He’s stockpiling his house. By the looks of the third box of goodies he tosses in the basket, he’s got damn-near a full medicine cabinet in there. I sneak another pic for proof and follow him up toward the front of the store.
Choosing the line behind him, I consider maybe taking a chance to say something. It’s risky, but I might be able to tease some nugget of information out of the potential encounter. After setting his items on the conveyor belt, he looks at me.
I smile my biggest, flirtiest smile, expecting him to see stars. This smile has gotten me into more private rooms, parties, and information trades than I could say . . . unless you’re paying.
But from Keith, nothing. Not even a returned smile. His eyes slide over me and then back to the conveyor belt as he watches the little display show each item as it’s rung up.
How rude!
The whole encounter, Keith ignores me and barely speaks to the cashier. Most of the noise is grunts and mmm-hmms coming from him in response to the cashier’s chatter. She doesn’t seem to know who he is either. I get that we’re not in a country town, but do none of these people listen to country music? Or music period?
You wouldn’t think he’d be able to take off his hat and be incognito, but apparently, he can. Clark Kent, eat your fucking heart out. He pays—cash, I notice—and grabs his bags, disappearing out the door in a hurry. Shit, did he make me?
I pay for my mismatched bread, soda, and candy bar and hustle out behind him, wishing I hadn’t grabbed that bag of tater tots as part of my cover for going down the frozen food aisle because it wasted precious time telling the cashier I’d changed my mind about them. I’m so busy looking left and right down the sidewalk, trying to find his bald head above the crowd, that I don’t notice when he steps out right in front of me.
His chest is like running into a brick wall, bouncing off a slab of iron hard muscle that barely gives. I cry out in surprise, more of a startled squeak really, but before I fall, he captures my arm in a tight grip. For a split second, we’re in tight proximity and I can feel the thrum of hot control resonating from him, and it makes me drunk. Suddenly, I’m aware of where my hand is, and it’s cupping something big, warm . . . and I bet it would get even bigger if I had a chance. I feel my face heat and am momentarily thankful for the caked-on makeup to hide the flush racing along my cheeks.
The makeup can’t hide the shiver that rushes through my body though, straight to my core as I’m reminded once again how fucking sexy Keith is. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I finally squeak out in a voice that’s about an octave higher than I normally have. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
It isn’t until I’m finished that realization hits me, and I start praying this was accidental. The last thing I need is his figuring out that I’m part of the press and that I’ve been following him.
Keith looks down at me, no small task considering I’m five seven in bare feet and usually feel part Amazon by the time I get high heels on. Even in running shoes, I can stand eye to eye with the average man.
As I look up, though, I realize I could wear my highest heels and he’d still be taller than me, still be able to bend me over and fuck me senseless. God, every thought I have of this guy is about sex. Either I’m really that desperate to fuck, he’s that sexy, or both. Either way, I need a new vibrator. Hello, Amazon Prime, you are amazing. Two-Day shipping? Yes, please!
Luckily, my traitorous eyes are covered in sunglasses so he can’t know what I’m thinking, but regardless of whether he can catch my vibe or not, he doesn’t seem impressed.
“Well, maybe you should watch where you’re going then,” he half growls, steadying me for a moment. “This isn’t the sort of place for daydreaming.”
Without another look, he strides off down the street. I stare at him, too shocked to even stammer a reply.
What an asshole! I think for a split second before I realize that yeah, I was following him, but he didn’t know that for sure!
A tiny thought jumps through my mind, reminding me how hard his body felt, how strong his grip on my arm was as he kept me from falling. And yes, the feeling of what’s inside his jeans, even if it was only for a microsecond. For a moment, I’m torn. Should I keep following him? Or now that he’s had eye-to-sunglass contact with me, would that be too suspicious? I decide the risk isn’t worth it. Besides, I think I have exactly what I need.