heart. “Thanks, Callie.” He dips his head and brushes his lips against mine. “Thanks for being so great. I really like you.”
“I really like you, too.” More. I more than really like him. I’m falling hard and fast for this man. Even if he won’t tell me his stupid nickname. Yet.
I love coffee.
And grocery stores that have little barista shops inside, well, they’re sent from heaven. Or really smart at marketing for all us junkies. Come. Shop. Get your fix. Don’t mind if I do.
I take the offered latte goodness from the barista and start my trip around the store while pushing my cart in my familiar path. First stop: bread. Though I hear going gluten free is good for the gut. And mine’s been tied up in knots since I met Chase. And worsening with every date. It’s a good pain, though, if that even makes sense. More like anticipation. And I’ve invited him over to dinner tonight, which has my stomach completely twisted because I know tonight’s the night. Tonight I’m giving it up. Tonight we take our relationship to another level. My stomach flops. I open my group text to Alicia and Jill to ask if eating gluten free will prepare me for sex with Chase.
My phone pings but before I can view their responses I glance over my shoulder. A familiar face meets my gaze across the display of baked goodies. Her brows are knit with the exact evil glare I remember. She turns on her heel and strolls her cart down the frozen food aisle. I frantically alert my posse.
Me: OMG! Mean pancake lady is at the grocery store!
Alicia: Aunt Jemima? I love that bitch.
Jill adds nothing but crying laugh emojis. With tentative steps I wind my cart through the tempting aromas of sourdough and whole wheat.
Me: What do I do? I’m scared for my life!
Alicia: Calm down and finish shopping! You have a hot date to fuck tonight!
The butcher lazily stocks fresh meat in the refrigerated display and I push my cart in that direction. I’ll feel safer shopping with a witness in case Meanie decides to approach me, but Alicia’s right. I don’t have time to waste. Chase is coming over in eight hours. I still have to shower, beautify, and make dinner.
I contemplate the meat selection and my menu for tonight. Men like protein—a starving man is a grumpy man—but I don’t want anything that might upset my already nervous stomach. And then there are sauces and spices to consider . . . nothing too acidic or garlicy because kiss-burps are an immediate killer in the foreplay department. God, it’s all so much pressure! I blow out a frustrated exhalation and catch a flash of movement from the corner of my eye.
Fuck! It’s her again. And if she thinks I can’t see her behind that display of chip bags she’s off her rocker. I decide to go with stir fry, sans onions, and grab a package of chicken breasts before pressing on toward the produce section. I stop every few yards to pretend to check my phone when really I’m using the selfie camera to watch this crazy woman dart behind aisle after aisle as she clearly follows me. Who the fuck is this chick and what does she want?
Me: Okay. She’s totally following me. What do I do?
Their replies come almost simultaneously.
Jill: Finish shopping and LEAVE
Alicia: Cut the bitch
Sometimes these two are no help. I seize the peppers I need and wheel my cart toward the selection of rice. I can tell I’m being followed and it messes with my already frazzled nerves. Who does she think she is? Following another woman around the grocery story like a character from a psychological thriller. I toss a bag of brown rice into the mix and strut to the end of the pathway, where I nod a smile at the old woman sorting through her pile of coupons at the end cap. Well, I’m no victim and I sure as hell won’t let this woman think she bested me.
I stroll into the next aisle at a lazy gait, but as soon as I turn the corner I race all the way to the end and turn into the next. Spinning around, I use my cart
“I really like you, too.” More. I more than really like him. I’m falling hard and fast for this man. Even if he won’t tell me his stupid nickname. Yet.
I love coffee.
And grocery stores that have little barista shops inside, well, they’re sent from heaven. Or really smart at marketing for all us junkies. Come. Shop. Get your fix. Don’t mind if I do.
I take the offered latte goodness from the barista and start my trip around the store while pushing my cart in my familiar path. First stop: bread. Though I hear going gluten free is good for the gut. And mine’s been tied up in knots since I met Chase. And worsening with every date. It’s a good pain, though, if that even makes sense. More like anticipation. And I’ve invited him over to dinner tonight, which has my stomach completely twisted because I know tonight’s the night. Tonight I’m giving it up. Tonight we take our relationship to another level. My stomach flops. I open my group text to Alicia and Jill to ask if eating gluten free will prepare me for sex with Chase.
My phone pings but before I can view their responses I glance over my shoulder. A familiar face meets my gaze across the display of baked goodies. Her brows are knit with the exact evil glare I remember. She turns on her heel and strolls her cart down the frozen food aisle. I frantically alert my posse.
Me: OMG! Mean pancake lady is at the grocery store!
Alicia: Aunt Jemima? I love that bitch.
Jill adds nothing but crying laugh emojis. With tentative steps I wind my cart through the tempting aromas of sourdough and whole wheat.
Me: What do I do? I’m scared for my life!
Alicia: Calm down and finish shopping! You have a hot date to fuck tonight!
The butcher lazily stocks fresh meat in the refrigerated display and I push my cart in that direction. I’ll feel safer shopping with a witness in case Meanie decides to approach me, but Alicia’s right. I don’t have time to waste. Chase is coming over in eight hours. I still have to shower, beautify, and make dinner.
I contemplate the meat selection and my menu for tonight. Men like protein—a starving man is a grumpy man—but I don’t want anything that might upset my already nervous stomach. And then there are sauces and spices to consider . . . nothing too acidic or garlicy because kiss-burps are an immediate killer in the foreplay department. God, it’s all so much pressure! I blow out a frustrated exhalation and catch a flash of movement from the corner of my eye.
Fuck! It’s her again. And if she thinks I can’t see her behind that display of chip bags she’s off her rocker. I decide to go with stir fry, sans onions, and grab a package of chicken breasts before pressing on toward the produce section. I stop every few yards to pretend to check my phone when really I’m using the selfie camera to watch this crazy woman dart behind aisle after aisle as she clearly follows me. Who the fuck is this chick and what does she want?
Me: Okay. She’s totally following me. What do I do?
Their replies come almost simultaneously.
Jill: Finish shopping and LEAVE
Alicia: Cut the bitch
Sometimes these two are no help. I seize the peppers I need and wheel my cart toward the selection of rice. I can tell I’m being followed and it messes with my already frazzled nerves. Who does she think she is? Following another woman around the grocery story like a character from a psychological thriller. I toss a bag of brown rice into the mix and strut to the end of the pathway, where I nod a smile at the old woman sorting through her pile of coupons at the end cap. Well, I’m no victim and I sure as hell won’t let this woman think she bested me.
I stroll into the next aisle at a lazy gait, but as soon as I turn the corner I race all the way to the end and turn into the next. Spinning around, I use my cart
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