in.”
“Right, girl,” Shannon says.
I look away from them, stuff cookies into my mouth, and chew. “Can we change discussion… please.”
Emy laughs. “Sure, chunky cheeks. Let’s talk about Guns. Or should I say Lorenzo Trevano.”
I immediately dart my eyes in her direction at the mention of his name.
“Yeah, I thought that would grab your attention,” Emy says.
I throw her a questioning stare. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Shannon giggles to herself and chugs another mouthful of wine.
Emy sits back in her seat. “Oh, nothing… except that you are finding it hard to keep your mind off of him.”
How the hell does she know? I guess she’s my best friend for a reason, but damn. I hadn’t said as much.
“I bet she wouldn’t mind keeping something else off of him,” Shannon says, and the two of them start cracking up.
I glare at her, crumpling up a napkin, and throw it her way. “Shut up, witch.”
But deep down inside, I know she’s right.
I push my cart into aisle five: baking supplies. Shannon’s birthday is tomorrow, and I’m planning on making her a birthday cake. Red velvet cheesecake.
Cheesecake. Cream cheese. I’d better go grab some before I forget. I need to head to the dairy section of the grocery store. I always leave that aisle for last because every time I’m there, I freeze. It totally doesn’t help that I’m wearing a miniskirt right now. Like what had possessed me?
Emy is supposed to be coming over for dinner, and afterward, we’re planning to head out. Shannon can’t make up her mind on whether she wants to go to the movies or go dancing. I’m hoping she picks the movies because I really don’t want to go dancing, but it is her birthday, and I will sacrifice what I need to make her happy.
I push my cart into the dairy section and scan the items. Yogurt… butter… mozzarella… cream cheese. Bingo.
Reaching to grab it, my hand brushes against another as it tries to grab the same thing.
I snap my head to the left and… holy shit. What are the odds? Out of all the freaking places to be on a typical weekday afternoon… How?
Lorenzo “Guns” Trevano is here, shopping at the same freaking grocery store as me. I’m surprised he doesn’t have people to shop for him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, pulling back. My heart speeds and my hands tremble. I can’t believe he’s standing so close to me.
A warm smile forms on his face. “No, no. It’s my fault. Please, go ahead.”
I smile back, unable to withhold it. Slowly, I reach forward and grab two containers of cheese, still staring at him.
His smiling face turns into a puzzled expression. “That’s a lot of cream cheese,” he says. “Planning brunch for a big crowd?” Now he’s smiling again.
Suddenly realizing that I was grabbing more cheese off the shelf, I quickly stop. Somehow, two containers of cream cheese became four, four became five, and finally six. In no time, I had managed to clear the store of their entire stock of cream cheese by putting them all in my basket.
I feel my cheeks turning bright red. Way to embarrass yourself, Carissa.
“Oh, fu—” I catch myself before letting out the obscenity. “I’m sorry…” I begin placing the containers of cream cheese back.
He chuckles and holds out his hands to show he’s not offended. “May I?” he finally asks, pointing at the containers still in my hands, asking if he can have one.
“Oh, yes, of course!” I pass one to him. “You want more?”
He chuckles again. “No, no. One is quite enough, thanks.” He places it into his cart.
Of course it is, Carissa, you moron.
Who goes out to clear the supermarket of their entire stock of cream cheese? Only me. I place all but two of the containers back onto the shelf.
“I’ve seen you around before… I’m Lorenzo,” he says in a cool, sultry voice, extending his hand.
I reach and grab it. Holy fuck, what a grip. His hand is like twice the size of mine… maybe more. I don’t know, but my tiny one gets swallowed by his much larger one.
I nod. “Yes, I saw you at the match the other night. I’m Carissa. Nice to meet you.”
Now he nods and then our hands let go.
But our eyes don’t. We don’t let go of one another’s gaze, and I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable… self-conscious.
Shit, is my hair in place? Is this shirt too tight? Ugh… I hate questioning myself right now and feeling this way.
His eyes are