stop and struggle to lift the bag above my head and onto my other shoulder as I look upward at the dark, starless sky. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. A cool droplet of water lands on my heated cheek. Fantastic. I roll my eyes and curse Mother Nature for her untimely choice of weather while I slip and slide my way to the laundromat.

Why did that stupid washing machine in the building have to break down while I was using it? I told the superintendent it was making a funny noise last week and he said he’d put in a new washer right away, but did that happen? Of course not. I curse the super. I curse the rain. And I curse my selection of shoe attire. I grumble profanities any sailor would blush at hearing.

This fucking bag is so heavy. Of course I don’t have a shopping cart, but why would I need one if I have my groceries delivered and there is a laundry room right in the basement. And yes, there is only one washing machine for the entire building, so all the tenants either have to walk to the local laundromat, or wait there until it’s not occupied. It’s an old, small building, so I guess I can’t expect it to have all the fancy amenities of a Park Avenue condo. I have to remember that I moved into the old Brooklyn Brownstone because of its character and being so close to stores and public transportation.

Five blocks; I can make it. I hope. I should have worn sneakers instead of these flimsy flip-flops. Thinking when I’m aggravated is definitely not my strong suit. In a hurry I just slid my feet in the first thing I saw sitting by the front door. Not only was my choice of footwear a horrible idea, but so was not checking the weather before I slipped on the red knit sweater my grandmother made me two years ago. I love this sweater, it would devastate me to ruin it. It was a gift for my birthday right before she passed away. No, no, no. I have to speed up and get there faster. If something were to happen to it, I would never forgive myself.

Taking the next few steps at a hurried pace causes my foot to slip off the flimsy, rubbery sole and I stumble, trying to force my foot forward to catch the stupid plastic thong between my big and second toe. But, I have no such luck in composing myself because the weight of the soaked clothes dragging me down, and I fall forward and onto my knees. I manage to drop the bag in time to stop my face from hitting the pavement, but my light gray sweats have had it. I inhale a deep breath along with a few raindrops that collected on my lips and slowly rise to my feet to inspect the damage of my now bleeding knee. I spread the cotton fabric of my ripped pants and see that I’ve just scraped it, so I, not so calmly, pick up my clothes from the ground and gently slide my foot into the flip-flop.

On my next step, the thong between my toes snaps out of the hole holding it in place and I slip, twisting my ankle in the process. With a grunt I bend and pick up the offending  flip-flop. I give it a quick glance to see if it’s salvageable before I scream and chuck it clear across the street. Take that you stupid piece of shit! Then I pick up my other flip-flop and throw that bitch too. Fuck it! I’ll walk the rest of the way barefoot. Right now, I couldn’t care less what kind of disgusting crap touches the bottom of my feet. At this very moment I would be willing to walk on a bed of rusty nails and contract tetanus to get out of this disgusting sky drool that has made my bad night even more horrible.

I growl like a wild animal into the quiet night air, picking up my bag, and gain