Sinclair

Chapter Seven: Facepalm

I ENDED UP DOING my shopping at the Piggly Wiggly that's located in the middle of town. It's one o'clock on a Saturday, so of course, the place is completely packed. There is a crowd of shopping carts and bodies and people saying hello to those who they've run into. That's the thing about Willow's Creek, everybody knows everybody.

I walk into the grocery store, grab a small shopping cart and proceed to wheel it into the main area of the store, deciding I'll head for the junk food first because after my run in with Sinclair I need to shove something unhealthy into my mouth.

If Sinclair were here and heard me say that, he would have made a very inappropriate joke.

Trying to push all thoughts of him, his potty mouth and his stupid, sexy lip piercing out of my mind, I decide that I'm going to focus on shopping. I absolutely will not think about him and what could have happened if I would have just let myself go.

Fortunately for me, though, a distraction comes my way as soon as I notice that almost every pair of eyes in the store are trained on me. As soon as I looked at them, though, they looked away, averting their gazes as they whispered about me.

I almost want to facepalm myself as I remember why they're most likely whispering about me. I was seen with Sinnerman's right-hand man. We were seen in public whispering like comrades. Not to mention, my neighbors had undoubtedly seen the three motorcycles parked in my yard and me climbing onto the back of Bruiser's motorcycle and riding off to God knows where. I cringed as I imagined the rumors that would follow when my nosey neighbors blabbed about what they had witnessed today. Sinclair Buchanan himself in my yard, holding me close, trying to kiss me.

I was definitely going to get a call from Mom later.

The fact that so many people are staring at me is making me anxious. My social anxiety is literally threatening to spill over the imaginary line that keeps me sane and if it spills over all Hell will break loose inside of this Piggly Wiggly. Everyone is watching me. The old ladies, the Mom's trying to get a bit of shopping done before school ends, the workers—some of who even pause restocking the shelves to look over at me wide-eyed. Everyone has their eyes on me and it's literally the most uncomfortable thing in the world.

In the end, I just grab a couple of things for tonight's dinner and then I throw a shitton of ice cream into my car, deciding right then and there that I would need it. I also make a note to force someone else to do my shopping for me. My brother is in his third year of high school and has just gotten his license. While he would complain, I doubt he would mind if I paid him for it. I tell myself that when I get that I'll text him when I get back home and I'll ask him for his help, then.

At the check out line, the cashier—a gangly, teenage boy that reminds me of this kid I went to school with way back—rings up my things, all the while avoiding eye contact with me. Everyone knows The Iron Order is not a group to be screwed around with. It's not hard to piece two and two together and realize that if Bruiser came out to talk to me directly—especially considering the fact that the members of The Iron Order didn't associate with anyone outside of their circle—then it would have to mean I was someone important to them. Someone important to their boss. And if that was true, then all that it meant was that I was just as dangerous as the rest of them.

Once my groceries have been rung up, I hurry out of the store, eager to escape all the stares I've been receiving and wanting desperately to go back home, curl up on my couch and get started on reading the next book I've been asked to review.

It's on the drive back to my place that I get a call from my Mom. I suppress a sigh because I know what's coming even before I answer.

"Hey, Mom," I greet her, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.