Jordyn's Army

“Um …” I stammer. “Where can I buy some of that?”

She rolls her eyes and points to a blue tub on the adjoining table. “Open that and take out a pod. But you’ll owe me.”

I do as instructed. “Thanks,” I say, holding up a green and blue squishy balloon-like thing.

“Now put that in with your clothes. Close the door. Put your quarters in and hit start,” she says. “And if you don’t have quarters, you can get some over there in the exchange thing.”

“I have quarters, thank you very much.”

I give her a playful glare as I get the washer started. Once it’s whirling around, I turn my attention back to her.

“Thanks for the soap,” I say.

“You’re welcome.”

The air is warm and humid. The room smells like the laundry room at my house mixed with stale popcorn. I await the orangey scent of her as I walk her way.

Her fingers fly across her phone, a mischievous smile licking at her lips as I approach. I take the time to really look at her.

She’s pretty if not gorgeous in a very real kind of way. There’s nothing put-on or fake about her and I find that insanely attractive.

A pale pink shirt is cut decently low—long enough for me to see the top of her breasts. There are freckles spattering the bridge of her nose and a mole hiding on the underside of her chin.

I pull out a chair and sit a couple of feet away.

She looks up. Nodding to the phone she sticks back in her pocket, she laughs. “My friend worries.”

“Is that the friend you said, and I quote, ‘Oh, shit’ when I walked in?”

“It was ‘Holy shit’ and, yes, it was the same friend.” She rolls her eyes to distract from the hint of embarrassment on her face.

I chuckle.

“Anyway,” she says, “she—ouch.” She flinches as she sets her foot on the floor.

“Are you really hurt? I thought you were just fucking with me.”

“I’m not hurt-hurt. Just twisted it or something.”

“Want me to look at it?” I offer.

“Are you a doctor?”

“No. I’m an investor.”

She laughs. “What are you going to do? Take your shirt off and make me a sling?”

“If you want me to take my shirt off, all you have to do is ask.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, shaking her head. “I just meant that you’ve probably seen that on TV or something.” She blows out a breath. “You know what? Let’s just move on.”

I settle in, resting my forearms on my knees. “Fine. Let’s start by you telling me your name.”

“Fine. It’s Delaney.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thanks.” She grins. “What’s your name again?”