She’s…
I narrow my eyes.
What the hell?
Turning so I can look directly out the front windows, I watch Tilda walk out of the laundromat across the street.
Her arms are full with two laundry baskets stacked on top of one another.
She stops at the driver’s door of her truck, which is parked in plain sight in the laundromat lot.
Why is she using a laundromat?
Tilda sets the baskets on the ground, opens her door, lifts the top basket, sets it on the bench seat, then leans into the truck as she pushes the basket across to the passenger side.
All I see is her ass.
Her shirt is still bunched up at her lower back. And even from across the street, those damn blue shorts demand my attention.
Flame. Moth.
One foot pops up off the ground as she leans in as far as she can.
I take a step forward.
Her foot lowers, and she pulls herself back.
Then she picks up the second basket of laundry, sticking her butt out.
I think I groan.
This time, Tilda doesn’t have to lean in as far, since she’s only sliding the basket into the middle seat. And my balls thank her for it.
With her laundry situated, Tilda follows the baskets into the truck and closes the door behind her.
Confused, I stay where I am and watch her drive away.
Chapter 41
Tilda
I can feelmyself grin as I step closer to the window.
Quackers, my friendly neighborhood duck, is in her new pool.
Joy overwhelms me.
At her apparent happiness.
At my sense of achievement for doing something right.
At the day that turned out to be pretty freaking good.
I shuffle a few inches closer to the glass, trying to be quiet, since the window is open and I don’t want to startle her.
While I was at the laundromat earlier, I used the internet to do a little research on ducks. And I learned that my duck is a girl.A mallard, I’m pretty sure.And I confirmed that no, you aren’t supposed to give ducks bread.
I also learned that there is a high probability that Miss Quackers will migrate in the winter, flying away to warmer pastures. And there’s a good chance her favorite color is either green or blue.