I crumpled the list of the shit I had to get for my sister. Why the hell had she put tampons on there?Fuck. Me.Her flu had worsened over the weekend and she needed help but…Hell.What a nightmare. I perused the ladypart aisle at Target and sighed into my fist. I had been here ten minutes. I had no idea what ‘sport compact’ meant. I retrieved my phone, ignoring a couple of texts from a girl who’d gotten my number last weekend. Rookie mistake. I knew better than to let them near my phone.
I pressed my sister’s number, praying she picked up first ring. It almost worked—she answered the second.
“Zaria,tampons?” I growled.
“Yes, Zade. Open your narrow mind for a second and realize that your sister, the best person you know, is a woman. Man up.”
“It’s hard to man up while in the lady aisle. Damn. Too many choices.” I ran my hand over my face. “I have no fucking idea what to grab.”
“Dear god. You are a sad human. Have you never gone on a tampon run for one of your little hussies?” Sickness clogged her voice but the humor shone through. She loved messing with me and I couldn’t say she wasn’t right.
“FaceTime me then and show me.” I held the phone out and tried to hit the right button, but she declined it. I called her back, letting out a string of curse words. “What the hell, Zaria?”
“This is too much. Figure it out.” She then hung up the phone. I laughed. My mom liked to tell me that Zaria helped balance my self-esteem, which had apparently been growing inch by inch since I’d been in college. I considered it confidence, while they considered it an ego. I worked out to remain in shape, worked my ass off for a baseball scholarship and had no qualms about what I wanted in the future. Sure, I might have had a reputation for being a womanizer, but eh, I had no regrets.
Last year had been the best year ever. A freshman pitcher with the best stats and a full ride… Life. Was. Fucking. Awesome.
Except, when my sick sister guilted me into helping her…by buying tampons. I had two things left on the list and her torture of me bordered on abusive. Girl products…fuck you, Zaria. I read the list again, plotting my revenge on her.Tampons, sports compact and maximum hold hair shit. Yep, time to man up and read some girlie boxes.
I walked to the area where I thought it made the most sense to store them. Colorful bottles stared at me from every direction. I bent, reading each box. Nothing matched the name on the list.
“God damn it,” I said to no one in particular. Someone snorted and I searched the aisle for whoever had made the sound. “Woah.”
“Well, that’s the first time I’ve gotten that reaction.” The woman’s smile somehow transformed her already beautiful face into one of a model. I loved women, all shapes and sizes, but her… Her beauty stood out above all the other faces I had seen. Her long hair sat on top of her head, a few curls escaping. I had a thing for hair and the guys gave me shit for it, but I had the urge to reach out and yank the ponytail loose. I wanted to see that dark hair spread over a pillow.
“I highly doubt that,” I replied to the gorgeous stranger. To top it off, she wore no makeup and she wasn’t looking at me with wild eyes. She had no idea who I was.
“Consider me flattered then.” She walked closer, her sweet smell penetrating my senses. “I couldn’t help but notice you were uh, struggling a little bit.”
“Oh really? I think it’s perfectly normal for a guy to be hanging out in the lady-product aisle without a care in the world. I pick up my Tinder dates here.” I motioned around with my arms and she quirked a lip in amusement.
“Interesting. How’s that been working out for ya?” She placed a hand on one of her hips and I glanced down to admire her toned legs. She had to be an athlete, no question about it, and the strength of her body intrigued me no end. Not many girls could look hot as hell in athletic shorts and no makeup, yetshecaught all my attention.
“I’m about two for four.”
“Hitting five hundred ain’t too bad.”Oh god. Baseball talk.
“Baseball fan?” I raised an eyebrow, somehow already knowing her answer.
“It is the greatest sport in America.” Her red lips formed a smile that I couldn’t help but match with my own. “I take it you are as well? I noticed your Toledo Mud Hens hat. Detroit fan?”
“Marry me. Right now,” I demanded and she threw her head back and laughed. Part of me wasn’t kidding. She fucking knew the farm team for the Tigers? Myteammatesdidn’t know that.
“Ah, my dad wouldn’t approve of a Tigers fan…meaning I graciously decline your kind offer.” She rotated around and pointed to a White Sox logo on the back of her tank top. “We would be doomed to fail.”
I nodded, checking out her toned ass. God, her body had me weak. “Sometimes there’s a little fun in doing what’s wrong.”
She pursed her lips and scrunched her nose. “I feel like that could be a line you’ve used before. Try harder than that.”
“You’ve got me. Most of my Tinder dates like that line.” I shrugged, partially kidding.
“Hmm. With a face like yours, I bet you can say just about anything.” She eyed me, which I had zero problem with. “Now, let’s talk about feminine hygiene products.”
“Uh. Must we?” I groaned but decided to do just about anything to continue talking to her.
“We must. Now, what are you looking for?” She stepped closer, into my bubble, and I tensed up. That never happened to me.
“Sport tampons? Does that make sense?” I sounded like a schmuck. I knew it. She knew it. I mentally cursed my sister—again.
