shot him a quick glance before returning his eyes to me with an expression like he was studying me. It made me a little self-conscious. “So, it will just be me,” Carter finished.
My heart sank and my smile faded. He wasn’t coming. Without looking, I reached for the first bag of tortillas I could find and as I pulled it free they all started to fall. I was able to stop the first few, but then they all started to go. It was like a tortilla avalanche. “No, no, no, no, no!” I pleaded.
But it was too late. Almost the entire rack, and it was a large rack, of tortillas was heaped on the floor and I was standing in the middle of them. STUPID FREAKING TORTILLAS! I stared at my feet, took a deep breath and looked up as another bag of tortillas slid from the rack and plopped onto the floor. The boys were staring at me, stunned. I sighed and bent to start picking them up, brushing my hair away from my face and tucking it behind my ears—no wonder I always wore it back—and then I lost my footing. I was going down in a pile of tortillas in front of the one person I wouldn’t want to see this.
I let out a little screech in frustration and terror as the floor got closer; then suddenly two very strong, cool hands saved me from hitting the floor. I looked up into Oliver’s intense emerald eyes as he pulled me up, facing him.
“Are you okay?” There was a hint of concern in his voice; he was still holding me like he wasn’t sure I was steady yet.
“I’m fine.” I felt winded and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Why? Why did this have to happen in front of him? I tried to catch my breath and was hit by his cologne, which smelled so fantastic.
“I can see that you’re fine, physically,” then he added hesitantly, and very quietly, “but you seem...sad.”
“Oh.” That was unexpected. “Um…I guess I’m just a little bummed that you aren’t coming over,” I said softly. I shyly looked away. I felt the warmth continue on my cheeks and down my neck. I couldn’t believe I had just admitted that .
He gently touched my chin, lifting my face to his. The concern in his face was replaced by his amazing half-smile. “That’s all?” he said with a hint of laughter. “I’ve already eaten, but I’d still like to join you.” He brushed my hair away from my face. Shivers ran down my spine and my knees went weak. It was probably a good thing he was still holding me up. The sound of someone clearing his throat brought us back to reality. We both looked over to see Carter staring at us with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. Beside him was a rather stout store clerk wearing a black clerk’s apron with the name of the store printed across the chest and a white oval name tag that I didn’t bother reading. His hands were on his hips and the look on his pudgy face was irritated. I assumed he was the throat-clearer because Carter seemed completely dumbfounded.
Oliver quickly let go and I swayed a little in the tortillas. I sincerely apologized to the clerk, grabbed the first bag of tortillas I could reach, and the three of us quickly rushed through the checkout and out of the store.
We parted ways in the parking lot after agreeing they would be over in thirty minutes. I sat in my car and took several deep breaths, trying to compose myself. I could still feel his strong grip on me and his cool fingers touching my chin and brushing my face. I liked it; I liked it a lot.
As I flew home, still thinking about Oliver’s hands on me, I came way too close to slamming into the back of some familiar idiot’s car. It was a dark silver Mazda RX-8 with a personalized license plate frame that read, “Football Players Do IT Best.” It was a car I had once been a passenger in, just once. Common sense had warned me not to go on that date, but I hadn’t listened.
I rolled my window down as I passed. I knew I shouldn’t, but he had interrupted my Oliver fantasy and I figured it was dark enough out that he
My heart sank and my smile faded. He wasn’t coming. Without looking, I reached for the first bag of tortillas I could find and as I pulled it free they all started to fall. I was able to stop the first few, but then they all started to go. It was like a tortilla avalanche. “No, no, no, no, no!” I pleaded.
But it was too late. Almost the entire rack, and it was a large rack, of tortillas was heaped on the floor and I was standing in the middle of them. STUPID FREAKING TORTILLAS! I stared at my feet, took a deep breath and looked up as another bag of tortillas slid from the rack and plopped onto the floor. The boys were staring at me, stunned. I sighed and bent to start picking them up, brushing my hair away from my face and tucking it behind my ears—no wonder I always wore it back—and then I lost my footing. I was going down in a pile of tortillas in front of the one person I wouldn’t want to see this.
I let out a little screech in frustration and terror as the floor got closer; then suddenly two very strong, cool hands saved me from hitting the floor. I looked up into Oliver’s intense emerald eyes as he pulled me up, facing him.
“Are you okay?” There was a hint of concern in his voice; he was still holding me like he wasn’t sure I was steady yet.
“I’m fine.” I felt winded and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Why? Why did this have to happen in front of him? I tried to catch my breath and was hit by his cologne, which smelled so fantastic.
“I can see that you’re fine, physically,” then he added hesitantly, and very quietly, “but you seem...sad.”
“Oh.” That was unexpected. “Um…I guess I’m just a little bummed that you aren’t coming over,” I said softly. I shyly looked away. I felt the warmth continue on my cheeks and down my neck. I couldn’t believe I had just admitted that .
He gently touched my chin, lifting my face to his. The concern in his face was replaced by his amazing half-smile. “That’s all?” he said with a hint of laughter. “I’ve already eaten, but I’d still like to join you.” He brushed my hair away from my face. Shivers ran down my spine and my knees went weak. It was probably a good thing he was still holding me up. The sound of someone clearing his throat brought us back to reality. We both looked over to see Carter staring at us with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. Beside him was a rather stout store clerk wearing a black clerk’s apron with the name of the store printed across the chest and a white oval name tag that I didn’t bother reading. His hands were on his hips and the look on his pudgy face was irritated. I assumed he was the throat-clearer because Carter seemed completely dumbfounded.
Oliver quickly let go and I swayed a little in the tortillas. I sincerely apologized to the clerk, grabbed the first bag of tortillas I could reach, and the three of us quickly rushed through the checkout and out of the store.
We parted ways in the parking lot after agreeing they would be over in thirty minutes. I sat in my car and took several deep breaths, trying to compose myself. I could still feel his strong grip on me and his cool fingers touching my chin and brushing my face. I liked it; I liked it a lot.
As I flew home, still thinking about Oliver’s hands on me, I came way too close to slamming into the back of some familiar idiot’s car. It was a dark silver Mazda RX-8 with a personalized license plate frame that read, “Football Players Do IT Best.” It was a car I had once been a passenger in, just once. Common sense had warned me not to go on that date, but I hadn’t listened.
I rolled my window down as I passed. I knew I shouldn’t, but he had interrupted my Oliver fantasy and I figured it was dark enough out that he
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