Bones (La Douleur Folle #1)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

I really should learn to use my car more often, but I enjoy walking. No amount of strength I’ve amassed will aide me in bringing all of the items I’ve just pushed up to the register. I’ll ask for a home delivery; it’ll make things much simpler.

Do I have my wallet?

A quick brush of the back of my jeans tells me it’s in the left pocket, and I breathe a little easier. There’s only one person in front of me and I don’t mind waiting. After all, he only has two items and is already swiping his method of payment, so it’s just a matter of how quickly the computer will charge him and he can be out of my way.

“I’m sorry sir, but you card is declined.”

I sigh loudly and reach for my wallet. I lean over my flatbed dolly and swipe my credit card. My card won’t be declined; it never is.

“Thank you, young man,” he says.

I nod, force a smile, and move my dolly up as soon as he moves out of the way. Young man. I hadn’t been called that in years, but I’d let him labor under the thought that a “young man” had done a kindness for him, when all I really wanted was for him to get the fuck out of the way with his pride still intact.

The woman behind the counter grabs her wireless scanner and comes around the register. She begins to scan my items; beep, beep, beep, until she’s finally confident that she’s processed them all.

“I need these delivered to my home,” I tell her, handing her the pre-filled delivery form.

“That’ll be an extra seventy-five dollars,” she says, reaching for the form.

“I’m aware.”

She nods and scans the form, then proceeds to slowly type the information into her system. I can feel myself becoming angry at the slow pace she’s working, and that won’t do. Instead of letting the anger consume me, I cross my arms over my chest and glance around the store.

And I see her.

I actually fucking see her.

She’s walking toward the exit of the store, right passed me as if I don’t exist; as if I don’t mean anything to her. I convince myself that she just didn’t see me and turn my attention back toward the cashier.

“Are we done? Is there anything else you need from me?” I ask urgently.

“Just need you to sign the receipt once it prints,” she replies to a long roll of paper being slowly ejected from the machine.

I know I shouldn’t have, but with the amount of frantic impatience that’s now swelling inside of me, I lean passed her, rip the paper out of the machine and sign my name at the bottom.

I shove my credit card back into my wallet and move passed the dolly, quickly weaving my way around the sudden wave of customers who seem to have been miraculously all checked out at once.

“Get out of my fucking way,” I bark at a mother and her two rowdy children. She gasps, then huffs as if no one has ever said that to her and her small duo of rancid offspring before.

I can see the exit doors; they’re a mere few feet away, and I’m so close to speaking with her again. I’ll ask her what her name is this time, and I’ll tell her mine. I’ll retain her fucking face, eyes, hair, lips, everything , and refuse to forget it.

However, as soon as I step out into the blaring daylight, I realize I’m too late. After a quick sweep of the entire parking lot I see her getting into her car and closing the door firmly behind her.

I should run up to her; tap on the window and ask her if she remembers me, but that would give the illusion that I’m nothing more than a desperate madman, and I’m not crazy.

For today she wins. I’ll stand here outside of the store and watch her drive away. I’ll let her leave me and not know what the blur of the woman that walked passed me looks like. I’ll forget that she was here and that I was so close to what I’ve been needing for so long, and I’ll be okay with it.

Why? Because I’m coming closer to my grand conclusion. I’m so close that now I know that she drives a blue Chevy Impala, and the license plate number is 574-ECA .

I have more information about her than I would care to admit, and I’ll find her soon enough. I’ll speak to her, charm her, invite into my home, and she’ll accept.

No woman has been able to resist me before, and I know exactly how to play the game according to what I need.

I’m a bit of a chameleon, and I always adapt to what I feel they want.

She wants me. All of me. And I intend to show her exactly who I really am.