“Clothes,” Lee scribbled next. Two pairs of jeans and four shirts only went so far and while he could, technically, wash them in the sink and let them hang dry, he hated doing it. Stiff clothes were the worst.
The knock on his door didn’t surprise him; the tack shop below him was always knocking for one reason or another—something was leaking, they had to turn off the electricity for an hour, did he have the rent check yet—so he answered the door without looking. When he saw Scott standing there, he felt the flush rise into his cheeks almost immediately. “s**t!” He glanced at the dismal state of his room, the mess of his bed. “I, uh…I wasn’t expecting anyone. I just…”
Scott frowned. “Are you sick?”
Lee nodded, jumping on the excuse. “I was,” he lied. “But I’m feeling much better.”
Scot
