”Her head hung down and she sighed, then groaned. “Why was the lingerie on top? I mean come on.” She picked up the offending item of clothing and shook it. “I’ve never even worn you yet. So embarrassing,” she scolded it and finished loading the machine.The washer thrummed underneath Molly as she sat on top of it, kicking her feet to the beat of one of her current obsessions, Tate McRae’s You Broke Me First. She looked around the room and her eyes locked on dryer #3. It had stopped tumbling but she knew the busted dryer well enough to know the clothes weren’t dry. Molly slipped off and walked over to it. She pulled an earbud out and looked around before she opened the door and felt through his clothes. “I knew it,” she said softly and pulled out two more quarters to start the machine again. She placed her hand on the glass feeling it grow warm under her palm. “And you’ll never know. Whoever you are. God, why didn’t I get his name?” ‘Cause your brain shuts off when you’re around. Why the hell was Geoff trying anything with him? He scanned his mind and read that Geoff thought he could stand up to him if the odds were four to one in his favor. As they neared him Alan was able to identify the other members of the mob. All were teammates of Geoff’s: Matt Castro, Philip Herzog, and Walker Jackson, and all four of them had at least thirty pounds and three inches on Alan. He wasn’t worried. ‘Geoff, what the fuck is going on?’ He could see the apprehension in Geoff’s look, and noticed that of the four he was at the back of the pack. ‘Shut your fucking mouth, loser!’ Phil screamed as he charged at Alan. Alan took a half a step to the right as Phil attempted to tackle him, and they came in contact, though his side step distracted Phil, and he was unable to get his arms completely around Alan. Alan stiff-armed him, and he was pushed away by Alan’s outstretched hand. Phil was crouched in tackling position, lowering his center of gravity like Coach Tompkins had taught him.
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