Who the fuck are they kidding sending me out here to the laundromat, I dont know how to do laundry. Yet, here I am stood in front of the closest laundromat to the house. Should I be embarassed that I am a twenty year old grown man who doesnt know how to do his own laundry? Yes. Am I? Also, yes.
The broken florescent sign above the door gives me no hope that this whole experience will go well. I have no choice though, unless I was willing to turn my underwear inside out to prolong the days, which I am not. Ever. Hygiene is a top priority. Between hockey, the gym and sex. I sweat a lot. So clean clothes are a necessity.
I wouldnt have to be here if Matt would have kept his dick to himself, but he had to go and dick down with the last housekeeper. Feelings were caught on her end, he did not reciprocate. It's a tale as old as time. Manwhore versus girl who thinks she can change him. It never works out that way in reality, or at least not in my reality. Any-whore, until a new housekeeper is hired we're all left to fend for ourselves. I voted to make Matt do it all since it's his fault but he pitched a fucking fit and pulled the Captain card.
I pull the door open and a bell jingles above me. It's disgustingly bright in here, but it's clean. A long row of washing machines runs down the middle of the small room, with large industrial sized dryers lining the far wall. I bring my bag to the closest machine and read the instructions on the machine.
Get the detergent, put clothes in the washer, put detergent in, pay, done. This isn't rocket science, I can definitely do this. I turn around to find an older broad staring at me, and by staring I mean ogling, hard. I'm no stranger to lust filled glaces but I put a cap on the age gap, and from the looks of her she far exceeds that limit. Still, I offer a smile while asking where I can get detergent. She offers me a small pack of a detergent, then when I go to pay her she insists it's on the house. I could put up a fight but, instead I give her a flirty little wink and go back to the machine.
I can feel another set of eyes on me but I have yet to see another person in here so far. I toss the clothes into the machine, rip open the packet of detergent and thrown the small pod into the machine. So far, so good.
Lastly I put the money in and press start.
clink. clink
The two coins I put in have fallen to the small tray. I must have done something wrong. I grab the coins and stare at the instructions. I did it all. So I put the coins in a second time, and press start for a second time.
clink. clink.
Frustrations bubbles in me and I let out a small growl when I grab the coins again.
"Stupid fucking.." I trail off growling still.
A small giggle causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I turn to see who giggled and find myself staring into the most incredible blue eyes I have ever seen. She's smiling now, but her lips are pressed together, in what i assume is an attempt to stifle her laugh. Her face is framed by tendrils of auburn hair that must have fallen out of the bun on top of her head, that resembles a birds nest.
"I was really rooting for you to figure it out, but I can't watch you struggle." Her lips break apart when she releases a giggle, "may I?" She gestures to the coins in my hand.
"Be my guest, please." I place the coins in her hand and watch as she skirts around me to get to the machine. Which gives me time to look at her. Beyond her extremely gorgeous face, she's slender in the waist, with wide hips and thick thighs. Her extremely perky ass looks magnificent in the tight jeans she has on. When I finally get to her feet pink converse peek out from under the stupidly wide flared jeans. I trailed my eyes back up, she's got the perfect hourglass figure.
I realize I never paid attention to anything she did when I hear the water running.
"Okay, what did you do that I didnt?" I tease.
She turns to face me again, her smile so infectious that I find myself grinning like an idiot back at her.
"Uh, you forgot to turn the dial to which ever wash setting you needed." Her finger resting on the large dial on the machine.
"Fuck, I missed that."
"It's a rookie mistake." She laughs again, and I find myself suddenly wanting to hear that noise again.
"And you? You're a veteran?" She steps around me and I can't help but notice how much space she puts between us, as if she really doesn't want to be close to me. Still, I get a small trace of what smells like cookies? I'm honestly not sure, but she smells like something I want to take a bite of.
"Definitely, Delores and I are practically BFFs I am here so much." She's sauntering back towards a table that happens to be piled high with laundry. I couldn't even begin to explain why I feel the need to follow her, but I do. She's quiet, and calm. I don't remember the last time I spoke to a girl that didn't involve them coming onto me. Which now that I think about it, is sad. Not for my sex life, but sad in general. It's also pathetic in a way that I am so eager for this stranger to talk to me.
"There's no way this is all yours, unless you have a clothing addiction." I take a teasing tone, mostly out of habit. Then I pull myself to sit on the table right beside where she's folding clothes. I grab a tank top from the pile and fold it which seems to make her damn near snort as she tries to hide whatever emotions she's feeling. It's an adorable noise.
What the fuck.
Adorable. What am I thinking? Her voice cuts through my inner turmoil over how soft I feel.
"Not all mine, I do the house laundry." She says it so matter-of-factly which is fucking weird because who does their roommates laundry. She must see the confusion on my face because she continues, " It's the deal we made, I do laundry, they clean the house, grocery shop."
"Seems like the shit end of the deal if you ask me, laundry takes forever."
Which it does. Which is why I hate it. Which is why we all pitch in to hire a cleaning lady.
"That's why I do it. I get to be here. Alone." Her voice has taken on a darker edge to it, something I can't quite put my finger on. It almost makes me sad that she wants to spend hours at a dingy laundromat. Alone. What a strange girl.
"I'm Devon by the way." I reach out my hand to her, she looks at it before looking at my face. Hesitation crosses her face, "I don't bite." A moment passes but her hand meets mine feeling so small within it. Fuck it's so soft and her fingers are so small. I run my thumb along the skin between her thumb and index finger absent mindedly which causes her to suck in a breath and noticeably still. She clears her throat before pulling her hand from mine, which suddenly feels cold now. Weird.
