The laundry cart went sailing toward the heavy duty washing machines with me and all my dirty laundry. I just closed my eyes and hoped that I wouldn’t break any bones when I collided with the ginormous steel washing machine across the room. When I came to an abrupt stop I discovered what had become the buffer between me and my pain.
“Whoa, are you okay?” Shane asked. His voice hung with a slight Harry Connick Jr. twang that sent chills down my spine.
All the blood in my body rushed to my cheeks before it drained and collected in splotches across my neck. What in the hell am I going to say? Holy shit, it’s Shane; the man who carried every moment of escape in my head since I saw him in the alley.
“Ahh, yeah, me and rogue laundry carts are nothing new.”
He chuckled at my stupid answer and the jumbled attempt I made to free myself from the cart.
“Hang on there. Here, let me help you,” he said, his voice was low and growly. His long swift fingers tangled in between the metal bars of the cart as he maneuvered around to me. “It isn’t every day I get to save a clumsy beautiful woman from rogue laundry carts.”
I shot him a hastened smirk before he dragged his big sturdy hand across my shoulder and down my exposed skin to the bend of my elbow. All the hair that normally lay flat against my flesh, pricked to attention. He held the cart steady as I pushed myself out of the basket and stood on my own. His hand hovered close just in case I fell. When I freed myself without incident his expression broke from lip biting concern to a relaxed reassuring smile.
“Well, that was embarrassing. Do you think anyone saw me?”
We both looked around the laundromat and all but a small little boy with brown hair seemed to be minding their own business. Owned by their smart phones and tattered romance paperbacks, most were absorbed into managing their social media.
“Oh, absolutely,” he hummed. “See that sweet older lady by the big dryer over there?” he asked as he pointed to a silver-haired woman that had to be pushing into her late seventies.
I nodded.
“She videotaped the whole thing on her iPhone. Trust me, you and your rogue laundry cart will be plastered all over YouTube and Facebook before you know it.” His hazel eyes bursting with rusty flecks twinkled as they caught up to his smile.
“Oh, it better not! You’ll have to confiscate her phone for me,” I snapped as I socked him in the arm.
“Well, why would I do that? I don’t even know your name.”
Hooked by the comfort he established between us, I didn’t realize I never told him my name. Would it be strange to tell him we’ve met before? Sure it was nothing more than his acknowledgment of me as a person in the back alley, but still, suddenly the comfort and relationship I built in my head, seemed more of a whack job’s obsession.
“Oh, well, I’m Rose. So there, now you know my name,” I answered.
“Well, Rose, I’m Shane and for some reason you seem very familiar to me. Have we met before?”
My heart detached and tumbled, crashing into the twisted storm that surged low in my stomach. Are you fucking kidding me? Really? Okay, so there was this huge part of me that wanted to tell him who I was and that yes, we’d actually seen each other before and that the prostitute he saved was with me. But there was a part of me that wanted to continue on the path we’d established, I wanted to keep our bat-shit-crazy-night in the alley, exactly where we had left it.
“Um, I don’t think so,” I answered coldly as I pulled the laundry cart over to the vending machine filled with all different soaps and softeners.
“No, I think we’ve met before, you seem familiar to me.” He followed me over to the vending machine, slowing down at the black Formica counter where a ton of brightly-colored suckers were spilling over the edge of a simple, clear plastic bowl. He pulled a green sucker from the bowl and slipped it into his mouth. I could tell he was rolling through all the images in his head. Damn, does he even know what he is doing to me with that bright-green sucker? Mesmerized by his actions, he dragged the sucker across his tongue . . . forward and back, forward and back, breaking my trance when he twirled the stick between his fingers in his mouth and pressed it against his tongue. I watched the stick twist and turn finally coming to rest in the corner between his firm lips.
“I think I’d remember meeting you.”
I struggled to keep from smiling. A pleased grin spread across Shane’s face, the stick of his sucker danced in circles, his eyes gleaming with realization. Noticing my answer came out different than I wanted it to, I tried to pull back the energy swirling between us. And that same ol’ voice came out in my head. ‘You know, Rose, this can’t work’. I took a deep breath and came up with words that would drive the conversation in a different direction.
“Well, maybe you saw me at the grocery store. Do you shop over at the Whole Foods on California?” I answered, looking away as I fed the vending machine flat crisp dollar bills. What the hell? Really? Whole Foods, Rose? I pushed F7 and let a small overpriced box of soap fall off the row it dangled.
“Sometimes, but that’s not it . . . You ever waitress at Boxing Room?” he asked as he pulled my soap from the space it landed.
“The Cajun place on Grove?”
“Yeah, best food in the Hayes,” he answered, holding out the small box of laundry soap in one hand and his sucker in the other.
“No, I’ve never waitressed in my life,” I answered, grabbing the soap from him and tossing it in my basket. I flattened a collection of bills on the edge of the vending machine and fed it enough dollars to get a small pack of dryer softener sheets too.
“Well, now I hope I didn’t offend you with the waitress comment. I know plenty of women that make an honest living as a waitress,” he responded, pointing and poking the shrunken sucker in my direction.
Little did he know that my appearance of being annoyed was far from the reasons he perceived. Great, now it would be a matter of minutes before it clicked in his head where he had seen me. It was inevitable, he was going to remember seeing me in the alley and that my type of service wasn’t bringing people food.
“Far from offended, Shane.”
“That’s one good thing I have going for me.” His half-tilted smile melted my heart.
“What, that I haven’t waitressed before?”
“No, that you don’t get offended easy.”
