Page 9 of Cold Foot Revenge
The guy sighed heavily and pushed his cart forward into the completely empty aisleway.
“You’re still crowding me,” Wolf Mask hissed.
“Not on purpose,” he uttered, gesturing to the growing line behind him. There was nowhere to go. Everyone was crowding because there was a freezer of ice cream sandwiches across the one lane of space.
“What the fuck are you eating?” she asked, appalled as she stared at his economy sized box of Hot Pockets. “Are you a child?”
“No, I just like Fruit Roll-Ups. Why are you judging me?” he asked low.
“I like Fruit Roll-Ups too,” the six-year-old kid behind him said, raising his hand like he was in school.
Well, that didn’t help. Wolf Mask gave him a smug look right before she turned and gave him her back.
“I saw your car outside—”
“Oh my God, are you stalking me?” she whisper-screamed.
“No. Wait. Maybe? I did try to look up your license plate on the interweb.”
“The interweb?”
“Why are you repeating stuff I say in a mean voice?” he asked. “I’m not trying to ruin your day, lady. I was trying to find you outside of your…”strip club?
Don’t, she mouthed.
“Place of business,” he drawled out.
“Do I know you?” the guy in front of her asked, staring at her while he waited for the cashier to finish scanning his groceries.
“I’m not from around here,” she told him.
“Liar, liar, thong on fire—oof!”
Wolf Mask donkey kicked Dylan’s cart, and it shoved into his stomach. He was not ready for that, and it whooshed the wind out of his lungs for a few moments. He liked spicy woman.
“Why are you smiling?” she griped.
“I don’t know. I like smiling. Can we talk?”
“I’m not friendly.”
He allowed the sarcasm to drip from his tone as he said, “Clearly.” He stood up straighter and peered in her cart. “What are you buying that you’re so much better than Fruit Roll-Ups and Hot Pockets? Turkey. Bread. Cheese.” He frowned. “Sandwich stuff does actually sound good.”
“Stop looking in my cart. Stop looking at me. In fact, go in a different line. I don’t want to be seen with you.”
Dylan flinched, feeling slapped. “What’s wrong with being seen with me? I’m not that bad. I’m not embarrassing. I’ll have you know I was almost voted homecoming king here.”
“Almost, and like a million years ago,” she said without turning around.
“How old do you think I am?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Well. Good guess.” He’d forgotten she somehow knew him. “Do we know each other?” he asked.
“Oh my God, do you just fill space with noise?”
“What?” he asked, confused.
