“Oh.” I turn around, perusing the shelf but not really focusing.Flour, Chloe. Stop thinking about him, and pick a fucking flour.
I squat down, grabbing a bag from the bottom shelf and turn just in time to find Maverick tossing a bag of marshmallows into the cart.
“What is that?”
“Marshmallows.”
“I know what they are, but why are they in the cart?”
“Because I have a craving for Rice Krispies treats.”
“But…but those aren’t on the list.”
“Live a little,” he whispers like we’re conspiring together.
I sigh, set the flour into the cart, and turn without saying another word.
By the time I get the chocolate chips, sugar, butter, and strawberries, Maverick has filled the cart with cereal, peanut butter, and cinnamon rolls.
“Mav—”
“Chlo—” he mocks me.
I know nothing about my frame compared to his could ever be intimidating, but I put my hands on my hips, lifting my chin to him, nonetheless.
“The list, babe.” I wave the paper in front of his face. “We have to stick to the list.” When I lower it, his head is cocked to the side, that easy devastating grin already in place, and I realize what I just said.
“I didn’t—” I fumble, bringing my fingers to my eyebrows. “I didn’t mean babe like,babe, I meant it like, you know,let’s go, babe.” I punch my fist in the air. “It’s like sporty. You play hockey, you should know.”
“I know that I’ve never called anyone on my teambabe.” He smiles pointedly at me. “I think you meant let’s go,baby.”
He snatches the list from between my fingers. “Look, we’re already here, and I’ll obviously buy the stuff with my own money. Going off the list won’t kill us. Plus, I’ll make you something sweet to eat later for being so good.”
I roll my eyes, shove him out of the way, and take hold of the cart so he can’t add anything else.
“You’re such a rule follower.” Maverick laughs, falling in step beside me as we head up to the front of the store. At the registers, I veer left past the one and only self-checkout stand.
“Really?” he asks, looking down at me. “We could be out of here in less than two minutes.” He throws an arm out to the empty scanner.
“Well, if you hadn’t filled the cart with three different cereals, we might have been under the ten-item limit.” I smile at him.
His cheeks puff as he blows out a long breath of air, but I catch the tilt at the corners of his mouth as he unloads the cart onto the belt.
More than two minutes later, Maverick slides the last bag into his 4Runner
“Next, you're going to tell me you just leave the cart in the parking lot,” I say, pulling back from the car.
“I’m wild—” He reaches an arm overhead, closing the trunk. “But I’m not an animal.”
I look over my shoulder at him, and his cocky grin drops in an instant. Before I can process why, his hands are on my waist, yanking me back against his chest, as the air is stolen from my lungs. It feels like eternity where I can’t make out what’s up or down. All I can register is him. The solid heat of his body pressed against my back. The strength of his arms wrapped tightly around my body. The heavy air rushing from his mouth, grazing the top of my head. My fingers that were just holding the cart, are now resting on his bicep and I curl them, instinctively telling myself it’s for balance.
“Jesus, Chlo,” he murmurs.
I blink, turning to look forward, and catch the car that is just inches in front of my cart now halfway out of his parking spot.
Maverick doesn’t let go. His fingers are still firmly planted on my waist and his cool scent overwhelms me. I’m painfullyaware of every place on my body that’s touching him, and for one final beat, I melt into his touch.
I clear my throat, and his hold on me loosens. Not completely, but enough that I notice the loss of physical contact. It’s the memory of his touch that lingers on me for the rest of the afternoon, and well into the night.
