His blue eyes caught my focus and drew me, holding me prisoner in to a place where time did not exist. As I fell in, lost, I felt many things happen at once. My skin erupted in goose pimples as a shiver crawled down my back. My head went light, giving me the distinct feeling I was floating. Thank goodness, because my legs wobbled, not sure if I had control over my knees anymore. Topping it off, a suddenly warm, wet sensation pooled in my groin that craved sudden and fervid contact.
I think I muttered something. I really think I heard my voice, but I was too consumed with his eyes, and the burning taking over my body, to be sure. I think I kept walking, but when you lose the feeling in your legs, it's anybody's guess.
Suddenly, blue turned white as I lost the connection of his eyes. Light swirled around me, spinning, vertigo taking over. I hit the ground at a tumble, rolling to a stop, then flinching as a mess of dog food rolled on top of me, crushing me to the floor.
Why me?
I opened my eyes to two things. One was florescent rectangles hanging from a white ceiling. A small black orb dotted the white periodically; monitoring devices. I'd landed flat on my back on the floor. Perfect.
The next was concerned brown peepers, leaning over the mountain of mess I'd made. He ignored the rivulets of dried food trickling down the pile like a small stream, splashing around me like drops from a waterfall.
Seriously, why me?
“C’mon now, darlin. Up ya git," Brown Peepers said, digging my arms out of a ripped bag with the fervor of youth. He couldn't have been more than twenty.
“C’mon now. You had yourself a nasty fall. Here y’are.” He took some of the bags of dog food off me, giving a portly forty-something-year-old woman with hair styled in a large, red beehive room to help me to my feet.
My stomach tightened up as I stood in the wake of a natural disaster. Fifty pound bags of dog food littered the ground in a messy heap. Next to the door lay an overturned shelving unit with a picture of a dog and a smiling woman, spewing more dog food over the ground. Leaning against the mess was a red bubble-gum machine, a breath away from crashing to the floor and breaking.
Hurricane Jessica.
“I’m so sorry! I’m really sorry!” I gushed. “I don’t know what my problem is!”
I braced myself for the rant. For the store owner to barge out, yelling about the mess. Threatening me with a counter-suit if I even dared thought of a lawyer. He chase me out of the store, my backside a welcome sight in the wake of the mess. I would then go to the next grocery store where I wouldn’t be branded a disturber of the peace. Until I did something else stupid.
Only problem was, I wasn’t in L.A., and I had no idea where another shop was. They weren’t on every corner in this neck of the woods.
Red-beehive-lady clutched my arm as I struggled out of the pile. Embarrassed laughter bubbled up as I beheld the mess. I scanned the ground for my handbag, disbelieving that one person, me, could make this much chaos. It was a gift.
“Honey, you took a tumble!” Beehive-Lady said, peering into my face. “Here, come over here and have a seat. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Her face held nothing but concern. She gestured me around the store to a small bench seat, urging me to follow. In shock, wondering why she wasn't pissed, I took two steps, carried away by her concern. It took logic to still my feet.
Why the hell wasn’t she mad? I’d just rumbled through and blasted a stand of dog food! I’d interrupted a quiet evening at the shop with pandemonium. Why wasn’t she yelling?
The brown haired guy was picking up the dog food, but making quick, worried glances in my direction. He wore the same mask of alarm, concerned I would fall over at any minute.
I went back to looking for my handbag, waving away Beehive-Lady as best I could, saying, “No, no. Oh my God, really, I’m fine. I am just ridiculously clumsy and totally ridiculous! Sorry for the mess! Really!”
Where the hell was my damn purse? I had taken the tumble in the doorway, but it wasn’t there. That brown-haired fellow was more than halfway done stacking bags, uncovering nothing on the shiny white floor.
“You don’t worry yourself about no mess,” Beehive lady said, shuffling into sight again. She squinted into my face, probably anxious to see if I had a concussion. Apparently only a deranged moron wouldn’t rest for a second after ruining the whole front walkway of a store. “Ronnie will have that dealt with in a jiffy. C’mon’ere and have a seat. You sure yer not hurt? I haven’t seen a tumble like that off the football field in I don’t know how long!”
