Page 13 of Hot Doggin'
“You know every single one of her panties looks just like those.”
Laughter bubbles up from McCormick’s wide chest. “Hell yeah. She got a BOGO at the fire sale. Twenty pairs of the same kind for nine ninety-nine.
In the back, a halfway decent-looking chick is sitting on top of a dryer, swinging her legs while her man stands between them and grips her thighs. She’s giggling at whatever he’s saying.
“You know he’s got a family at home,” McCormick swears.
“Definitely. That’s not his wife.”
Down at the end of the row, a girl sitting at one of the tables looks totally out of place. She has those cushionyUGGboots that always remind me of a walking boot someone wears when their foot is in a cast, leggings, and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair in a ponytail. She looks way too put-together for this place as she leans over her e-reader, sipping from herStarbucksto-go cup.
“How can she afford those boots and that coffee, but she can’t afford a washer and dryer?”
“Uh huh. Because she spent all her money next-door at the salon and the coffee shop. She ain’t got a dime left. Fancy broke.”
“Is that us,” I laugh, “fancy broke?”
“Hell yeah,” he wheezes, dissolving into laughter. “We’re real fucking fancy. With your flea-bitten ass and no bag to put your clothes in.” He points to an older woman stuffing clothes in the washer. “You know she’s gonna fuck her shit up.” The womanreaches for a gallon of bleach, attempting to pour it into a load of colors. “Go save her.”
“Damn,” I sigh, pushing to my feet. I approach her carefully, not wanting to scare her because of my size. She’s just a tiny thing. “Ma’am, you’re about to pour bleach into your clothes. I don’t think you wanna do that, do you?”
“Oh.” She turns, startled. “Are you sure?” She squints at me, and I guess she has a problem with her sight.
“Yes ma’am, this here is bleach.”
“I could have sworn it was fabric softener,” she laughs.
“No ma’am.” I reach for the bottle she’s looking for and place it in her hand. “Here you go. This is fabric softener.”
“Well, aren’t you kind?” she gushes. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Thank you, young man.”
“You’re very welcome, young lady.” McCormick's silent laughter makes his shoulder shake as I make my way back to him. I plop my ass down in the plastic chair, making it creak. “I’m lucky she didn’t pepper spray me.”
“She’s blind as a bat. She would have missed, most likely.”
“I’m serious.” Knowing him, he’d probably leave my ass pepper-sprayed and blind on the floor, writhing with burning tears and blinding pain, or tell me to stop making a scene.
“Captain America. Saving laundry one load at a time.”
The guy most likely cheating on his wife passes us on his way out the door. He eyes McCormick suspiciously, checking out his prosthetic.
McCormick rolls his eyes. “All the staring in the world ain’t gonna make it grow back, Scout.”
His smart-ass comment reminds me of one of the many reasons I love him. McCormick doesn’t feel self-conscious about his disability, and he doesn’t let others get hung up on theirs either. He’s like that with everything. He accepts it and rolls withthe punches in record speed. He’s all laid-back and go-with-the-flow. A rolling stone that gathers no moss.
“Do you wanna get a pizza on the way home?”
Jesus Christ, anything but hotdogs again. “Sounds good.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
MCCORMICK
Belching loudly,I kick the empty pizza box aside and prop my prosthetic leg up on the coffee table, leaning back into the sofa to stretch out. “I’m stuffed.” I rub my belly. Even though it’s flat, it feels like I swallowed a basketball.
“Me too,” Stiles sighs. “Well, I should get going. It’s getting late and I have to work tomorrow.”
