“What the fuck!” Rhone yelled. Jordan and my heads shot toward the door so fast I thought we’d have whiplash. There Rhone stood, shooting daggers at us. His face was an ugly shade of red, not due to embarrassment. No, man, he was fucking pissed.           Shit busted.           With Rhone’s voice a hundred decibels higher than any man’s voice should be, of course, Ely heard and had to come and check out what was up. “What’s wr—” he froze, eyes locked on us. “You’re defiling our laundry!” he screeched. “My eyes! My eyes!” he repeated, burying his face in his hands as he took off.           “Dude, no,” Rhone…