Page 62 of Sparks
We glanced at Willa but she shook her head. “That place is janky. I use the dry cleaner.”
“How do you have the money for that?” I asked.
“It’s called my Part Time job.” She fluttered her long nails and I nodded.
“I always forget you do that.” Willa was a saleswoman for an online company. I never saw her do anything, but apparently she got tons of orders on the regular and worked on it when she was bored in her hotel rooms.
Rhea and I filled our small baskets. I grabbed the few items from Holly’s basket too. The laundromat was across the street one block down. We looked like bums wearing sweats and fuzzy boots with our coats, scarves, and hats. We’d learned the hard way not to drop our laundry in a washer and return in an hour. This wasn’t a college dorm. Syd-lo had lost a whole load that way, and boy was she pissed.
We versed each other in word games and looked up the latest online graphic romance editions. We’d already switched everything from the washers to dryer when two men walked in. They were almost comical in their differences—one huge and muscular like the Rock and the other short and stout like Kevin Hart. They both stopped and looked at us. The tall one gave a nod and moved to the dryers, but the other grinned and began slowly walking toward us with a leaning swag. Wait…were these the two men who’d made sure I got home safe that night?
“How you fine ladies doin’ tonight?”
We both glanced at our soggy fake, dirty Uggs, messy buns, and unmatching attire, trying not to laugh.
“Fine,” I said.
“That’s right, you fine!” He chuckled and I had to laugh too.
“Feeling hot,” Rhea said, which made the guy eye her.
“Oh, you bein’ sarcastic?”
“Yeah, because it’s cold as shit in here and I look horrible.”
“Nah!” He looked her up and down appreciatively.
The big dude walked around the corner with a laundry basket overflowing with jeans and T-shirts.
“Troy,” he said. “You messing with these girls?”
The short guy, Troy, looked us over and we all smiled. “Nah, man. We’re talking.”
“These are two of them flight attendants,” the big guy explained. “Don’t fuck with ‘em.”
“Man, I know who they are!” He looked offended.
“Hey,” Rhea asked. “What’s the deal with that? Why is everyone on this street so nice to us? Not that I’m complaining.”
The tall guy grinned and two dimples pressed into his cheeks. “Man, y’all bring class to this neighborhood. Everyone love to see you walking down this ugly ass street, shaking your asses in them uniforms. That’s our daily entertainment. ‘Specially the tall sister with the braids. You tell her Big Raymond says what’s up.”
Rhea and I shared an excited glance.
“Have you met her?” I asked, brightening at the sight of his dimples when he talked about Willa.
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” he said. “What’s her name?”
“Willamena,” I said. Rhea elbowed me, and the big guy laughed. Oh, whoops.
“Willamena.” He said it with a smile like he was tasting and savoring her name. “Hot damn. No, but she fine.”
“We’ll tell her you said hi,” I assured him.
He raised his chin in a nod and walked out with the basket on his hip. Troy turned and gave us finger guns. “Holler if you need us!”
I gave him a finger gun back. “Thanks.” He grinned and caught up to Big Raymond.
“Oh, hell yes,” Rhea said, immediately getting on her phone to call Willa. She put it on speaker since we were alone.
