Chapter 2
FLATLANDER MEETS PACKAGE
I eyed the items in the basket, debating whether I should return them to the shelves and bolt from the store.
The tiny guardian of the counter stared at her phone, ignoring me for the moment, but as soon as I set my goods in front of her, we’d begin the dance.
She shouldn’t be intimidating, not in the least, yet I hovered in the frozen section trying to avoid eye contact.
Milk. Eggs. Bread. Syrup.
In Boston, you could walk into a store, buy eggs, and no one would try to cross-examine your entire life.
Here, I had a single obstacle. For such a small woman, the history between us was monumental.
It had been decades, but I could still see her in physics, sitting two chairs in front of me.
She never partook in the bullying, but she hadn’t stopped it either. Her husband, on the other hand…
At the tattoo parlor, I had worked on everyone from girls who wanted to piss off their parents to bikers recording their life stories in ink, and I had spent my fair share ushering out rowdy groups from the lobby.
Tightening my grip on the basket, I shoved my hesitation aside and stormed down the aisle.
I set my groceries on the counter, ready to get the first of many awkward encounters out of the way.
Being back in Firefly, I’m sure the rumors were already spreading, trying to figure out why Ellie’s house had an extra car.
The speculation would fly, and by the end of the day, they’d have concocted a theory about an out-of-town lover visiting.
Bonny didn’t look up from her phone.
I waited for a moment, expecting a narrow gaze, even a look of annoyance. Instead, she continued scrolling as if I weren’t there. “Ahem.”
Her body didn’t move, but her eyes shot up.
As they traveled up my chest, her back straightened.
Eyes narrowed, and her head cocked to the side as if she were assembling the pieces of a puzzle.
Before she called me a flatlander, she had to run through every face she had ever encountered since grade school.
I almost wished she’d assume me an outsider.
Then we could dispense with the pleasantries.
“Charlie?”
“Hey, Bonnie.”
Her face softened, but her eyes went back to studying my forearms and chest before cocking to the side and staring at my neck.
Alpha and Omega. It had been my first tattoo, high enough that not even a dress shirt would cover the ink.
That day, I decided I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life hiding.
It had a literal meaning, the beginning of the end, as I made my escape from Firefly.
I embraced a version of myself that Firefly taught me to tuck away.
While Dad taught me how to survive in the wild, I had been busy developing my own survival strategies.
“You’ve changed.” Would it be rude to say she hadn’t changed? “Taller?”
This is how Firefly sank its fingers in. Sidestepping the obvious and leaning into levity, she attempted to soften the exchange. Next would come the questions. At first, they’d be innocent.
“Are you in town to see your mum?”
“Yup. She could use a hand right now.”
Controlled replies that offered no juicy bits warranting deeper probing. As she scanned the eggs, then bread, she gave me a sideways glance. I could swear the air shifted as she inhaled—a storm on the horizon. Innocent was about to turn intrusive.
“Just you?”
Code for: “Are you seeing anybody?”
“Yup.”
“A short visit?”
Code for: “Are you moving back?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.” Right now, it was the truth. I could head back to Boston and find another parlor. Somebody would take me. But my chair was gone, my shop was gone… hell, maybe it was time to get the guys together and start fresh.
“Ellie must be thrilled.”
Code for: “Why’d you leave in the first place?”
It didn’t warrant a reply. The game had been rigged from the beginning.
If I answered, my words would be misinterpreted.
If I didn’t, they’d fill in the details with speculation.
The moment I turned my back, she’d alert the corrections officers of Firefly, and they’d begin their interrogation mission.
She punched a button on the register, and I quickly pulled out my wallet. We exchanged currency instead of words. Despite her traps, I had said all I wanted. I didn’t want to be rude. Being rude didn’t bother me. Feeling seventeen again did. Picking up the brown paper bag, I gave her a slight nod.
I bolted for the door, leaving her with an eyebrow raised, already reaching for her phone.
The alert would go out before I reached the car.
I’d find people looking at their phones before searching for me.
The FBI should take notes. It’d turn into an all-out manhunt as they tried to unravel the mystery of a massive interloper invading their hometown.
I burst through the front door. The next thing I knew, I bounced off somebody, and I had to hiss as something cold spilled down the front of my shirt into my jeans.
Confused, I stared at the bearded man in front of me, his face distorted in terror.
It took a moment before I saw the Styrofoam cup with its lid ajar.
“Not the Moxie!” cried a woman’s voice.
I glanced at her, straw still in her mouth as she slurped the contents. Despite it being late spring, she wore a neon-orange hunting cap, her braids poking out the sides. I shivered as the liquid reached my testicles.
“I’m so sorry,” the man said. “We were at the market— I got a Moxie slushie—”
Looking down, the contents of his drink had spread along my stomach, chunks of ice still dripping into my pants. I wanted to growl and curse him up and down. Just as the snarl pulled at my lip, I surprised myself when it turned into a grin. His terror made it impossible to be mad.
He reached into his pockets. “Here, let me get that.” With a fist full of napkins, he patted down my stomach.
“I told you this was a mistake,” he growled at his companion.
“Stop being a drama queen. Fight it all you want, you need this.”
I didn’t know what she meant, but I was impressed with her ability to deflect his protests and plow forward. It was obvious who wore the pants in this—
He patted the front of my jeans, pressing against my package. The cold liquid forced out a slight yelp. When he realized he had his hand on my junk, he pulled back, the lines of terror deepening on his face. In ten seconds, we had gone from spilled drink to heavy petting.
“I—”
My brain sputtered. On one hand, a stranger had his hand on my jeans. On the other hand, it had been a while since a guy had given my package a good pat-down.
“It’s fine,” I said. I felt sorry for the poor guy. He looked exactly like the guy at seventeen I imagined strolling into Firefly. Okay, and maybe also playing with my zipper. “Accidents happen.”
He faked a smile, but it didn’t remove the discomfort. He continued staring at the ground, not making eye contact. Would it be too much to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder?
“Moxie’s better to wear than to drink,” I joked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” his friend said.
She slurped through her straw as if she had discovered the nectar of the gods.
I couldn’t tell if the thought of drinking that vile drink or its sticky contents on my cock made me shiver more.
Pops had loved the stuff, claiming it put hair on his chest.
“Ignore, Lacie. She’s gone native.” He snatched one of the brown paper bags out of her hand. “Here.” He thrust the bag at me like a child showing off their favorite rock. “Consider it payment for…”
“Don’t think I’m going to share my whoopie pie with you later.” She opened the door to the store, ready to abandon her friend. “Me and this bag of chocolate have a date with a glass of wine and a bubble bath.”
I took the peace offering, if for no other reason than to put this poor guy out of his misery. While his friend dove headfirst into Firefly, he didn’t appear as comfortable. I didn’t know how to convey my understanding. I’m sure we had that in common.
“Are you coming?” Lacie was like a force of nature, a tornado to his gentle breeze. “We need to find some sage if we’re going to remove this curse.”
“Again, I’m sorry.”
I gave him a nod and held up the bag before adding it to the groceries.
Maybe his friend had the right idea? A bubble bath and a whoopie pie weren’t the worst idea in the world.
The thought of me wedged into the tub made me chuckle.
Maybe it’d be safest if I enjoyed it on the back porch.
Thanks, handsome stranger. The weird still clung to me, but so did the smile.
Firefly tried getting its hooks in me, even if it meant using an outsider.
I’d worry about that later. First, my belly craved a tower of French toast.