As he punched in her number, Bruce was glad that his condition kept his hand steady. This woman before him was not beautiful, but she was pretty. Her black hair was long, though pulled up into a pony tail, with wisps of hair that framed her face so it didn’t look so severe. She wore utilitarian jeans, anda t-shirt that had the picture of a cat in a strait-jacket and the words, “You say crazy like it’s a bad thing.” The t-shirt was worn, and he could see the outline of her bra right through it.
He hoped she couldn’t see the outline of something else through his jeans.
She also had dark, sweltering eyes. Her skin was tanned, but not overly dark. It was June, after all. He had guessed that she had Hispanic blood in her somewhere. But with a last name like Mason, that idea was thrown away. Maybe her mother’s side?
He would find out. He had his ways.
She reminds me of Julieanna, he thought, with the quick wit and ready banter. But she looks like a gypsy. He always found those sorts to be a turn on, his type; a taste of the forbidden. He didn’t remember her coming into the store he worked in – there were always so many customers. In a normal night, he would have given her a second glance, but that would be all.
Yet when she held the door open for him, he found that was something unusual. Some people would have let him struggle. The chances of a friendly person here was slim.
He heard a thump and looked over toward the TV. The man who was sleeping there had fallen off the seat and was on the floor. He chuckled.
The teenage clerk stopped texting for half a minute before turning back to his phone. The man got up, brushing himself off. He saw Bruce watching him and immediately turned belligerent. “What’re you lookin’ at?”
“Nothing, sorry,” Bruce said, and turned back to look at Paige. Bruce watched in the reflection of the dryers to see if the man would leave. He was satisfied when he heard the small bell ring as he passed the electric eye in front of the door.
Paige was talking about something she had heard on NPR. He didn’t even know what that was, but he nodded just the same.
He nodded toward her dryers. “They’re done,” he said, looking at the clothes lying on the bottom of the dryer.
“Oh, right,” she said, and got up, gathering her purse and book with her. He had her number, and the commitment of a date, so he could leave. But he wanted to stay with her.
He actually helped her fold her clothes, something he hadn’t done in years. He never folded his own clothes, trusting in the iron to take out the wrinkles if necessary. She watched him, smiling, that adorable blush along her cheeks, tempting him.
He’d need to do something about that later.
They made small talk, about the weather, about more history that he was too intimately familiar with. “I promise to call you tomorrow, once I know my schedule for next week,” he said.
“I can’t go on Saturday,” she said. “Saturday, meaning this Saturday.”
“I’m working, too,” he said. “And Sundays are usually busy for me. Maybe some time next week?”
“This time next week?” she asked, finishing packing her laundry away into a large basket.
He smiled. “If I can’t, I’ll call you. Or I’ll call you just because.”
She smiled back at him. She looked even prettier when she smiled. “I’d like that,” she said.
He bent to pick up her basket. “Let me help you with that.”
“Uh, okay.”
She led the way to her car. He stepped outside and smelled the air. Someone was close by. Someone whose scent he already had caught inside the laundromat. He was lurking, probably with a weapon, and was going to try a beating.
Not on my watch, he thought, forcing a smile to her. “I’ll call you. Be careful.”
“I will.” He shook her hand, this time in a normal way, grasping it tightly not showing all of his strength. He watched her get into the car, and he stood outside of the laundromat, watching her leave.
Then he turned, and instead of going into the laundromat, he disappeared in the blink of an eye. He reappeared in the alley next to the laundromat, now standing behind the man who had been in the laundromat before. The man was crouched with what looked like a tire iron, but at Bruce’s initial disappearance, had slowly stood up. Bruce knew the man had a shocked look on his face.
Without making a sound on his part, Bruce grabbed the man by the scruff of his stinking jacket and yanked him further back into the alley.
Temptation satisfied.