As I walked through the grocery store, I fought the urge to throw a small mountain of food in my basket. I'd walked to the store and I didn't want to haul fifty pounds of junk food back.
Chips were lightweight. So were gummy bears and Snickers bars. I grabbed a bottle of soda and a small box of Pop-Tarts, too.
I grimaced at my selection of food and decided to at least add some cheese and nut snack packs or something that I could pretend was semi-healthy.
As I walked to the refrigerated section that held the lunch meat, snack packs, and Lunchables, the back of my neck tingled. I slowed my pace and glanced around, aiming for a casual expression.
Then, I saw him about ten feet away, looking at me.
Our eyes met for a brief moment before he looked down at the box of crackers in his hand, but I couldn't stop staring at him.
He wasn't beautiful but he was definitely in "good-looking" territory. His dark brown hair was cut almost brutally short, which drew my attention to the sharp bones of his face. Thick, dark brows slashed over eyes that had pierced mine when our stares collided. His jaw was square and hard.
But his mouth looked soft.
At that moment, my klutz factor kicked in and I caught my elbow on the edge of a small wire basket holding hot dog buns. The legs screeched against the concrete floor and the entire thing tilted.
Oh. Shit.
I watched in horror as the basket crashed to the ground on its side and rolled a few feet to my left.
Right toward the man.
My face burned as I scrambled after the display to stop its motion. I stomped on the urge to look around and see if everyone was staring at me because I was pretty sure they were.
Instead, I carried the rack back to where it had been and picked up the buns that had fallen out when it tipped over. My cheeks were so hot that I was surprised my skin wasn't smoking.
When I straightened, I gasped and nearly knocked the damn thing over again.
Because the dark-haired man was standing right next to me now. I hadn't noticed him coming over in my rush to clean up the mess I'd made.
He dropped two more bags of buns in the basket and smiled at me.
Holy mac and cheese, he had a dimple. Just one.
And now that he was closer, I could see that his eyes were bright blue and even more intense up close.
"I never understood why they put these things in the middle of the aisles," he commented, his voice deep and a little rough. "I manage to bump into one every time I come here."
I swallowed hard and tried to think of a response, but my vocal cords froze in both embarrassment and awe.
Up close, I realized that he was a big man, tall and broad, his shoulders and biceps straining against his t-shirt. And he smelled amazing, fresh and clean but without the heaviness of cologne.
Before I could babble incoherently, he glanced down at my arm and frowned. "You have a scratch there. Are you okay?"
I looked down and saw a long, red welt marring my left forearm. "It's fine," I managed to say, my voice at least an octave higher than usual.
I lifted my head and our eyes met again. This time, there was something about the way the light reflected off his irises that brought that tingle back to my neck.
"Thanks for the help," I said, taking a step back.
"No problem. Are you sure you're okay?"
I nodded. "Yep. Fine. Just need to find my dignity."
Oh, God. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I talk to people without losing my ability to filter my thoughts before they came out of my mouth?
He smiled at me, the dimple making another appearance. "I'm Marcus."
