tone escalating with each one. I give him a tiny slap and then another one that’s hard. “Blaze! Wake up, you…you big oaf!”
One of the Piggly Wiggly cashiers comes around the corner. With acne and braces, she can’t be more than sixteen. She drops the box she has in her hand. “Oh my God, did he slip and fall? Should I call the manager?” Her eyes flare. “Is that Blaze Townsend? Do you think he’ll sign something for me? I’m a big fan.”
I’m about to tell her to stop talking and call an ambulance when he speaks, his voice low and husky.
“You’ve been wanting to slap me for months,” he mumbles as he struggles to push up on his elbows. “What the hell is an oaf? Who talks like that?”
“It just came to me. I think it means crazy big guy. Seemed appropriate. Are you okay?”
“Just woozy. My workout was intense today, and I haven’t had dinner.” Red appears on his face as he looks around and sees the wide-eyed girl who’s gaping at us. His eyes lock with mine. “Damn, this is embarrassing.” He rubs his cheek and huffs out a small laugh. “Nice slap.”
I smirk. “Sorry. Don’t be embarrassed. Once a lizard got in Vampire Bill’s cage and he eviscerated it piece by piece. All I could do was scream, and when he ripped its head off, I keeled over like a piece of fluff in the wind.”
“I never took you for the kind who passes out at the sight of blood. Nothing scares you.”
Yeah. I’m the girl with the rules to protect her heart. That’s not brave. It’s insane and a little ridiculous, but it keeps me steady and focused on my goals—or it used to.
“Pfft. There’s plenty you don’t know,” I say.
“I know.”
I let that pass and help him stand. He weaves for several seconds but seems to find his balance, shoving back hair that has fallen in his face.
“Nice highlights,” I say before thinking.
He gives me a surprised look. “Dillon did them.”
I snort. “OMG. That’s crazy.”
He gives me a ghost of his usual smile, and I guess he’s still finding his equilibrium. “You should have seen it: me and him in a tiny bathroom with a box of bleach, a hair net thingy, and these little gloves that wouldn’t fit on either of our hands. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass out from the fumes.” He puts a hand to the bridge of his nose and presses.
“You sure you’re all right? I’m supposed to report any accidents in the store and fill out a form,” says Cashier Girl.
He waves her off. “I’m good. Just didn’t expect…” His words trail off and he glances around as if expecting the older woman to reappear.
“She’s gone,” I say.
“Thank fuck. I need out of this place.” He grabs hold of the bar on the cart and clings to it.
Cashier Girl pulls out a walkie-talkie, never taking her eyes off us. “I better call Steve—that’s my manager. He’d want to know you fell. Just last month a baby opened a jar of strawberry jelly and made the biggest mess. His momma kept yelling that he might be allergic. I had to file a report and everything. Plus, it looks like you opened a beer and drank it. That’s stealing, if you think about it, and we didn’t even check your ID—”
Seriously? I pull a ten out of my purse and push it into her hand. “This is for the beer. Run along—and don’t move my cart. I’ll be back.” I turn toward Blaze. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Cashier Girl takes a step forward. “Wait—does this mean he’s not going to sign something for me? I have some paper in my locker!”
Geeze. Is every female alive in love with him? “No, he’s not.”
I grasp his upper arm, even though I think he’s fine, and we head down the aisle just as I hear the girl radioing her manger to let him know two carts were left in aisle 9.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Wilson getting in line to check out, and I purposely lead him in a different direction.
We walk side by side, my body acutely aware of his, the sound of his breathing, the movement of his legs, the tingle of heat from his hard muscles under my hand. I drop it from his arm. He’s fine, Charisma. He doesn’t need you hanging on him.