Macy sat on the cold metal bench stationed in the far corner of the laundromat. Usually she would take this time to go for a walk or read a book, but today she only had lazy bones. She had the book in hand, but every time she brought it up, she found her mind wandering uselessly around to other subjects.
She imagined what her future could be. She imagined walking across the stage, receiving her college diploma. She imagined perfectly singing through her first interview and working hard to climb the ladder. She imagined herself in a sweet little window office with coworkers that loved her.
She imagined owning a condo with its own washer and dryer, so that one in the morning wasn’t her best option to wash her clothes in a public facility. She imagined the care she would take putting her designer labels on the hangers and into her closet. She imagined plush carpet beneath her feet instead of the cold cement lurking beneath the cold metal bench. And yes, she imagined a comfortable couch to read a book on, and not this lifeless, soul stealing cold contraption beneath her.
She was rudely brought out of her perfect little daydream by the damn chimes that hung over the entrance door. It was a laundromat, not a diner. She couldn’t imagine any possible reason the owner of this particular business put a loud, jangling, metal chime over the door to announce the next poor lonely soul’s entrance into the lifeless building. It was just another dank reminder that she needed to keep this relentless pace for another few months so she could be free, unbound from the confines of the prison of poverty.
She refused to fall prey to the inevitable stare that always followed the jangle of the chimes. Instead of staring grayly at the innocent soul entering the building, she focused on a grotesque crack in the floor, one that looked like a deep wound that had poor sutures and still allowed it expand. She watched as a small bug scurried along its inner walls, and she had to swallow down the bile that threatened to surface.
She kept her eyes glued to the floor as the body swiftly floated across the room. She noticed the sneakers and jeans and assumed it was a male by the long stride and muscled leg hidden beneath the fit of the jeans. She could no longer stand the sight of this floor, so she again brought the book up and pretended to read.
Words, words, words. Blah, blah, blah.
OK, maybe attempting a book when her eyes were getting so heavy wasn’t the greatest idea. They wanted to close, but she definitely did not want to fall asleep here. No way, she just imagined that nasty bug crawling out of its hole and up her leg. Her body shivered uncontrollably as that thought settled in her brain.
She quickly looked around the room, needing something to distract herself with. Her eyes bolted from the overpriced laundry soap dispenser to the rows of laundry carts to him. Oh, boy, to him. He was stunning, or else she was becoming delusional.
He must have just finished filling the machine, because he pushed the coins in and shut the lid. He laid his hands on the machine as if to say, “one less thing to do today,” and he leaned on his hands as his eyes lifted and went to hers.
He was well aware of her, and she was becoming all too aware of him. His dark eyes burned into hers in a way that left her not only speechless but breathless. Breathe, Macy, breathe. His dark hair was cut short, and his old concert t-shirt clung to his chiseled chest and arms in a way that she both loved and wanted to rip off his body.
He held her stare, and she was starting to feel self conscious. There was no way he could possibly be interested in her, dressed in just holey jeans and a hoodie, not the sexiest outfit in her second hand store wardrobe. Her eyes started to falter, and she stared at her shoes. Well, flip flops. They didn’t exactly match her outfit or the cool weather outside, but she didn’t want to dirty another pair of socks just to rewash them again. It was a practical matter she thought to herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the chiseled body seating himself across from her in the crappy waiting area of this crappy laundromat. She noted as he sat that his foot was only twelve inches or so from the dreadful crack that held unknowns. She briefly thought him brave for attempting such a feat.
He leaned forward so that his elbows were perched on his knees, and then he spoke. Damn it. His voice was the sexiest thing she had ever heard. Much deeper and more confident than the kids she was surrounded with in college. She may have started university older than her peers, but she was the first in her family to do so. Age didn’t matter, she told herself, heart did. But when she heard his throaty voice, she remembered that she also loved a mature body.