“Oh, ha! No,” I said distractedly, franticly searching for my bag and its contents. “I’m good, seriously. Just so sorry for the mess!”
I took a step around Beehive-Lady, scanning the sidewalk outside the store, ready to bolt, when the Greek God Apollo himself stepped through with my handbag in hand, a devastatingly handsome half-smile filled with mischief lighting up his face. Those eyes didn’t have to say hello to have me. Mr. McGuire wasn’t this good on his best day.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He tried for a concerned look after a quick glance at Ronnie and Beehive-Lady, but only managed a handsome farcical look instead. “I’m sorry to have startled you. I believe this is yours?” He reached out with my purse.
Must-pull-eyes-away.
God he was so beautiful.
NO-PULL-EYES-AWAY!
I managed to look down at my purse long enough to get my hand on it. It was bigger and fuller than I was used to, because I shoved a bunch of little bits in there when I was moving, and Apollo must’ve had muscles of steel to make the weight seem nonexistent, so when I thought I had hold of it, it plummeted toward the ground.
In his eagerness to help me, Mr. Apollo took a big step toward me, snatching the bag with lightning fast hands before it could spill onto the floor. I was acutely aware of his musty man smell. It wasn’t a clean, fresh out of the shower smell, but like a man that was working outside all day. Eau d’Homme. Not BO or anything, but pure Man. I liked Man. Especially gorgeous, sexy man...
My groin burst into flame. A million points of lava erupted across my skin; the heat of him so close, the smell of him, the man-ness of him. I was panting. I couldn’t help a tiny moan escaping my lips before he stepped away nonchalantly.
My God woman, get a grip! This was all going downhill so fast I had skid marks! I needed to get the hell out of there. Away from him.
But I didn’t want to.
But I had to! I looked like a mental patient. No hot guy would want to be ten feet from me.
But he was so hot!
But I smelled. No shower, remember? I was here to get a toothbrush. I probably peeled his eyebrows off when my breath hit his face.
Wait...did I talk to him?
I pushed my schizophrenia to the side and about-faced. Along with my body, my face was on fire...of a different kind. Of the “can one person really be this humiliated?” kind. I muttered a quick “thanks,” nodded to Beehive and Ronnie, and turned to go further into the store. Grudgingly, but necessarily.
I couldn't stop myself from stealing a secret glance as I rounded an aisle, just for one more glimpse. Big mistake.
I was stupidly hoping he was looking at Ronnie and the woman, but he wasn’t. Of course. His eyes were sparkling with bemusement as he watched me trying to get away. His mouth went from slightly quirked to a full gleaming spectacle as he caught his eye, red faced and all.
I half fell into the aisle, juggled a bag of rice, stuffed it back on the shelf and basically sprinted deeper into the store. My first day here and I meet the most ruggedly handsome guy I have ever seen, with manners no less, and eyes that are as deep and bottomless as eternity, and I blow it. It was a fairy tale encounter. Right up until I tripped over myself, knocked over a stand of Kibbles N’ Bits, landed on my ass, spilled my handbag everywhere...I mean, did I have to go on? I almost dry humped the guy’s leg! I suck. I so suck. What is my problem?! Seriously, what-is-my-problem?
Lost in self-incriminating
thought, I collected the basics for my new home. I walked into the checkout line, checking my list off item by item in my head, when I felt a presence.
No. Oh no. Not again.
Yes please, my inner self peeped.
I knifed my inner self immediately.
I knew it was him. I knew it was. I don’t know how I knew—maybe it was the rubbery quality of my legs. Maybe the lightheadedness. Maybe it was the musty, not quite sweaty eau d’homme smell. Or, maybe it was the fire combined with Goosebumps that once again spread throughout my body; lava settling deep in the pit of my stomach and pooling in my groin. Christ-on-a-crutch, what was going on with me?
Don’t look up. Don’t look up! Be busy. Busy and important. Crap to do. Dinner to cook. Or not. Something to do. Don’t look up.
