Stop.
How is the one person I am actively trying to avoid, the one person the universe keeps hilariously dropping into my path like an atom bomb? At this point, the only thing that will keep us out of each other's paths is a meteor crashing down and obliterating the planet.
I’m about to leave before he sees me when a small woman with pastel pink hair comes bounding over to him with arms full of candy, and a huge grin splashed across her cute face. She’s wearing a gingham mini dress, oversized denim vest, and platform thigh high boots. She is effortlessly cool, with a smattering of dainty tattoos delicately painting her arms and legs, and I envy the air of freedom that emanates off her. She is the opposite of everything I am.
Is she his girlfriend? They certainly seem to be very familiar with each other, based on the way they’re laughing together as they look over the shelves.Something in my gut churns at the sight. It’s so carefree, simple.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Taking tentative steps that won’t draw their eyes, I quickly ease backwards to duck out of the aisle with my cart. I’ve only gone two steps when my back hits something hard and flimsy, scraping against the linoleum floor, and wobbling precariously. I turn to grab it, to stop the structure before it topples over, but it slips through my grip, hitting the ground with a deafening crash. I scrunch my eyes shut, praying when I open them, this whole thing will have been a dream, because the chances that he didn’t hear are as non-existent as my dignity. When I peek an eye open, the evidence of my failure is scattered on the ground around me in the form of thirty packages of potato chips.
I can’t believe snack food has betrayed me like this. This is what I get for deviating from my routine.
Standing up the cardboard holder, I start picking up the graveyard of chips, staunchly avoiding looking up and praying to any deity who will listen that he somehow didn’t notice me.
But why would I ever be that lucky, I think, as booted feet step into view from where I’m crouched on the floor.
Slowly, I drag my gaze up past strong thighs, a trim torso, and settle on a tanned face with striking blue eyes. His smile grows wider by the second. A devil’s smile—arrogant, tantalizing, teasing. It infuriates me.
“You know, if you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to make such a scene.” He crouches and starts grabbing bags, helping me place them back on the stand.
I ungraciously swat his hand away. “Leave it. I’ll handle it.”
“You don’t have to handle everything on your own. Let me help you.” He unknowingly strikes a nerve, and I bristle. Doing things on my own is all I’ve ever known. It’s what works for me, and I don’t need him waltzing in here and trying to be some valiant knight.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your girlfriend?
He stutters. “My what?”
I’m ripping up the remaining chips now, aggressively tossing them back onto the shelves of the cardboard stand. I lower my voice to a sharp whisper. “You shouldn’t have slept with me if you had a girlfriend.” My gaze darts over his shoulder, settling on the alternative fairy princess at the far end of the aisle.
He follows my line of sight, tongue pushing into his cheek, suppressing a smile. “Ah.”
I practically hiss. “Ah? That’s all you have to say?”
“Oh, so now you want to talk about that night? Because to do that, you’d have to acknowledge it actually happened.” That smug smile pulls at each end of his mouth, dimple popping in his right cheek.
“No. Stop smiling.”
His stupid dimples pop deeper. “Whatever you say, boss.”
I ignore him, and he keeps helping me pick up the mess despite my telling him not to.
“Do you live around here?” he asks.
“No. I live in Chelsea.” Once the last bag is re-homed, I stand, and he catches my elbow helping me up. The small bit of contact has a current running up my arm, and I quickly pull out of his grasp.
“What are you doing out here then?” Why is he still smiling? Surely, it wasn’t natural for someone to be this happy? I want to smack that smile off his face.
“Are you always this nosey?” I fold my arms across my chest, and his gaze darts down and quickly back up at the movement.
“When I need to be.”
“Well, you don’t—need to be nosey,” I clarify. “It’s unnecessary for you to know anything personal about me?—”
“I’d say we know a fair deal of personal things about each other.” I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to ward offthe images that statement conjures in my mind. Dimly lit pubs, tiny, enclosed bathrooms, crystal blue eyes searing into mine through the reflection of a dust-speckled mirror.
I white knuckle the handle of my cart, words getting caught in my mouth, building up until I’m choking on them.
