Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

I stare at the numbers, at the letters that make up her name.

Then, my eyes drift to an empty pot in the corner of my room — a gift from my mom that I’d never found a plant for. Truthfully, I hadn’t even tried, mostly because I was ninety-nine percent sure I’d kill whatever I did decide to buy and bring home with me.

My heart kicks with an idea, and before I can talk myself out of it, my fingers are flying across the keyboard on my phone.

Me: Any chance you’re free this evening to pick me up for a quick errand? Shouldn’t take long.

I use my towel to dry my hair a bit before hanging it back up in the bathroom, and my phone pings with an incoming text, making my pulse spike as I swipe it off the bed.

Amanda: Not a problem at all. What’s the address?

I try to tamp down the excitement I shouldn’t be feeling, sending her my location.

And then, I make a list.

* * *

“What about this one?”

I hold up an exotic-looking plant, the leaves glossy and white-veined. There’s a golden bloom in the center, and I run a finger over it before looking to Amanda.

She wrinkles her nose. “Zebra plant. It’s beautiful, but… unless you plan to devote your home environment to making sure that bad boy is comfy, I’d skip it.”

I put the plant back next to the others, frowning. “Why do I have a feeling I’ll kill whatever I bring home with me, no matter what I do?”

Amanda chuckles, folding her arms over her chest and nodding to an aisle across from us. “Come on. They’re not all that bad.”

She leads the way, and I follow with the bright orange cart, doing my best to focus on where it says Home Depot instead of on how her jeans hug her ass in a way that should be illegal for public viewing. I caught a glimpse of the way the pockets rounded, the hem of them gapping at the small of her back when she hopped out of my car in the parking lot.

That was enough for me to know it wasn’t safe to take a second glance.

“Thanks again for coming with me,” I say behind her, eyeing the plants we pass. “I could have dropped you off at home and just brought the car back after, but… I won’t lie — I feel a little less clueless with you here.”

She scans a shelf of brightly colored flowers as we pass, and I catch a profile view of her smile. “Please, anything to get me out of the house on a Friday night.”

“No hot date?” I tease, hoping like hell the way I have to swallow the cotton ball in my mouth after doesn’t give away how I feel asking that question.

She snorts, arching a brow at me. “Yeah. They’re just lining up out the door and around the corner these days.”

“You say that like it’d be hard to believe.”

“My dating life is about as dry as this cactus,” she says as we pass an end cap with succulents. “And a whole lot less cute to look at.”

I chuckle. “Because you don’t want to date right now, or because the men who have tried so far have been idiots?”

She cracks her neck, pulling to a stop in front of a shelf with plants that look like they have ribbons for leaves. “Because I don’t know how to date,” she confesses quietly, her eyes skirting to mine for only a split second before they’re back on the plants. “This one.”

She taps the black pot holding one of the plants, and I sidle up next to her, reading the label.

“Snake plant.” I make a face. “Sounds like it’ll attract the wrong kind of roommate.”

“It’s not called that because snakes like to hide in it,” Amanda says with a smile. “It’s because of the way the leaves look.”

I pick one of them up, inspecting it from all sides. “And you think I could keep it alive?”

“It thrives on being left alone. Very little maintenance.”

I arch a brow, but carefully set it in the cart. “Worth a shot. What else?”

Amanda guides us down the rest of the aisle, and then around the corner to another, adding an aloe plant and a Chinese evergreen to the cart. After picking up some soil for repotting and a watering tin, we checkout and head back out to the car.

We load the plants carefully into the trunk, and then I open the passenger side door, smiling a bit when I catch the flush on Amanda’s cheeks when she slides inside. I jog around to the driver side next and fire the engine to life, my phone connecting to the Bluetooth automatically.

“How do you get it to do that?” Amanda asks, her mouth slightly open as she frowns at the stereo.