There she was, coming right for my till. She was a bit skinnier than my tastes, but I couldn't deny that she was gorgeous. Her hair was the kind of brown that looked fake, but the way she wore it was natural, soft waves tied back in a ponytail. Perky chest you'd expect to see on a model. All legs. I saw her at least once a week; she usually did her grocery shopping on Sundays. Once in a while she'd come on a Saturday, I guess, so it wasn't totally strange to see her striding around in spandex shorts and a tank top. It was just... what was she buying?
She put her basket down on the floor and began to empty it onto the conveyor belt. She was moving like she was anxious. Pam, the cashier, started to scan in the items and hand them down to me. At first it seemed normal--strawberries, cucumbers, honey, whipped cream... coconut butter... Saran wrap? Jello, feminine hygiene wipes, latex gloves, and finally icing sugar.
I snatched my hand out of the bag and took excessive interest in my shoes.
"You going to that party tonight?" Pam said. I looked up at her, surprised to find her talking to Long Legs. I didn't know they knew each other.
"No. I have plans of my own." She looked my way again and I did my damnedest to look like I was not eavesdropping.
"Really? What're you doing?"
Pam didn't have a lick of intuition about her. She's a cute redhead, which to be honest is one of her only saving graces when it comes to making friends, because I've had more intelligent conversations with eight year-olds. So when she started interrogating our customer playfully, I turned away to bite my knuckle to keep from yelling at her.
I dropped my jaw on the floor. Pam stuttered.
"Thanks," Long Legs said as she strode off. When she came to retrieve her bag of treasures, she stood very, very close to me and looked at me. I'm a fairly tall guy, and girls rarely come past my shoulders. But she was able to look me in the eye without tilting her chin, and the look she gave me. Ice would've melted under that stare.
When she was gone, Pam scoffed. "Jesus, I always new she was a slut, but that's just disgusting."
"I'm going for my fifteen," I declared, walking away quickly so that no one would see my anxiety bulging.
I spent all fifteen minutes in the staff bathroom. It wasn't enough.
When I came back out and resumed my post at Pam's till, she gave me this look of utter disapproval only girls and mothers could produce. Then she waved her phone at me. "I don't know if I should tell you this."
"Well, we've made it this far, can't quit now."
"Rochelle wants to meet you."
My blood pressure must have rose something like a hundred points when I realized who she was talking about. "Oh."
"She's a bit of a... um... what's the word... harley. Harlot. I wouldn't do it if I were you."
Now I was stuck. "No, of course not. Sure. Yup. Don't."
Pam rolled her eyes and turned away from me. That put an end to conversation for the rest of the night.
We closed at eleven. After I'd done a quick sweep-through and punched out, I got ready to go at a record of ten after eleven. My manager let me out first. We exchanged good nights, then I started across the parking lot to the bus stop.
There was a car in my way. The driver was looking at me. I stopped when I saw her face, but she waved me over. I almost did one of those look over the shoulder before pointing to my chest gimmicks. Maybe she would have gone for that. My nerves were still too racked to perform any cute boy antics, though. So I just walked over, sweat already trickling from just about every orifice.
When I reached the door, she rolled down her window. She was still wearing the tank top from earlier, but instead of the shorts she was wearing a skirt. A very short skirt. With no panties. I knew this only because I could smell her. I think my face must have betrayed more than I would've liked, because then she asked, "Are you gonna puke?"
I cleared my throat and shook my head.
A sly smile. "Doing anything right now?"
"Uh... it's home. It's time to go home." I cleared my throat again; she shifted her legs and the skirt went a bit higher.
"Want to ride something?"
"I said do you want a ride?"
"Oh. Yeah. That'd be awesome. Thanks."
"So... you gonna get in?"
"Yeah! Um. Yeah. Sorry. Just." I rounded the car and climbed into the passenger seat.
Her hand went to the gear shift; she pulled it into drive, then promptly put her hand on my thigh.
She then proceeded to take me home. Just not to my house.