What the hell am I doing?
The answer arrived immediately, dry and unhelpful.You know exactly why you’re here, jackass.
My gaze drifted over the options. Ribbed. Ultra-thin. Ecologically responsible. Size variations that made my egotwitch in three different directions at once. Boxes of three, ten, twenty-four.
Realistic. Optimistic. Former me on a good weekend.
My mouth curved despite myself.
There was a weird, fizzy feeling under my ribs, like the first beer on an empty stomach. Picking up condoms again felt ... dangerous. Stupid.Hopeful.Like the kind of errand a guy with a future ran, not the half-busted version of me who used to avoid his own reflection.
Grief slid in under the fizz, quick and sharp.
I picked up a box, thumb brushing over the edge. I hadn’t needed these since before the accident. Before hospital rooms and rehab and learning how to walk again one ugly step at a time. Before my sex life had been filed under “theoretical” instead of “probable reality.”
My thumb tapped the cardboard, rhythm speeding up with my pulse. I could see Clara in my mind without even trying—her knees bracketing my shoulders, taste and heat and the way she’d begged for me. The idea of being inside her instead of just in my own head made my cock stir behind my fly.
Yeah. This was happening.
I reached for a second box, debated, and settled on one.
Be real, man. Maybe aim for not humiliating yourself before you buy in bulk.
“Wes?”
The sound of my name sliced through the aisle so hard my soul did a full record scratch.
I whipped around.
Hayes stood at the end of the row, shoulders filling the space between two sad displays of beef jerky and lip gloss. Work jeans, worn flannel, hair damp from a quick shower, a six-pack dangling from one hand and a bag of pretzels from the other.Every inch of him screamed cursed small-town leading man, right down to the expression that was half amused, half tired.
“Yeah. Hey,” he muttered, giving the display a resigned pat.
As he stepped forward, his shoulder brushed a cardboard stand advertising some jerky sale. The whole thing leaned, wobbled, and then half collapsed behind him in a slow-motion slide of meat sticks.
My brain screamed.Hide the condoms, hide the condoms, for the love of all things, hide the fucking condoms.
My hand shot out sideways. I grabbed the first thing my fingers hit on the lower shelf and yanked it into view as I slid the condom box behind a stack of discount cold medicine.
I looked down.
Tampons.
Perfect.
I turned back, boxing out the rest of the shelf with my body like I was defending the lane in a fourth-quarter game.
He startled, swore under his breath, and righted the display with the air of a man who had absolutely expected that to happen.
Hayes’s eyes scanned the aisle, landing suspiciously on the array of condoms and lube over my shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” I said, half strangled, holding up the box between us. “Clara texted. Emergency run.”
Relief flashed in his face so fast it made my chest twist. “Dang,” he said, huffing out a laugh. “She’s already got you running errands? Thought she’d at least wait a couple of months before breaking you in.”
Buddy, you have absolutely no idea.
I snorted, trying to look like a man who regularly bought feminine hygiene products and absolutely not like a man who had just ditched condoms because his best friend had walked up. “Figured I’d help out,” I said.
