Broken Girl(15)

Hell, if there was one thing I should’ve known, it was to never wear an untested pair of heels while on the prowl. Lesson learned, stick with the shoes your feet know. The best excuse I could come up with was the full moon last night and the fact that suddenly I wanted the last three nights to go by faster than usual. Normally I didn’t have very much to look forward to, but knowing that I was going to walk into the Stop and Wash with the same huge laundry sack; filled with the same clothes that were still clean and folded only to shove them back into another washing machine made me antsy.

I woke up super late and starving. I ate some key lime yogurt sprinkled with granola before I showered and got dressed into my ass hugging black capris and rack highlighting sheer v-neck, chocolate-brown T-shirt. I pushed on a pair of glossy black Chelsea heels, they were more comfortable to me than sneakers and rushed out of the door with my sack of already laundered clothes.

Even though the laundry sack was lighter this time, it still caused my hands to go numb as I carried it to the Stop and Wash. I pulled the front door open and didn’t expect the music blaring from a couple of little speakers up in the corners of the room.

Only a handful of people turned their heads to watch me enter the laundromat. I guess the Black Keys’ song Fever over a muted reality show of little girls painted by makeup and throwing tantrums was more interesting than me carrying in my fake dirty laundry. I noticed some women leaning into washing machines, while others, who weren’t dissolved into the TV, had their noses buried in their books.

The laundromat was crowded, more people than there was on Monday. So many people in fact, it was difficult to find an unoccupied laundry cart. Who would’ve thought the Stop and Wash was going to be such a happening place on a Thursday. They say the city never sleeps and well, everyone has laundry.

I skimmed the place for you-know-who hoping that the uncomfortable bubble building in the back of my throat would disappear. I spotted him coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. A reassured smile spread wide across his gorgeous face. I couldn’t help but smile back. His vivid hazel eyes lit up as he spoke.

“Well, look who showed up! My new friend, Little Clumsy Rose. I guess she decided to come back to the Stop and Wash!”

I noticed he wasn’t tending to a washing machine, or hanging out by the dryers.

“Yeah, well, I have to keep up on my laundry, you know. Can’t waitress in filthy clothes, you don’t get very many tips when you’re stinky.” I shoot him a quick wink.

“And here I thought it was the world’s best suckers that brought you back.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Shane, this place’s suckers are hard to pass up, but I tend to be a Blow Pop type of girl,” I teased.

“Well, then next time I’ll make sure you have at least one Blow Pop in every color and flavor.” He raised his eyebrows in a curious tic.

“Now you’re just tryin’ to sweet talk me. How ‘bout helping me find a washing machine that’s unoccupied?”

“That sounds good. We don’t want a repeat of what happened last time,” he mused.

“I can’t believe how busy this place is.”

“Oh, yeah, so give me this.” He shot me a quick wink, before snatching my laundry sack, flinging it over his shoulder.

“Stay close now,” his voice rumbled, coming out with more of a growl than I expected.

My heart drummed in my chest as I watched his biceps flex against the sleeves of his T-shirt. I followed him into a back corner of the laundromat, pushing away the feelings swelling in my gut and surging into my chest. I took several deepening breaths thinking about the words I wanted to use to build a wall between us.

“Are you implying that I am clumsy?”

“No, but I’d hate to see you wrestle with a cart in this place now.” Shane looked around and every machine was running, every dryer was humming with clothes dancing in the glass windows. As we swiftly passed the back counter, he snatched a handful of suckers. When I glanced back, every counter had a plastic bowl filled with suckers.

“Where are your clothes? Don’t tell me you’re the one creepy guy who decides to hang out in random laundromats around the city ripping off cheap suckers?”

“Nope, I only hang out at this one; and I don’t steal suckers.” He laughed. I didn’t laugh. “Talking about stinky waitresses and cheap suckers, we never finished our conversation about Cajun food last time we hung out.”

“You mean the only time we hung out,” I corrected him.

“It’s just semantics. You eat right?”

“Um, last time I checked it’s vital to my existence.”

“Well, that’s good news, because it just so happens that I must eat to survive too.”

“Yeah, well the last time I checked, suckers don’t count as eating.”

“To whose definition?” he quipped.

“Mine. Suckers are a lick and swallow product, eating actual food is a much more detailed and necessary activity.”

“Well, then why don’t I take you to Boxing Room . . . for some required nourishment?”

“I can’t today, but thanks.”

“It’s vital to both of our survival.” He leaned closer to me and continued, “I wasn’t thinking about today.”

“Oh—”