I methodically unloaded my basket onto the conveyer. As my items slowly traveled toward the checker, which was unfortunately none other than Ronnie, here to witness the end to my marathon of stupid, I dug through my purse for my wallet. And dug some more. I moved unidentified objects aside, feeling. Groping. Searching. Finding every small article I owned in the world, except my bloody wallet.
“This can’t be happening,” I muttered under my breath, turning my eyes down to the sink hole that was my handbag.
I dug deeper. I looked harder and faster and more frantically. It probably looked like something at the bottom of my bag had my hand and was trying to wrestle it away from me. But, when all was said and done, it wasn’t in my God-damned purse! It wasn’t...freaking...there!
I gave a deep, exasperated sigh. I looked up at Ronnie apologetically.
“I....I don’t...”
Ronnie, finished tucking the last item neatly into a paper bag, straightened. His eyes held mine expectantly.
I had the sudden urge to run. Or hide. Or do anything but stand there like a fool and shake my head minutely.
“I’m sorry, guys.” I half turned to glance at Apollo standing next to me. He had a good-natured grin wound around confusion. “I don’t have my wallet. Er, actually, I might have my wallet. I don’t know. I just moved and I have a ton of stuff in this bag.”
I shook my bag a little, like this was all its fault.
I looked at Ronnie squarely. “I am really sorry Ronnie. I need to put those groceries back. I know I have my wallet somewhere, because I remember using it. I just don’t know where it might be at this point.... So...”
I reached for the paper bag, wondering if my face was as red as it felt. Usually a couple things would be happening at this point. First, the next person in line, no matter how patient, would start stamping his foot, have pity on his face but not hide his intense frustration at me making him late to his next engagement. Even if he had nowhere to be, he would feel late. Life in the city, as it were.
Second, the overworked, underpaid cashier would be pissed at having his day interrupted by someone that was in a grocery store with no money. Only a dingle-berry would go to a store without their wallet. The cashier would commence treating the patron, me, like said dingle-berry.
Strangely enough, Ronnie the Cashier was not mad in any way. The opposite in fact. Even though, not that long ago, he had to rebuild a display in my honor, he did not wear even a hint of a frown.
Odd, that.
I looked over at the next person in line with the same apology on my face, forgetting of course that he was completely gorgeous and turned me to goo. My legs got rubbery as his eyes probed mine.
Luckily for my fear of embarrassment, I looked away as quickly as possible and was able to gain composure. Small steps.
I reached for the groceries, wondering how long it would take to put everything back. To my surprise, Ronnie had taken the bag into his hands and was coming around the counter.
“It’s okay, ma’am. It ain’t much you got here. Where ya livin’?”
Confused, I told him the address, then heard a slight shuffle behind me. Curious, I turned to investigate and met intense puzzlement, which was strange. Oh, my, who cares, look away. God, but he was gorgeous.
God broke the mold when he made you.
Are you tired? Tired from running through my mind all day?
Did it hurt? When you fell from Heaven?
“Oh, Ms. Peek’s place?” Ronnie asked helpfully.
“Uh...her name is Gladis? I don’t know her last name. In her cottage out back. I just moved in today.”
“That’s her, you bet! Well then, you’ll be right back here in no time. Ain’t many places to shop as close as this here!”
I had been reminding myself of that unhappy fact through this whole experience.
“I can put this here on credit, no problem. Just pay it next time around. And if you got a new wallet, I’ll know why!” He started laughing as he handed me my bag of groceries.
I can tell you I was relieved. I forgot toothpaste and had lost my hairbrush. There were necessities in this bag that I needed immediately, as well as in the morning. Going without was possible, but not pretty.
However, I was not used to this. I stared at him for a minute, wondering if what he said was genuine. After I was sure it wasn’t a trick, I gave him a tentative smile, and a small step toward the door, just to give him time to yell at me or demand blood payment.
He gave me an encouraging nod.
I finally relaxed in a relieved, purely joyful smile. I could be mortified later. Now, happy.
Ronnie returned my smile with a weird stare. I hadn’t eaten anything in a while, but no telling what might be in my teeth. I decided it was time to get out of there quickly. Concern for the lost wallet would come later.