Her body craved to be touched and caressed. By anyone on some days, but now she feared it would only want to be touched by this body in particular. His long, strong fingers intertwined between his open legs, and she imagined those fingers un-twining, and running themselves over her cheek, down her neck and arms. She imagined they were talented and would tease her back and hips before tickling her on their way up her sides. She imagined them stretching over her breasts and…
Her thoughts were interrupted by this laughter. It was a gentle laughter, as if he was trying not to laugh, but she suddenly became aware that he was kind of laughing at her.
Oh, shit. What had he been saying. She felt her eyebrows twist as she forced her brain to turn back on and focus. She heard his voice, she remembered that, but what had it said? She looked up to his face in an attempt to jolt her brain out of its stupor, but those dark eyes drew her in again.
This time she was the one that caught the giggles. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or exhaustion or stress, but hearing his gentle laughter again broke the bubble that had been building inside and it came out as a laugh. She felt her body relax as she leaned back into her chair, unable to come up with a single sentence to defend herself. She had been caught, but she kind of liked being caught by him.
He had worked a double shift every night this week, and he was surprised to find anyone at this old laundromat at this hour of the night. The pretty little female sitting on the bench had a unique beauty about herself. She had the softest looking hair floating around her face, cut short but with a feminine quality that drew out the blue of her eyes and the perfect cream of her skin. The baggy sweatshirt did nothing to hide her delicate body, and those tight fitting jeans caused all sorts of thoughts to float through his mind as he crossed the room to the washer of choice.
She looked tired, and she was clearly avoiding his gaze, so he took advantage of that fact and looked her over again. He shut the lid and peered across the room. She had brought a book up, as if she were trying to read it, but her thoughts were nowhere in the realm of the letters printed in that book. Her lips were plush and pink, but her blue eyes could cut him across the room if she looked his way. She was phenomenal, and he wondered what brought her to this little hole in the wall in the middle of the night.
She kept her gaze averted, looking out the windows to the brake lights of the cars beyond it. She looked over to the machine that always jammed, every single time had had forgotten his own detergent. She looked about the carts with increasing boredom, but when her eyes landed on his, much as he suspected, they saw right into him. She had an appreciation in those twinkling baby blues that emboldened him to cross the room.
The blush that crept up her neck as she diverted her gaze let him know she was thinking of him, too. If she didn’t give a care about him, she wouldn’t have blushed. He had a chance.
He crossed the room and sat on the metal bench across from her. As she attempted to ignore him, he again took advantage and studied her features at a closer range. Her hands were so delicate and so creamy. He imagined those hands stroking his chest, massaging his back, or gripping him in only places he would allow her and no others.
That thought made his cock jump to life, so he attempted to think of other things. He noted the exuberance of her hair and wondered if it reflected her personality. He imagined running his hand through her hair, and then he imagined how it would fall if she were atop him.
When she licked her lips, he had to speak up or his body was going to ache all night long. “Perfect evening for a wash, eh?” It wasn’t his best line, not by a long shot, but it seemed to get her attention. Her blue eyes batted for a second, as if coming out of a stupor, one he hoped included thoughts of him, and the innocent reaction forced him to bite back a laugh. She was so sweet and so genuine.
When her eyes brows furled together, he found his laughter escaping. It only took a few seconds for her to return the laughter. Her laugh was so precious. He had had one hell of a long week, and this laughter broke the tension like a knife and released the sweeter side of life.
But then she leaned back in her chair to laugh, and each rise and fall of her chest caused her plentiful chest to bob. He wondered if she even wore a bra as they danced about. He wanted to reach over and feel them, he wanted them in his hands when she laughed, he wanted her on his lap when she laughed, he wanted to be the one that made her laugh for a hundred years.
He heard the buzz of a dryer, announcing its finish, and it drew them both out of the fit of laughter. She breathed in, and stood to retrieve her items. He couldn’t help but notice the tight cling of her jeans over her ass and down her lean legs, and he had a conflicting desire to watch her in them and also to peel them down her sweet legs and bare her ass. He imagined a sexy little romp in the laundromat, setting her across the rumbling washer, bringing her pleasure, but when he looked around, he knew that could never be a possibility. This place was a dump, and she deserved better.
He stood to begin a better conversation, and hoped it could last well into the night…