"He just likes the jerky I keep in stock," she smirked, pulling a box-cutter out of the pocket of her apron and carefully slicing the clear tape that sealed the carton.
"I believe you. Not. He comes in here because he wants to ride the Fran train," I retorted, tongue-in-cheek.
"Bite your tongue, young lady," Fran admonished me. She acted scandalized, but I knew better. Fran was a reality TV junkie, especially The Real Housewives. She claimed they were better than soap operas any day. "I should wash your mouth out," she threatened.
"Don't deny it. I've seen the way he checks you out when he's here. Just like I've seen you admiring his backside," I added, wagging my eyebrows at her.
"Honey, at our age, our asses are either boney as hell or a saggy mess of flesh. There's a reason our eyesight goes the older we get."
I snorted with laughter at her bluntness. That's why I enjoyed working with her so much, she always kept it real.
The tinkling of the bell over the door stalled any further comments. Fran shuffled off to the stockroom to deposit the empty boxes while I continued stocking the shelves. I could hear the customer in the next aisle and didn't bother to look up, figuring it was Mr. James to see Fran again. A moment later though, a shadow fell over me and I stiffened momentarily when the heavy cologne the individual was wearing swirled around me. It was a scent that was already imprinted in my memory bank. I whirled around with dread, knowing exactly who towered over me. My precarious stance and the fact that my head wasn't a hundred percent back to normal worked against me as I lost my balance and landed hard on my butt. The momentum of my fall sent me crashing into the pyramid of cans I had just assembled, making them fly in every direction.
"Well, shit," I grumbled when I found myself flat on my back at his feet. Would there be no end to embarrassing myself in front of him?
"Here, let me help you up," he said chivalrously in the same sexy voice from the night before. If I'd had any thoughts that his voice only sounded sinful the night before because of the amount of alcohol I had consumed, I was delusional.
"I got it," I said, hoisting myself up with as much dignity as I could summon. Once I got myself upright, I finally spared a glance at him. To my dismay, he was studying me in the same bemused manor he'd done the previous evening. Without whiskey clouding my brain, I didn't find it as cute to be the object of his amusement. "What are you doing here?" I sniped.
"Is the store closed?" he asked, looking around.
"Not 'in the store, here.' I mean, what are you still doing in town? I thought you were just passing through."
"Disappointed?" he asked. "I decided after our engaging conversation last night that maybe I'd check out all the perks you mentioned of living in a small town. You made it all seem so appealing, so I thought, 'hey, I gotta be missing out.' I thought I could make it into a story. You know, a whole expo on small-town life and the dynamics that pull a community together, something like that. It dragged you here, so there has to be some kind of story."
Well, hell. He was sticking around because of my blabbermouth. I'd say I officially had the worst one-night stand ever. Not only did I pass out before the grand finale, I'd also convinced him to stay, taking away the anonymity of the whole one-night thing. If the floor opened up and sucked me in at the moment, it would have been more welcome than facing my failure in front of me.
"Are you okay?" he asked, grasping my elbow as if to steady me.
"Absolutely. Why?" I asked, extracting my elbow from his grasp.
"You looked kind of green there for a second."
"I guess I was just surprised to see you again after last night…" I said, letting my voice trail.
"Ah, yes. Last night was epic, unlike any other. Definitely eye-opening and educational. Who knew darts could be so much fun?" he remarked.
"Damn, we did play darts?" I asked, sagging weakly against the shelf behind me and knocking several cans over in the process.
"You got something against cans?" he asked, bending over to pick up the mess.
"We played darts?" I repeated, unwilling to move on. The thought of stripping my clothes off in front of everyone at the bar made my blood run cold, especially here in Woodfalls.
"Well, 'play' would be stretching it. You were too busy taking your clothes off to play darts."
"Holy shit, kill me now," I said, covering my face with my hands. "Are you telling me Joe and Mr. Jones saw me naked?"
"Was Mr. Jones the grumpy guy a couple tables from where you and your friends were sitting?"
"Yes," I said weakly, feeling sick all over again. There was no way this would stay a secret. Brittni may have joked about her mom's knack at sniffing out gossip, but it was closer to the truth than not. Once she got wind of it, the story would be bounced around until every resident in Woodfalls had heard about it.
"Then, no, neither of them saw you naked," he said, grinning wickedly.
"What?" I squawked out, not sure I heard him right.
"I said, 'neither saw your boobies,'" he answered, reminding me of yet another embarrassing aspect from the night before. I'd completely forgotten about the whole boob conversation.
"I'm not ordinarily like that," I clarified.