I clutched the bag closer and off I went. I barely heard the low, exotic drum of Apollo’s voice speaking to Ronnie. I might have ruined my chance with a man like none I found in L.A., but at least I could wash my face, body, and clean my teeth. Small miracles.
Whatever. Where there was one hot man, there were bound to be others. This was Texas, after all. Land of men. Men’s men. Real men. Men who made things with their bare hands. Men that had muscles from real life, not just lifting a barbell. Cowboys that had nice butts and cool hats and rode horses. I could find another.
I got back to my new home, put my stuff away, found my wallet on the coffee table where I left it, sighed hugely for an imaginary audience, then showered for dinner. I didn’t need a mental note to head to the store the next day to pay my bill. It would be etched in my memory forever.
Half an hour later an older white guy ushered me into a stately, though still low-key, parlor in Gladis’s impressive house. While it looked like a man picked all the furniture a score of years before, what with all the large, shiny wood and overbearing pieces, the accents and small details were relatively updated for this century, and hinted at a graceful eye for decorating. Scrolled sconces adorned the walls, adding flare to beautiful oil paintings. Exquisite oriental rugs protected parts of the shiny hardwood floor. Candles lent a feminine touch to a large mantel piece.
“Hello dear!” Gladis gracefully rose from a leather couch across the grand room.
“Hi Gladis.”
“Don’t you know better than to ring the bell? This is your house, too. Come in the back door, silly!” She waved her hand as she met me, immediately turning and leading me to the liquor cabinet. And a woman wearing all black standing guard.
Bartender? Or had my reputation preceded me?
“What’r you havin’?” Gladis asked.
“Do you have beer?”
“Beer? Oh honey, no! This is a house of sophistication. It is time for grown up drinks!”
Grown up, huh? Drink a bunch of hard alcohol, get sloppy, do things you’ll regret? I must have turned grown up at eighteen. Okay, sixteen, but don’t tell my mom—it was her alcohol I was stealing.
“Well....”
“C’mon, darlin. Lady here knows every drink you can think of.”
“Every drink? Really?” I looked at the middle-aged woman unfortunately named Lady. “Do you kno
w how to make a German Chocolate Cake?”
I got a stern look for longer than an average moment. As a strange paranoia washed over me, she glanced back at the almost full bar behind her. Then looked at Gladis.
Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?
Gladis had a bemused expression on her face. “Well, Lady? You said you knew the drinks of young people. What do you think?”
“Yes, ma’am. It sounds familiar. Hmmm.” She turned toward the bottles behind her again, staring. Gladis gave me a wink.
“No, ma’am. It escapes me. I am sorry to disappoint,” Lady said, turning back to us. She meant it, too.
I quickly told the bartender, or maid, or whoever, how to make the drink. It was an easy drink to make and take; vanilla vodka and a chocolate liquor, which tasted like a real chocolate cake. How could someone not know that one?
When they were made—and by the way, they were shots, not drinks—I turned to Gladis. “Okay, this is what you do. You grab your shot. Grab your lemon coated in sugar—yes, that is an active ingredient. Now. Take the shot, swallow, then immediately suck on the sugar lemon.”
Gladis tilted her head to the side as if I’d started speaking Sanskrit.
“Gladis, this is a grown up drink. Now, c’mon. If you don’t have beer, you have this. Grab your shot, let’s get to it.”
I looked serious through the whole thing, because a smile would have given it away.
Gladis put a resigned look of determination on her face, grabbed the shot, clinked my glass, and we fired away. I really didn’t think she would do it. Welcome back to your 20’s!
When we were done, she gave me a hard look. Then a smile crept up her face like a slow moving beetle. “That does taste like German Chocolate Cake. Interesting... Now, Jessica my dear, please have Lady make you a sipping drink so we can chat.”
I would have asked for a Mojito, but didn’t know how to make it if Lady didn’t, and I didn’t think they stocked fresh mint, so I asked for a chocolate martini. Lady looked relieved at this one, made it quickly, and handed it over.
Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 Page 4
