CHAPTER 17
I lurked in the parking lot for a while, until finally,finally, after what felt like hours, Mrs. Devereux exited with a wave and I quickly slipped back inside and straight to the counter.
“Hi,” I said to the man once more. “Please can I have a pack of condoms?” And then I felt my cheeks flush. He knew I was about to have sex! And he knew that I knew that he knew. It was embarrassing. Like going to the pharmacy and having to ask for a vaginal cream when there are people standing behind you in the queue and you want to turn around and scream,I was on antibiotics!so they don’t make some strange assumption about you.
“What kind?” he asked, pointing at the MASSIVE row of them.
“Uh . . . wow!”When had condoms bred like this?I hadn’t bought condoms in years. Call me very unfeminist, but I sort of expected the guy to handle that, since we have so many other ovary-related things to deal with—it’s the least they can do, right?
I scanned the row: ribbed, studded, warming, kiss of mint, glow in the bloody dark (why? In case you were having trouble finding it?), bareback, long love, fire and ice (well, that didn’t sound nice). I stared at them, feeling confused.
“And what size?” the man asked.
“Size?” I asked.
“We have XL, if you need?” He seemed so casual about this, as if he did it all the time.
“Uh . . . Uh . . .” I stuttered. I didn’t really know. “Can you just hold that thought a moment, please?” I held my finger up and then ran out the store, across the lot, and knocked on Mike’s window. He opened it.
“So,” I said nervously, when he looked at me, “I was wondering, uh, what type you would like? I mean, there are A LOT! I mean, lots.”
“What do you like?” he asked.
“Normal,” I said quickly. “Totally normal.”
He smiled at me. “Me too.”
“Great, great.” I started walking away and then stopped again. “And, uh, what size?” I asked nervously.
He sat up in his seat and his eyes widened. “I guess . . .” He suddenly looked very uncomfortable.Damn, it was cute.“Normal,” he quickly said.
“So, average then?” I asked.
“Well, no. NO, not average-average, I would say. Maybe, uh, a—”
“So, XL then?” I cut him off.
“I wouldn’t say . . . XL.” He looked so uncomfortable as he squirmed in his seat. “Maybe more medium to large, but more on the, uh, uh . . .” He leaned out the car and whispered now. “Can’t you tell?” he asked, looking at my hand. It tingled at the memory.
I looked down at it and then back up at him. “So, like, six inches then?” I asked, with a teasing smile.
“Well . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’m sure it’s a bit more than avera- . . . but, I suppose that six to seven, maybe, should do the, uh, trick.”
“The trick, eh?” I smiled at him and started backing away from the car. All this talk was making my temperature rise very rapidly again.
He smiled back at me. Slightly boyish, a little bit dirty. “Maybetrickwasn’t the right word.”
“Mmm, and what’s the right word?” I continued walking backwards towards the store.
“God, you’re hot.” He ran his eyes up and down my body—slowly, deliberately, hungrily.Oh God!His smile grew and my stomach started to flutter.
“Okay, okay, hold that thought! Hold it!” I giggled and then ran straight back to the convenience store.
“Hurry!” he called after me.
“Hurrying!” I bolted into the shop at such a speed that, when I stopped at the counter, I did a little skid.
“Those ones!” I pointed. “Hurry!”
