Love and Neckties - Lacey Black Page 0,79

I kept thinking about was how great Freedom and I work together. Elma’s well past retirement age, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if Freedom were there all the time. Well, it’d be chaotic, I’m sure, in true Freedom fashion. But it would also be enjoyable and soothing having her close day in, and day out.

I pull into my driveway and park my car beside her beat-up old POS. She really needs a new car. Something more reliable. However, if I know her as well as I think I do, she won’t accept one as a gift, nor will she openly talk about it, unless it’s her idea first.

When I reach the door, I go to slide my key into the lock when I find it slightly ajar. Worry steals my breath as I gently push the door open. “Freedom?”

“Hey!” she bounces down the hallway, a load of laundry in her arms.

“Why was the door open?” I ask, stepping inside and closing it securely behind me. Then, I throw the lock.

“It was?”

“Yes,” I tell her, a hint of annoyance in my tone. “You can’t leave the front door standing wide open, Freedom. Did you know more than 325,000 houses are still broken into a year? Even with security systems and those fancy doorbells that take video. That’s every thirteen seconds, Free.”

She’s staring at me across the room, her eyes wide. She doesn’t say anything for several seconds, not an argument or even a roll of her beautiful eyes. She just stands there, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s okay. “Free?”

Suddenly, she drops the dirty clothes she was carrying on the floor and practically launches herself into my arms. I stumble back a few steps, but am able to quickly right myself, considering she’s so small and weighs practically nothing. Then, her mouth slams into mine so hard, I wonder if we didn’t just crack a few teeth. But I don’t pay the jarring any further attention when her tongue presses into my mouth and dances with my own.

She groans as she tightens her arms around my neck, pressing her chest into mine. My hands grip her ass as she rocks into my erection. I move, walking her to the wall, and pressing her back against it. Freedom wiggles and I can feel her nipples pressed through each of our shirts. It makes my hands itch to touch them.

When I’m mere seconds away from taking her to the bedroom, she rips her lips from my own, her eyes hooded with lust. “Shit, Freedom,” I gasp, the ache in my pants prominent. “What was that?”

She smiles widely. “You called me Free. You’ve never called me that.”

“And you felt the need to attack me?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around it.

“No, that was the hum between my legs talking, Sammy,” she says as she pats my shoulder. Carefully, she slides down my body, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles that now appear on my shirt. “Come on, let’s go cook dinner. I’m starved.”

She turns and heads to the kitchen, leaving me and my erection with the pile of dirty clothes to go into the washer. “Me too,” I mumble as I scoop up the clothes and follow her, the entire time, picturing what she would look like splayed out on top of my bed, naked.

I walk past her in the kitchen and make my way to the laundry room. I set the clothes on the floor, noticing instantly the weird mix of clothing. There’s a little of hers and a bit of mine, and the combination has a somewhat calming effect on me. It’s been almost two decades since my clothes were washed with someone else’s, and I find myself smiling as I look down at the dirty items.

After adding the clothes, closing the lid, and turning on the machine, Freedom hollers from the other room. “Will you restart the dryer for me?”

Curious, I open the dryer and find it full of brightly colored, wrinkled garments. They’re cool to the touch, but dry, which tells me they’ve been in here for a while after dried. “What is this?” I ask, closing the door and finding the right heat setting for the material.

“Yesterday’s load,” she bellows in reply.

“Yesterday? These have been here since then?” I ask, as I enter the kitchen and close the laundry room door.

Freedom shrugs. “Yeah.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Freedom, you can’t just leave clean clothes in the dryer.”

“Why not?” she asks,