It’s two pm on a Tuesday and I’m already buzzed.
I lounge across the picnic table on the lawn, my legs hanging off the edge. The sun warms me and I close my eyes.
Around me, I hear sounds of chatter—Amy and Brett, gossiping about the last episode of Flavor of Love. The boombox beats and clears out any chaos inside my skull.
I’m lazy. Warm. A lion, king of the jungle, sunning himself on Pride fucking Rock.
“Hey, King.”
I squint my eyes open to see Nick coming down the gravel pathway from the shitty laundry room. The locals use it for—well, laundry, I guess. Everyone else uses it as a place to get high.
“Sup?”
“Check this out.”
I peel myself up and hop off the table. I follow Nick into the laundry room and he nods to the corkboard.
They’ve got notices pinned here—reminders of when and where to pay slip fees, someone’s desperate attempt at a pot luck. And something else: a note in girly handwriting that says, For the laundry thief…I think these are yours?
And pinned to the note, a pair of red, lacy women’s panties.
I chuckle. Well played, Kenzi.
“You know what this is?” Nick asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s a dare.” Then I unpin the panties from the corkboard.