Shane caught the sucker between his teeth and bit down on the little part that still clung to the stick. He smiled again causing my insides to tangle up with his charm. A noticeable pause hung between us, as if we were both waiting for the other to make a move. I liked hanging out with him, he was damn hot and I was attracted to him, but I can’t pay my rent with flirty conversations and silly girl crushes. I had to get to my apartment and change into my come-fuck-me-heels and peek-a-boo panties. Unfortunately, I was behind the eight-ball this week, time was money and I didn’t have any extra minutes to spare. Pressure built in the back of my throat as I knew what I had to do.
“Well, I’d better get to my laundry. It’s not going to do itself.” The words flew from my mouth as I started to separate my whites from my darks and delicates.
“Yeah, well, I can take a hint, but using the excuse of laundry, really?” He teased with a magnetic smile.
“Hah, very funny, Shane. Thanks for saving me from the industrial washers.” I responded in a low tone as I collected my dark clothes from the rolling basket and pushed them into the large washer he was leaning against.
“It was my pleasure saving you, Little Clumsy Rose,” he answered as he caught one of my socks that tried to escape.
“Hey, now! Well, I guess I earned that name today.”
He handed me my sock. Thank God it wasn’t a pair of my crotchless panties. I scooped up a pile of ten quarters I stacked in preparation of washing my clothes.
“Yeah, you sure did.”
“Little Clumsy Rose huh?” I asked, filling the laundry detergent compartment and feeding the quarters into the ma
chine.
“Yeah, and I think you should come back on Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
“We’ll see if the name sticks. From what I understand this laundromat is world renowned for its suckers.” He pulled out a yellow sucker from his back pocket. “I’ll see you this Thursday let’s say around five thirty? Don’t be late, or a stranger.” He smiled and emphasized each word by pointing the sucker at me. I grabbed the candy, he lowered his eyes to the floor before he pushed up from leaning against the washer, buried his hands in his front pockets and wandered to the back door. His manly swagger automatically caught my eye and caused my entire body to tingle and crave his weight. He pushed open the back door, gave me a short, intentional smile then left.
Little Clumsy Rose, huh? We’ll see. I pulled open the sucker and pushed it into my mouth.
That was the first day we actually spoke and he learned my name. Sure, I’d say he was super charming and I was totally giddy but I didn’t see him again until I showed up with the same sack of clean clothes three days later, on Thursday at six o’clock at night. Maybe he’ll add fashionably late, to my new title, Little Clumsy Rose.
I JUST HAD the three longest nights in the history of my six squares of sidewalk ever! Dealing with cheap-ass pricks along with stingy fucks who tried to get a push and pull for half price truly exhausted me. Not even the act of taking on a trick had used the amount of energy I spent haggling with these cheap ass dickweeds. And let me just say, language barriers didn’t count when the foreign fucks were trying to purchase my pussy. They had no problem communicating what the hell they wanted from me with universal hand gestures. And to top off my mood, my feet were killing me from the piece-of-shit snake skin stilettos I bought from the tiny consignment shop around the corner from my apartment.
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—”
“I was thinking some . . . other day?” His expression was pleading.
“Well, I’ll be busy.”
“Really? You already know you’re busy?”
“Yes.”
“Six months from now?”
I nodded my head. I didn’t know what I was doing every minute of the day, but I was pretty sure I was too busy to start something with him.
“How can you turn down eating dinner? The very act is essential to our human survival.”
“Oh, I survive quite well on my own, thank you.”
“Yeah, but why alone? Why not have dinner with someone . . . like me?”
“Look, Shane, Truthfully, I just can’t really see anyone right now. My life is a little . . . complicated.”
“Complicated? Everyone’s life is complicated, Rose.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time to do complicated.”
“Complicated Rose. What i
f seeing wasn’t what I was thinking? I just thought we could have dinner, as friends?” he said, holding out a rainbow of suckers in front of his face. His eyes were saying something so much more than friends.
“Yeah, well it starts with suckers and ends with heartbreak,” I answered as I pulled the green sucker from the cluster of colors.
“You have us heartbroken over suckers and all I’m trying to do is go eat Cajun food and get to know my new friend, Complicated Rose.”
“Damn, you are persistent, Shane, and I can’t do dinner, anyway.”
“Ah, come on . . . fine, how about having lunch . . . just friends . . . I promise,” he said as he crossed his long fingers over his heart.
My body gave a little. It was almost unbearable staying strong, when all I wanted to do was throw myself at him and let him take me every which way to Sunday. A slight smirk filled my face.
“Thank you, Persistent Shane, for saving me from blasting headfirst into the washing machine the other day.” I pushed my hand out to him.
Please just take it, shake it, and make your way to the front door.
He grabbed my hand, pulled it up to his curvy lips and pressed. The energy which swirled against my flesh and shot straight between my legs was electrifying. It was like there was a power line that went straight from his lips to my sweet spot.
“Well, it’s always nice to save a beautiful woman who somehow agreed to have lunch with me tomorrow at Boxing Room. As friends of course, to avoid making it too complicated.”
“I, aahhh—”
“I promise it has actual food there and not just suckers.”
“Excuse me, you’re the manager, right?” A woman’s voice interrupted. I was thrown off when I realized she was asking Shane. I started to say something when he cleared his throat.
“What seems to be the problem?” He looked over at me for a moment, his eyes narrowed, concern threaded through his expression. He dropped his gaze before looking back at the woman.
“Well, I put my money in the slots and pushed . . .” Suddenly her words disappeared and became the background noise to the imagery of that fateful night when Shane barreled out of the laundromat and saved Crystal; hence, becoming the image that saved me from the grind of my business.
Broken Girl Page 5