Accidentally in Love

Bubblegum Pink

I don't know how to do my own laundry.

It's embarrassing, but true. My mom always wanted to do everything she could for us; she would probably try cutting up our meat if she thought we would let her. Growing up with that type of mom meant I would throw my clothes into a hamper, and then they would appear, folded neatly, in my drawers.

I had done laundry only one time on my own, and that was when I bought my first pair of skimpy underwear. I thought maybe if I washed them on my own, I could keep mom from finding out about them. That was my first mistake, because my mom always knew everything, especially the things you didn't want her to know about.

My second mistake was adding this stuff called Magic Bubbles, which I had only done because it smelled amazing. And as for the third, and final mistake? Not reading the directions on the box, because I added way too much, and it overflowed, causing our laundry room floor to look like a bubble bath. Emily, Charlotte and I spent hours trying to scoop up the bubbles and mop up the floor, only to have mom find out anyway. She was more upset that I nearly ruined the floor than she was that I bought some sexy underwear.

Needless to say, I wasn't looking forward to doing laundry. I also wasn't expecting to have to do a load within a week of moving in. I thought for sure I could stretch it out a few weeks, then maybe convince Charlotte to do it for me, or throw everything in bags to bring home for my mom to do while we were back on a visit. That was before living with Ashley, who had happily made my wardrobe her own, even if the clothes didn't fit just right. It was ironic, since I had spent most of high school trying to get Charlotte to wear my clothes, and now that I was living with someone that did, I was glad she rarely took me up on that offer.

I packed my dirty clothes into my white laundry basket, then sat the detergent on top, before walking what felt like a mile to the laundry room. I remember mom saying a few times that doing laundry was strangely therapeutic, and I hoped she was right about that. I still couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that Carter and I had shared a very public, very passionate, kissing session. Not to mention that I had spent the entire night, lying awake in my bed, not thinking about the fact he had kissed me in the first place, but thinking about how it felt when it happened. Like everything was standing still, while moving at full speed. Sound confusing? Welcome to my world.

It would be a lie if I said I thought of Carter like a brother- it was pretty impossible not to notice that he was extremely attractive. And I could see how his personality, which was a mixture charm, sarcasm, and mystery, was a turn on, but I didn't think of him that way. Well, besides when I was thirteen and had a crush on him for about ten seconds. We spent most of our time bickering, and getting on each other's nerves, which now that I think about it, he seems to enjoy doing.

I walked into the mustard yellow laundry room, which smelled liked lavender soap, and placed my basket down on top of a metal cart. I dragged the cart in front of the line of washers, then glanced over the directions to the detergent, twice, just to be sure. This didn't seem like it was going to be so bad.

When I glanced up, Carter was standing in the entrance way. His brown hair was disheveled, as usual, and with the amount of wrinkles in his clothes, either he was wearing the outfit he slept in, or he had just picked the clothes up off the floor and put them on. I wouldn't put either of those options past him.

Our eyes met, and we just stood still, looking at each other, as if neither of us wanted to be the first to talk. I saw him shift his weight from one foot to another, and it hit me that he was nervous. For some reason, that seemed to give me the courage to say something.

"You made a mistake," I said, as he stared at me, his expression blank. "You're suppose to take off your clothes before you go to wash them." I dropped my gaze, looking over his outfit again, before meeting his eyes again.