Free Love at Large by Jaffarian;others Page A

buzzed. The man in black wandered over to the machines lining the wall, opened the door to one and thrust a muscular arm inside. He shook his head, and managed to jam a large fist into the pocket of his painted-on jeans and pull out another quarter to plug into the slot.
    She glanced at her own machines and saw that the violent shakings of one washer in its final spin-cycle was threatening to topple her detergent from its perch. Bounding from her chair, she snatched the bottle as it teetered on the edge of the undulating appliance. Then she slapped her basket on the washer top next to her and slammed the lid of the machine up.
    Blinking in confusion, she bent closer to its opening. Horrified, she began pulling out item after item of pink-tinged clothing.
    Will it never end?! She spied the culprit, a scrap of bright red lace at the bottom of the washer, and groaned. She’d managed to toss one of her teensiest, most flamboyant thongs in with her white load.
    It was time to be discreet. She bent low to remove it from the washer and place it with all possible haste in her basket. But the dainty garment caught on the washer’s change slide. Grumbling under her breath she gave it a sharp yank when – SNAP! - the thong flew out of her hand and sailed over her head to land somewhere behind her.
    Somewhere near the man in black. She was sure.
    Ok. OK, just think. Play it cool. I’m sure it didn’t really land anywhere near him. In fact, it’s probably on top of the dryers. No, it’s behind the dryers. So if it isn’t lying around as evidence somewhere, how can anyone really be sure that it even happened? And if nothing happened, there’s no reason for me to look around.
    Best intentions thrust aside, she whirled to see if her nightmare had been realized, fully expecting to find her wayward undergarment atop the man’s sleek raven locks.
    She saw nothing.
    No underwear. No man.
    A polite cough behind her caught her attention. He stood with his hand extended, the scarlet lingerie dangling from his fingertips in sharp contrast with the ebony of his shirt.
    “I believe this is yours,” his voice rumbled, deep and resonating. His full lips quirked with barely suppressed mirth. “Unless it came from that direction?” He motioned toward the group of elderly ladies, who ducked and bowed their heads in whispered conversation like so many chickens scratching up feed.
    A burble of laughter escaped Lauren’s lips at the thought of those particular women owning such things. But then perhaps wearing size-too-small thongs explained the constant pinched expressions on their sour old faces?
    She turned to him, grinning impishly at their shared joke. Never removing his gaze from her lush lips, he captured her hand in his larger one, which made her feel almost dainty. Holding fast, and with a gentle firmness, he pressed the lacy confection into it.
    The tingling sensation wrought by his skin rubbing against her flesh unnerved her. She licked her lips, desperate for something witty to say.
    “Uh, thanks.” Deserted by her voice, she squeaked like one of her young charges at the daycare center where she worked. Well. I’ll just be submitting that one to “Quotable Quotes”!
    Gladys Bronowski waved at them from the opposite corner. “Excuse me, young man,” she oozed in the most syrup-laden voice Lauren had ever heard her use. “But do you think you might give me a hand with my basket? My old arms just aren’t what they used to be.”
    Surprised by the interruption, as though he’d forgotten anyone else was in the room, the gentleman stepped away
    “Certainly, ma’am. I’d be happy to.” He gave the crone a polite smile, and tossed Lauren a wink. She felt bereft when his hand left hers, but the emptiness inside her was fast filling with anger and a bit of guilt. The interfering biddy! Lauren cursed her luck for the second time that day. Be careful what you wish for . She regretted begging the cosmos for a chance to have the