My Teacher Found Me Stuck in the Laundry

"Just toss the load in number seven, Olivia!" Mom's voice faded as the laundromat door swung shut, leaving me alone with the rumble of spinning drums.

Number seven was a rusted relic in the damp, dimly lit back room. I crouched in front of its yawning mouth, trying to untangle a knot of wet clothes half-shoved inside.

The load was bunched up at the very back. I leaned in, my shoulders slipping past the rim, stretching my fingers toward the damp fabric.

Snap.

Something in the ancient door frame shifted. The opening suddenly tightened around my waist like a vice.

I froze. "Okay, don't panic."

I planted my hands against the cold, wet metal of the drum and shoved backward. Nothing. The warped rubber gasket had folded in on itself, clamping down harder with every movement.

I was stuck!

My upper body was swallowed by the dark drum, which meant my lower half, clad only in too-short sleep shorts, was left jutting out into the open room. Hips raised, knees bent. An incredibly compromising, humiliating position.

My breath came fast and shallow in the enclosed space, the sound deafening in my own ears.

"Mom?" I called out, my voice muffled and small against the metal. "Mom?!"

No answer.

Then, the bell above the front door chimed.

Footsteps. Slow, unhurried, moving across the tile.

"Hello?" a voice called. Warm, low, unmistakably familiar. "Olivia? I came to pick up my order."

My stomach dropped.

I knew that voice. Every girl at college knew that voice. Mr. Bennett. Matthew Bennett, the history teacher with the kind eyes and the easy smile, half of the girls in his third-grade class had a hopeless crush on despite the gray threading through his hair.

And I was stuck here, folded into a washing machine with my rear end on full display.

"Anyone here?" His footsteps drew closer to the back room. "The sign said pickup was ready…"

I clamped my mouth shut. If he found me like this, if he recognized me, I would never be able to look at him again. I would never be able to walk into his classroom, never sit through another lecture without wanting to sink into the floor.

The door to the back room creaked open.

I held my breath and prayed to become invisible.

"Huh." His voice shifted, curious now. "What's this?"

I felt the air move as he stepped closer, and I squeezed my eyes shut in the darkness of the drum.

Please, I thought. Please just walk away.

But he didn't walk away.

"Is this some kind of mannequin?" he murmured, and then I felt it, his hand, warm and solid, landing on my thigh.

My entire body locked up. I bit down hard on my tongue to keep from making a sound.

His palm slid higher, fingers pressing lightly against my skin. "Wait, that can't be right. Mannequins aren't supposed to be warm."

Oh God. Oh God, no.

There was a pause, and I could practically hear him thinking. Then his voice came again, quieter, almost amused. "Maybe someone left behind one of those dolls, the realistic kind."

His hand moved upwards again, fingers trailing upward along the curve of my leg.

Holy shit, I even felt his hand reach into my short sleep shorts!