This is a bad habit. I flit in and out of the aisles. On the outside I look like any other bleach blonde Barbie looking for a treat to satisfy a sweet tooth. Maybe they think I’m going somewhere glamorous. Sometimes I tell them a story. Today, I’m just here for fun. On the inside, my heart is racing and my palms are sweating in anticipation. I’m a bad person.
It’s bad enough that I do it at all, but bringing Rach into it…I’m just being selfish. I’m afraid I’ve escalated pretty quickly. I find myself wandering down the make-up aisle, Gucci bag on my arm.
The red lipstick I’ve been eyeing finds its way into my bag and a spike of warmth spreads through my belly.
A middle-aged woman with fire red hair buys a pack of cigarettes from the pre-teen at the counter. In a few years he’ll be really attractive. We lock gazes and he rolls his eyes with a smile, as if to say I hate my life, and I giggle at him. His cheeks flush as he turns his attention to the money the woman slides across the counter.
The bell rings once as she leaves and Rach calls me over to look at something. As I round the corner, she slips a bottle of nail polish into my bag. We joke about how hot the kid behind the counter is going to be and I’m 80% sure he can hear us, judging by the smirk on his face and the permanent lobster-like skin tone he’s had since we made eye contact.
“Are you ready?” Rach asks me, eyeing the drink coolers warily. I want to look, but I don’t want to be suspicious. She slips a chocolate bar into my purse while I grab a gossip magazine. I keep an eye on the clerk, who peeks at us shyly in between texting furiously.
When Rach’s facial features morph into an expression of disbelief, I really can’t help myself. I have to see what she’s looking at. Knowing Rach it’s a hot guy, and she has good taste, don’t get me wrong…but Kyle—
Shit.
I have to stop doing that to myself. I’m still a woman. I still appreciate a good-looking man. There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t have to be a nun. According to Danny and my shrink anyways. I don’t know what I expect when I turn around but—
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.
My mouth goes day and my stomach does uncomfortable somersaults while my heart claws its way up my throat. Blood rushes into my cheeks. For the first time since I’ve started doing this, I feel a flush of shame.
He clears his throat and smiles. Our eyes eat each other alive. I absolutely cannot help myself. He’s just too pretty. Rach nudges me again, forcing me to snap out of it.
“Everett, hi,” I say, startled. The way he looks at me strikes me in my bones. He knows what I’m doing, why I’m here. My eyes flicker to Rach’s. Well shit. His disappointment is obvious, but I’m surprised that behind that mask he looks almost amused. This is what deer must feel like right before they bite it on the grill of a semi—ironic, all things considered.
“Stone.” He nods politely and his eyes flicker to the teenage boy working behind the register. The blonde is hardly paying attention now as he turns the pages of a Playboy, the spiked plugs in his ear dangling freely. They’re kind-of adorable.
“What’re you doing here?” I squeak, fussing with my tank top and hair. He smirks, as he looks me up and down; electricity rockets through my limbs. Figures the one man who can turn me into a mushy ball of goo sees me doing the absolute worst possible thing he can see me do.
“Just picking up some drinks,” he holds up a 30-rack of beer as evidence. My crop top suddenly feels too short as his eyes drift over my stomach. If this were anyone else in the world, I would show off a little, tease. But right now, with Everett Smith right in front of me, I feel completely naked.
