“What’s your deal?” Grant asked.

Andy jumped and shifted the bulky laundry basket he was carrying. “What do you mean?”

Grant held open the door to All Washed Up, and Andy stepped through. “I asked you a question three times. You ignoring me?”

“Sorry. Just zoning.” And stressing out, second and third guessing his earlier resolve to see if Grant wanted to—hell, he didn’t even know what. Simply add “benefits” to their friendship or explore a relationship? He shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh. Would a failed attempt ruin their easy rapport? Would simply suggesting it make things awkward between them?

“Duuuuuude.” Grant hitched his head toward the bank of dryers.

Andy’s eyes bugged at the sight of blue jean covered legs sticking out of one of the upper dryers, ass wiggling to the strum of an electric guitar as Chris Stapleton sang the chorus of Tennessee Whiskey over the laundromat’s speaker system.

“Dibs,” Grant said.

“What? Look closer. I think that’s a woman.”

Grant kept his gaze glued to that squirming behind as they strode farther into the room. “Shit.” Then he shrugged and opened a couple of washers. “You get all the luck.”

“Bullshit. I’m single, too.”

“Two words: ‘Dreamy Daniel.’”

Andy’s jaw tightened as he sorted the dirty clothes. “He ditched me after a month!”

Grant loosed one of his trademark theatrical groans. “Quit going into every relationship hoping for a happily ever after. Live for the moment and appreciate the memories.”

“Is that all you really want?”

A stiff jerk of one shoulder was all the reply Andy got as Grant tossed socks into one of the open machines.

“I know it’s not.” Andy gentled his tone. “You’ve been burned too many times, but underneath, you still want your Prince Charming.”

“Whatever.” Grant flung a pair of jeans into the other open washer with far more force than needed. “Prince Charming never wants me.”

“But, what if…” Andy stopped and bit his lip. What if, indeed. What if Grant got pissed at the mere suggestion?

Grant stopped taking his frustrations out on their mingled underwear long enough to stare back at Andy with his eyebrows reaching for the ceiling fan. At least it wasn’t a glower.

“What if…” Andy swallowed and dropped his gaze to the marred linoleum as if the words he searched for were hidden somewhere in its random pattern. “What if he’s not Prince Charming? What if he’s just Prince…Average but Amiable? Who maybe already likes you?”

The silence between them stretched through at least a third of Reba McEntire’s Promise Me Love. Finally, Andy raised his face.

Grant’s expression was thoughtful. They stared at each other through the chorus before Grant finally replied.

“Promise me this won’t fuck up what we already have.”