The Boyfriend League by Rachel Hawthorne Page A

news, so my little column fills up what would otherwise be white space.”
    â€œSo what do you write?”
    â€œIt’s called ‘Runyon’s Sideline Review,’ and I write about things that happen in the stands during different kinds of sporting events, from the perspective of the fan rather than the player. Gives me a reason to go to a variety of events, and I have a press pass so I get in free.” Like I needed a reason.
    â€œYou’re kidding?”
    â€œI’m serious. For my next piece, I’ll probablyreveal the scandalous secrets of the concession stand, since Bird and I are working the first shift tonight.”
    He grinned, like I was clever or interesting…or maybe just amusing in a she’s-fun-to-talk-to-but-I’d-never-date-her kind of way.
    The washing machine went into spin cycle, making a really loud banging noise, and he hopped to the floor.
    â€œIt’s unbalanced,” I said, like maybe he’d never had to deal with an unbalanced washer before. I know some machines self-balance. Ours doesn’t. It actually starts walking across the laundry room, like it’s possessed or something.
    I lifted the lid and waited for the spinning to stop. There was a big sign on the inside of the lid: DO NOT PLACE HAND IN MACHINE WHILE IT IS IN MOTION. As though I couldn’t figure that out on my own.
    Okay, apparently guys didn’t wash clothes like girls. I sorted. Delicates from nondelicates, darks from lights. Jason had simply stuffed everything into the washing machine. Lights. Darks. Jeans. Socks. Underwear. You name it.It was a hodgepodge of clothing.
    â€œI can do that,” he said, as though suddenly remembering he had personal items in there.
    He was beside me and had his hand in the machine, before I had my hand out. I was sorta blocking his view—at least that’s what I figured must have happened—because he grabbed my hand instead of his jeans. His hand was like twice the size of mine and really warm. I felt this tingle travel up my arm and down to my bare toes, making them curl against the tile. Because he’d come around me, my shoulder was sorta curved into his chest. I could smell his leathery scent, and thought I could even smell fried pickles from all the orders he must have carried that day.
    I looked up, up into his blue, blue eyes. He was looking down at me, like maybe he was only just seeing me for the first time. His brow furrowed deeply, his lips parted slightly.
    I wanted to say something clever, witty, and sexy.
    Because this certainly seemed like a kissing moment. If this was a movie, it would havebeen. It would have been the moment of awakening, of discovery. He would have lowered his mouth those three inches and kissed me.
    But this wasn’t a movie. It was more of an awkward moment, and I was pretty sure he was trying to figure out how to get out of it without embarrassing himself further.
    Bang!
    The back door to the kitchen slammed shut.
    â€œDani!”
    Tiffany.
    â€œHey, where are you?” she cried out.
    I so didn’t want to answer. I wanted to stay exactly where I was and see where this moment might lead.
    â€œOh, there you are,” she said, coming into the laundry room. “What are you guys doing?”
    â€œThe washing machine is unbalanced,” I said.
    â€œAnd it takes two of you to balance it?”
    â€œI was demonstrating the necessary technique,” I said.
    â€œYou just shift the clothes around.”
    Because I felt like I didn’t have a choice, Ipulled my hand out of the machine and stepped back. I watched Jason struggle to move his heavy, wet clothes into a more balanced arrangement. Then he closed the lid. The machine went into a nice humming spin cycle.
    â€œGreat job,” I said, smiling at him like he’d accomplished a miracle.
    â€œThanks.” He was blushing, not really looking at me anymore, but looking at Tiffany.
    So much for our almost