Chapter 6
Chapter six
Wyatt
Grocery shopping didn’t have the same allure it used to.
Not like it was ever a favorite pastime or anything, but I had so many memories of taking Harps with me and tugging the five thousand shiny things out of her hands that she’d pulled off the shelves. Even having to meal plan for the family held more of a draw than single dinners for myself.
I pushed the cart into the store with a rattle, and the cool air-conditioned space settled over my skin. Vegetables were a necessity, since my lettuce had pulled its magical wilting trick, so I veered in the produce direction first.
A guy was bent over by the tomatoes, his round ass thrust out, and my gaze lingered. He was lanky, slender, with low-slung sweats and a tank top on. My pulse quickened.
He stood up and turned, and I just about swallowed my tongue.
Rory Brannon. His gaze met mine, and he flashed me a grin that made his blue eyes twinkle. The dark sweep of his hair, the tattoos littering his arms, the canine that poked out with his smile—everything about him drew my attention.
“You stalking me?” he asked. “Because I’ll have you know, I like it.”
My heart thumped a little harder. “Pretty sure most people go to the grocery store.”
“Preposterous. I’ll just order takeout until I can make meals from my takeout leftovers. If you haven’t had pizza lo mein, you haven’t lived,” Rory proclaimed, swinging his basket back and forth.
A laugh escaped me. “That sounds foul. I’ll stick to some home-cooked meals, thanks.”
“What are you shopping for today?” Rory asked, peeking at my empty cart.
“Meal prep for the week,” I said, squeezing the back of my neck. “Thrilling stuff.”
“I’ve got a bag of pizza rolls, a zucchini, and some pasta so far,” Rory said. “Though maybe I should figure out how to get some eggplant into my week.” He waggled his brows.
I blinked at him. “Maybe a rollatini? Eggplant parmesan?”
Rory burst out laughing. “My dude, I’m referring to dick. Just for that, you’re getting an onslaught of eggplant emojis.” He whipped out his phone and one-handedly typed out a text on it. A second later, my phone buzzed.
“I’m slightly terrified,” I murmured. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks that I hadn’t pieced together what he referred to, but in my defense, I hadn’t trolled for dick before.
Not that it was out of the equation now.
“You’re going to need to know the basic lingo if you’re hitting up the club with me sometime,” Rory said.
I glanced at my phone to see a parade of eggplants and water spurts.
Heat rushed through me at the clear commentary there.
I licked my lower lip and glanced up at Rory, who stared at me expectantly, an unrepentant smile crinkling his eyes.
One of the things I liked about being around him most was how much he laughed.
He was constantly cracking jokes, entertaining himself, a running commentary of whatever was going on inside his head exploding out into the stratosphere.
We couldn’t be more different, and I found that addictive.
“Don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’ll just be there to dance,” I claimed. “Pass me the eggplant, though. I could go for some eggplant parm.”
Rory sorted through a few on the stack and lifted a big one. He caressed up and down the length filthily and then cast me a faux-innocent glance. “How about this one? It looks nice and girthy.” He ran his palm along it. “So smooth too.”
Mm, okay. Maybe that was doing a little too much for me. Which was a problem, because Rory was so off limits it wasn’t even funny.
“Throw the extra special eggplant into my cart,” I said, giving him a smirk.
“Now there’s an innuendo I haven’t heard before,” Rory teased as he lowered it down reverently. “Happy to comply.”
“What are you planning with the pasta and zucchini?” I asked, curiosity overtaking me.
“Fuck if I know. August asked me to pick it up. I can do basics—I’m not a baby sea turtle—but I’m not great without a recipe.”
My brows drew together. “What do baby sea turtles have to do with cooking basics?”
“Clearly they’re shit at cooking. Can’t even operate a stovetop,” Rory explained, as if it was the only logical conclusion.
The way his mind worked was a mystery, but one I enjoyed solving.
The connections didn’t always make sense on a surface level, but when you followed the trail of where his thoughts jumped to, they always tied together.
“Come on,” I said, pushing my cart forward. “Let’s get some cooking basics then.”
I strolled down one of the aisles as Rory kept pace, and a sense of ease settled over me.
I hadn’t realized how alone I’d been feeling, how much it had been eating me alive the past few months until I started spending time around him.
I’d been slightly aware, but Rory’s presence shone a spotlight on everything I’d been missing out on.
“I’m just saying, Tony Tiger can get it,” Rory said, picking up the box of Frosted Flakes. “Clearly he works out, and the growling? Ngh, yes.”
I blinked. “The….cartoon tiger?”
He knocked the box against my arm. “Keep up, Anderson. You can’t deny this tiger’s physique. It’s designed to make you hungry.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “For…”
“Tony the Tiger, duh. Not the Frosted Flakes.”
“Right,” I responded, bypassing the Frosted Flakes for my usual boring favorite, Cheerios. “Maybe I’m more of a Captain Crunch guy.”
Rory let out a loud laugh that echoed down the aisle. “That’s the spirit, Wyatt. You’ll do great when we go clubbing.”
The idea of going there terrified me a bit, mostly because I’d be so out of my depth, but the draw of spending more time with Rory outweighed the fear.
We popped down another aisle, and I threw a few boxes of pasta into my cart.
Yet every time I imagined going to the club with Rory, the one thing that kept circling through my brain was his promise.
That I’d get to dance with him.
I shouldn’t want to. He was young, and he was my daughter’s friend. Was it new that I found guys attractive? I chewed on my lower lip as a scrutinized a can of crushed tomato. Probably not as new as it seemed. The more I thought about my sexuality, the more dots connected over the years.
“What did that can of tomato do to you?” Rory asked.
“The betrayal’s too fresh. Can’t speak of it.”
His eyes widened. “You have such a delightful deadpan.”
My heart thudded harder at the compliment. Most of the time my dry sense of humor was a turn off for people, just one more dull thing about me. The comments from family had stacked up over time, until I struggled to see anything else.
“Liven up, Wyatt.”
“Same old, same old.”
Yet Rory never treated me that way. He lit up around me, pure enthusiasm and energy, and I was quickly becoming addicted.
To how he made me feel—like I was fun to be around too, just the way I was.
Rory’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it. “Shit, I got to hurry up here or August won’t have any of the ingredients to make dinner.”
“All right, let’s focus on your list,” I offered, wanting to spend a little more time with him.
“Thanks, Wyatt.” Rory offered a genuine smile that brightened his gorgeous blues. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
Fuck, I was glad too.