Today I continue with my probably somewhat annoying reposts of late … This one’s from June of 2016, probably one of the first things I posted on here. I’ve done a little touching up here and there but it remains mostly the same.
Smooth Like Silk
Just outside the sliding glass doors a bike rumbled to a stop. A man wrapped in leather and jean astride.
“Oh shit.” I peered from behind the counter as his helmet revealed dark curls and a wicked smile. I ducked behind the counter and watched him wander the aisles from between the sexist smutty magazines.
The gears in my mind grinded into overtime. Images of a secret prince in dark armor rescuing me from my tower overlapped with the sweet sound of Pink Floyd over the PA system.
The deep voice pushed me back. In the process of nearly taking the magazine rack down with me packs of gum and escapee candy bars clattered to the ground.
“Hi.” My breath caught in my throat. I was face to face with the wicked smile. My cheeks burned as I caught a glimmer in those dark brown eyes. “Um.” I ring my hands behind my back. Wait, does this make it look like I’m trying to get him to look at … my eyes fell down towards my chest. I wrapped my arms around my torso instead. Stop being so fucking awkward!
His laugh brought me back from my mental beating. “Are you ok? I just need a pack of Marlboro.”
Fucking great. Now he’s laughing at me. “Uh, yeah, sure. What kind?” That smile. I leaned on the counter as my knees grew weak.
“Reds.” My eyes travelled down as he reached for his wallet. No! Don’t look there! But, if I turn to get the Reds he’ll see my ass. Does my ass look good today? I’m wearing those stupid baggy pants … Why don’t I buy skinny jeans like everyone else? “Uh, the reds are up there in the corner.”
“Oh …” I followed his gaze behind me. He’s not paying attention to you, he just wants the cigarettes. Quit being so fucking awkward! “Yeah. Uh, one pack?”
I fumbled with his money, change dripping between my fingers as I tried to maintain any shreds of dignity the mystery man wouldn’t be making off with.
That wicked smile again, “Thanks darlin.” His fingers stroked my hand as he grabbed the Marlboro’s. Did he just touch me? Like on purpose? Catatonic shock isn’t the normal reaction I’m sure but as my brain sputtered to put together anything that could have been missed in my bumbling interactions I felt myself shorting out.
Outside the bike rumbled awake. The heat receded from my cheeks. I dropped my head into my hands.
Wow. Fucking smooth.