"I know. Devon Taylor star defensemen for the Thunderbirds." She's not even looking at me when she talks, still focused on folding, and for some reason I find it extremely aggravating that I can't keep her full attention.
"Unfair, you know who I am but I have no idea who you are." I scoot over a few inches closer to her so my leg bumps into her hip. That catches her attention and she looks up at me, wide eyed.
"Everyone knows who you are, plus I have been to every game for the last three years." She offers a small smile but yet again turns back to the clothes.
"So, you're a hockey fan then?" I expect the conversation to shift into a more predictable pattern. She'll hit on me, I'll return the gestures because the girl is drop dead gorgeous, we'll exchange numbers, flirt, we'll sleep together eventually, then we won't speak again. I can't count how many times it's happened exactly like that.
"A fan of hockey, yes." I don't miss the point she's aiming at. Which causes my gut to twist, guilt maybe for judging her. Fuck if I know, I have never had a conversation last this long with a girl. I am pleasantly surprised she isn't a puck bunny, but then again, I have never seen her at a single party so if she was a puck bunny, she's a terrible one.
"How come I have never seen you before?"
She doesn't turn to look at me when she speaks, her voice is low, almost like she doesn't want anyone to hear what she has to say. "Because I don't want to be seen." She picks up a bed sheet steps once to the left to put space between us again and begins to fold it, lifting her arms above her head.
I do my best, trying to be a gentleman and not stare, but I am also a guy so I can't stop my eyes from wandering to where her shirt lifts exposing the skin above her pants. Her stomach is flat , but not toned, as if she's just naturally thin and doesn't have to work at it. My cock twitches as thoughts of my hands grabbing her hips, feeling the soft skin against my rough fingers. I am still staring when something else catches my attention.
Any arousal is extinguished when I see the unmistakable coloring of a bruise above her right kidney. It's faded to greens and yellows as it's healing, but it looks like it hurt.
"That's a nasty bruise, do you play hockey too?" I try my best to add a teasing nature to the question, but I know from personal experience why most women have bruises like that while everywhere seen is perfectly unmarked. Someone did that to her.
Her whole body stops moving, I swear to God she even stopped breathing for a moment. She recovers quickly and finishes folding the sheet before placing both of her hands on a stack of clothing before placing it into a basket. Her expression blank as she stares at the table, there's nothing like someone shut off her emotions. I watched my mom do that exact facial expression enough times to know she's become numb to whatever is being done to her. She's trained herself to behave a certain way if anyone asked. Which only pisses me the fuck off. No woman should ever let someone get away with doing that to them.
"I fell, the stairs at the house are brutal. I don't play hockey, I can't skate in hockey skates." She forces out a weak laugh and grabs the overflowed basket of folded laundry.
I choose focus on the only thing I can to keep the conversation going, "what do you mean you can't skate?"
"I didn't say that, I can skates. Just not in hockey skates."
"Don't tell me," I pause, "you're a twirl girl?"
"Nope, I just like the toe pick." She's relaxed again.
"So are you going to tell me you're name?" I want to push the conversation, but I know better. I have to handle this with kid gloves or she'll shut down.
"Tillie." She pulls the basket off the table and moves to walk away. I push off the table and stand in front of her. "Wha... what are you doing?" She scans the room with worried eyes.
"I need help with the dryer," I reach for the basket. "I don't want to make anymore rookie mistakes." I flash her my best innocent eyes.
"I really should go," she looks at the clock and then at the front door again.
"Please."
Her ice blue eyes meet mine, then she swallows. "Fine."
I take the basket from her grip and put it back on the table. Before walking over to the machine my clothes are in, thankfully it's finished and I fish out all the clothes before throwing them into one of the machines. I rub my hands together and smile at Tillie, "Alright, now what oh wise one?"
She rolls her eyes but smiles. "Coins in the slot, pick your setting, turn on. Same as the washer."
"Can you show me?" I waggle my brows at her. "Y'know just in case I mess up."
"I can't believe you don't know how to do your own laundry. Who usually does it? Your mom?" She moves around me, but doesn't put as much space. Progress.
She turns on the machine and turns towards me, I had stepped closer to watch what she did this time. So once she's facing me we are only a foot apart. I'm a hell of a lot taller then she is so she has to crane her neck to look at me.
"Nah, all the guys pitch in and we hired a housekeeper."
"Is it her day off?"
"No, Matt slept with her, shit went sideways, then she quit."
She snorts out a laugh again. "Hockey jocks."
I find myself getting a little offended, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think it means? You all like to bang anything with a pussy and a pulse." I have never had a girl so blatantly insult me, I want so badly to be pissed off but I only find myself more attracted to her.
"Not all of us."
"Yeah okay, I've heard otherwise." She rolls her eyes and turns to walk away again.
"Do you believe everything you hear, Miss judgey pants?" I feel like a damn puppy because everywhere this girl walks I am falling in to follow her.
"When what I hear is my roommate being pounded into the mattress by you, then yes I believe what I hear." She shoots me a smirk and a cocky grin. "I think you can handle yourself from here, good luck at the game tomorrow."
"Will you be there?"
"I always am." The strangest feeling erupts in my chest, well erupt isn't the right word. It's not an explosive feeling more like a heated crushing feeling that spreads throughout my body. Then with that, she's gone. And I am left alone with Delores eyeing me up.
Fuck.
I never got her last name, or her number.