Chapter 283
Without a shirt, Eric impulsively followed her out to the small balcony.
She was standing by the washing machine, tossing his shirt in and removing some previously washed laundry.
A single look was enough for Eric’s mood to darken.
“Hadley!”
“Yes?” She turned, puzzled by the urgency in his voice.
Noticing her furrowed brow, he wondered what she was thinking. Looking down, she realized—he hadn’t yet put on the shirt. Was he intending to remain shirtless?
Before she could comment, Eric snatched a piece of laundry from the line and thrust it towards her. “What on earth are these?”
Hadley’s response was slow, tinged with confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?” she replied, sounding unsure. “A pair of boxers, of course.” Eric’s chuckle lacked any real amusement.
Yes, it was obvious, and that was the problem. The presence of men’s clothing here—shirts, underwear—it was too much!
“Who do these belong to?” His tone was chillingly calm, his gaze piercing as he stared at her intently. “Tell me, whose clothes are these?”
As his annoyance grew, he aggressively crumpled the shirt she had given him earlier and tossed it to the ground. “Are you actually trying to get me to wear another man’s clothes?”
“Hey!”
Hadley’s frown deepened as she stooped to retrieve the shirt.
Eric’s anger rose further. “Hadley, leave it.”
She met his gaze with defiance. “I’m picking it up!”
Her fists tightened. “I bought this myself. It’s mine because I paid for it, washed it, and kept it tidy. What’s the issue? Is it beneath you?” She carefully brushed off the shirt, straightening it out.
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Eric still looked skeptical. “You’re the one who bought this?”
He grabbed her wrist in an instant. “What kind of bastard has you buying him clothes?”
Their argument escalated, loud enough to catch the attention of nearby residents.
“Hey! Cut out the noise!”
“People are trying to sleep here!”
Hadley exhaled sharply, raising her voice. “Sorry! We didn’t mean to disturb you!”
She then retreated back into her apartment.
“Hadley!”
“Enough!” Hadley turned sharply, her temper wearing thin. “You want the police here? There’s no ‘man,’ Eric. I live here by myself. Ever think I might need to have something on hand for safety?”
The practice of single women hanging men’s clothing visibly was not uncommon, intended to suggest the presence of a man in the home for safety reasons.
Many of them used this strategy as a precaution. Could this be the truth?
Eric’s features softened, his usual sharpness replaced by a touch of confusion. It was a rare moment where he seemed completely at a loss.