Chapter 12: The Room Above the Laundromat

Seth read the words on his knuckles twice.

"You don't know what you're asking," he said.

I took his hand, the one with my handwriting across it, and I walked down the stairs with him behind me.

He did not pull away.

Hattie's room was over the laundromat on Fifth Street, a single window and a bed with a green quilt.

The building hummed with dryers all night, and the floor was warm through my socks.

I shut the door and turned the lock.

He stood in the middle of the room with his hands open at his sides, enormous in the little space, and watched me.

"Tell me to leave," he said. "Anytime. Just shove me."

I could not say a word.

I walked up and put both palms flat on his chest, and I shoved him back until his knees hit the bed.

He sat down.

I stood between his legs and took off his security jacket and let it fall, and then I pulled my uniform over my head.

His breath went out of him.

"Jesus, Hattie."

His hands came up slowly and settled on my hips.

He pressed his mouth to my stomach, and then lower, and my fingers shut in his hair.

I pulled him up by it and kissed him, and he lifted me clean off the floor and laid me back on the quilt.

His shirt came off over his head.

He was broad and scarred across the ribs, and when I put my mouth on his shoulder he groaned out loud.

His hand slid between my thighs, over the cotton, and I arched up into it so hard the bed creaked.

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