As our eyes met, I gurgled out something that might have resembled an apology and then suddenly noticed a pressure on my arms. I looked down and he had his large hands wrapped around my biceps, presumably to steady me as I’d bashed into him.
He quickly let go of me, allowing me to step back again, getting the full view of his face as I looked up.
It was hard to tell how old he was, but though his eyes were hard and his stubbled jaw was square and chiseled and his hair was shaved almost right down to his skin, there was something about him that seemed young. Maybe it was the lack of wrinkles around his blue eyes, though he was hardly smiling. Most notable, though, was that under his left eye there was a tattoo of what looked like a teardrop. A tattoo on his face.
Finishing out his ensemble was a black leather biker jacket over a tight gray t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans and work boots. He was gorgeous in a soulless kind of way and if there was ever a poster boy for prison chic, he was it.
I swallowed and cleared my throat, still struck stupid by the collision. “Sorry about that,” I said after a long beat.
He looked at me and then over my shoulder until Chelly came and stood beside me. I glanced at her; she stared at him wide-eyed, not saying anything. I had the sudden thought that I’d pretty much never seen her speechless.
Rubbing a hand over his shaved scalp, this giant walking menace nodded at me and then without a word, walked around me and continued down the street.
As though we’d orchestrated it, after three footsteps sounded on the pavement, Chelly and I both turned to watch him go. I prayed he didn’t turn around.
Chelly whistled quietly so only I could hear. “That is one scary dude,” she whispered. “But check out the way he fills those jeans.”
“Let’s go,” I said, suddenly very conscious that if he did turn around and saw us checking out his butt, well....I wasn’t sure what he’d do, but I didn’t want to stick around and find out. As we turned back toward the grocery store, we were greeted by Dave who was jogging across the street to meet us. He looked at us and then over my shoulder down the street to where the guy was disappearing around a corner.
“You okay?”
I did a double-take. “Yeah, fine.” Though my heart was still pounding.
“Please,” Chelly said, smiling and tossing her hair. “That guy?” she jerked her thumb behind her. “We’re totally dating now.”
“Oh really, Chelly? Is that why he’s coming back?” Dave said, looking out past her, over her shoulder. “He picking you up for your date tonight?”
Chelly stiffened and whipped around, but of course there was no one there. Dave and I laughed until she smacked his arm. “Jerk!”
He tucked himself in between Chelly and I and put his arms around us as we walked back to the store. “Want something to eat?” he asked.
“No thanks,” I said. “But I could use a soda; fundraising is hard work.”
“I need a dog,” Dave said as we reached the barbecue.
“I need a Snickers,” Chelly announced and disappeared into the store.
Dave pulled out his wallet and handed a twenty to Mr. Stratton. “Three dogs and two sodas, please.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
Dave smiled at me sheepishly. “The dogs are for me. You can have one of the sodas, though.”
“Right,” I said, blushing. “Thanks.”
“How’s it going out here?” Dave asked Mr. Stratton as he waved off the change and waited for the firefighter to put his three hot dogs in buns.
“Great,” Mr. Stratton said. “But it’s tapered off some. Why don’t you go have a seat around back—there’s a staff picnic table—and I’ll hold down the fort for a bit longer.”
“It’s okay,” I said, suddenly in a panic over being alone with Dave.
“No, you go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
I suddenly wondered if Mr. Stratton had any experience with girls at all, because he was completely and utterly clueless that I was sending him very strong telepathic messages that the last thing I wanted to do was go sit at a secluded picnic table with Dave.
Then a thought occurred to me: maybe he was into one of the firefighters. He didn’t give off a gay vibe, but...I scanned my eyes around following his gaze and a half a second later, I realized I might have just called it. Although it wasn’t one of the guy firefighters he was chatting up, but the female one.
He totally wants us out of the way. What a dog! I took my soda from his extended hand and nudged Dave.
“Come on,” I said, walking toward the parking lot.
Dave seemed happy enough to follow.
I looked over at him. “Thanksgiving,” I warned.
“Thanksgiving,” he said back with a nod.
We turned the corner and walked toward the picnic table. It was kind of hidden from the parking lot behind a wall where store employees could sit and smoke on their breaks sheltered from the elements. There was a big can for cigarette butts and I sat as far away from it as I could, flipping the tab on my soda to open it as I dropped onto the bench, leaning back against the table with a sigh.