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And pearl?
Is that the one to get because I thinkshe’sa gem?
Because she’s the one woman I would do anything in the whole goddamn world for including invading a hostile territory I know nothing about to return with the lifesaving required target.
I give my chin a contemplative stroke and continue searching the options, hoping I start to pick up on the foreign language sooner rather than later.
Not only because Iwantto get back to Angel Cake, but because I don’t know how long she’ll be able to hold her cover as my girlfriend.
The very thing I wish wasn’t a cover.
And strangely enough…I can’t deny this gut feeling that she wishes the same thing.
Maybe it was her statement of thinkingshe’sout ofmy league.
Or maybe it was her award-winning response to Aviva’s congratulations to our couple status.
Or maybe it was the reaction she had when I gave her a be back soon kiss on the cheek.
Call me crazy – I mean I fucking am nowadays – but I swear I heard her happy hum.
It’s the same noise she makes when she bites into a good slice of pepperoni and black olive pizza, or her favorite Fall Out Boy song randomly comes up on our shared playlist. It’s this tiny, simple sound that tells me everything is momentarily right in her world.
And she made it when my lips touched her skin.
That’s gotta mean something, doesn’t it?
Letting my eyes scan the phrases again like “sport” and “super” and “shielded for odor” has me doing something that’s a rarity for me.
Retreating.
Slowly backing up out of the aisle with my basket is executed on a series of nods.
I’m not actually retreating…just…regrouping.
I need a moment to get my bearings.
Do some shit I actually understand.
Warm up like I’m back in basic versus having moved onto all the advanced warfare training.
Turning into the open area, I casually make my way towards the extensive wine selection of The Concession Stand. One of the unique things about living downtown on the edge of the Locker District is that almost all of the businesses – including this local grocery store – have sports related names. Pretty sure it's a fucking requirement. Even Luxury Box Tower – the building housing my penthouse – is sports related in title. There are a couple athletes that call the place home like the Dragons’ very own, Tanner “Snowman” Frosky, who lives on the floor below me.
Nice enough guy.
Great fucking player.
Enroute to the alcohol section, I decide to make a couple pitstops starting in the bread aisle. While I prefer tortillas for basically everything someone might use bread for, it’ll probably be in my best interest to get Arley a few thingssheprefers, especially since we’re not sure how long she’ll be at my place.
I mean…I’d love for her to stay forever.
Forfeit her placetoday, have the movers pack up her shittomorrow, be living together comfortably and permanently by next week, but I doubt that’s gonna happen.
And despite my ma insisting she’ll light a candle for us, I know that’s not in the shit she’s praying for.
Tossing a loaf of honey wheat in is followed by gently tossing in bagels as well as more tortillas. Rather than continue to the opposite end, I whip my basket around to go back the way I came from spotting a younger, sandy skinned male, watching me. The instant he’s caught, he swings around the corner onto the next aisle, pretending that he wasn’t.
But clearly, he was.
