Chapter 1 #2
I squint at his handsome face as he scans the nutrition label of a Pop-Tart. He tucks a brown sugar and cinnamon one beneath his arm with the pizza, then circles around the end of the aisle, heading for a display case against the far wall with bottled drinks.
A part of me expects him to grab a box of cheap wine from the alcohol section—the haphazard, late-night meal and disheveled appearance make me think he’s single, living alone, and probably prepping for the new semester that starts soon—but he goes for green tea instead.
Shaking off the encounter, I try to compartmentalize my embarrassment and get back to the task at hand. If I’m late to meet Quincy and Asher, they’ll never let me live it down, and I’m not trying to spend the next sixteen weeks as their mutual punching bag.
I got enough of that as a kid. My sister and brother were quiet and preferred their alone time, where I was outgoing and the life of the party. I wanted to be surrounded by people and the center of attention, which is how I got into acting in the first place.
Lot of good that interest did me over the last seven years, but I digress.
Not everything works out the way you hoped. That doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.
At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.
After spending a solid five minutes scouring the shelves for a lighter of some sort, my shoulders slump in defeat. As I turn the corner of a display case empty-handed, patting my jacket for my phone, the toe of my shoe catches on the heel of someone else’s.
I grit my teeth, pinching my eyes shut as a solid wall of muscle grunts ahead of me. My nose bends, colliding with his back, and for the first time, I get a short whiff of his cologne: something soft, masculine, and woodsy with a touch of citrus.
His exhale is loud in the small store, and I feel it in my chest somehow.
“You should really look where you’re going,” he says, turning with a white plastic bag in hand. “Leaving without a purchase?”
“Ah, yeah. I’ve got someplace to be, and I can’t find what I was looking for.”
“So not condoms then?”
I clench my teeth, my eyes narrowing. “No.”
“Right. Because you’re on the pill.” He pauses but starts again before I can reply. “You know that does nothing to protect against STIs, right? Most healthcare professionals recommend two methods of contraception.”
“To prevent pregnancy.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad habit either way.”
“You sound like my dad,” I say. “Or a teacher.”
“I’m trying to be helpful.”
“By mansplaining contraception to a grown woman.”
“Public education sometimes fails people.”
I let out a groan, slapping my hands over my eyes. “This is such a weird conversation to be having with a stranger.”
“Or perhaps it’s a perfectly civil conversation to be having,” he suggests with a shrug. “As I said—no judgment.”
“Which was a lie.” My hands fall to my sides. “I was looking for a lighter or some fire-starting equivalent.”
“What for?”
“Um…” I clasp my hands behind my back, posturing as I push my chest out.
The stranger glances briefly at my offered cleavage, his face blossoming a bright pink once more. My insides flutter, warmth spreading through my limbs like liquid honey, but then he returns his gaze to my face.
Waiting.
“I have a meeting,” I say finally.
“A meeting where a lighter is required?”
“Is that your business?”
“Well, I don’t know. You seemed to think your menstrual history was my business, so I’m not exactly sure where lines are being drawn at the moment.”
Heat scorches my face, and I imagine my skin matches his as he reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a gold Zippo lighter. There’s a symbol etched onto the front of the lid, though it’s difficult to fully make out what it is since it’s worn, likely from years of use.
“Here.” He reaches forward, the plastic bag jostling as he overturns my wrist, placing the lighter in my palm without skin-to-skin contact.
“I can’t take this.”
“You’re not going to find a lighter or matches anywhere in Fury Hill,” he says. “An incident a few years back at the town’s favorite watering hole left city officials uneasy, and they’ve all but outright banned the sale. You could drive to Concord, but I’d hate to see you miss your meeting.”
It’s clear he thinks the meeting is code for sex, but I don’t care. Better he believe that than be privy to what I’m actually up to.
I close my fingers around the lighter as he withdraws. “But it looks expensive. Or important at least. Is it a family heirloom? Memorabilia from your veteran great-grandfather’s estate?”
The man chuckles, and I find the sound intoxicating. My lips part as if to ask to hear it again, but I bite down on the urge.
“Nothing like that,” he says. “Just consider it a loan.”
“But loans are given with the intent of being returned.” I frown. “I don’t know anything about you really. How am I supposed to find you to give it back?”
A smirk tilts his face. “Should something catch fire tonight in Fury Hill, temptress, perhaps it’ll be I who finds you.”