Excerpt: Back in the Saddle
Book 1: Jessica Brodie Diaries
I pulled into the parking lot of something called the Piggly Wiggly. As my car rolled toward the large, boxy store, I got a moment of indecision. I could literally park anywhere. Up close, further away, down the block–anywhere! I hadn’t seen this much parking since I showed up to school on a holiday without knowing it.
Spoiled, I chose one near the door. Why not, right? I didn’t need to walk if I didn’t want to. Or fight for any spaces. What a luxury!
Halfway to the entrance I realized I forgot my list. I stopped dead and tilted my head up, trying to remember when I’d last had it … Wait, I should have it … Somewhere…
Lifting my bag away from my shoulder with one strap, I dove to the bottom, fishing out a small, crinkled list. As I rummaged, feeling like the bag was swallowing my arm, I heard a deep male baritone say, “Ma’am.”
One, not being familiar with that phrase, and two, wondering if someone was talking to me, which was very un-L.A., and hence, very strange for me, I gave a quick questioning glance in the speaker’s direction. I met a plaid chest. Obviously a little closer than I thought.
I still had my hand stuck at the bottom of my over-sized, over-filled handbag, walking lop-sided with no real perspective on where I was in relation to the door, when I looked up and met two deep blue eyes in the most breathtakingly, ruggedly handsome face I had ever seen. Watch out Marlboro man, you ain’t got nothin’ on this cowboy!
His blue eyes caught my focus and drew me, holding me prisoner in a place where time did not exist. As I fell in, lost, I felt many things happen at once. My skin erupted in goose pimples as a shiver crawled down my back. My head went light, giving me the distinct feeling I was floating. Thank goodness, because my legs wobbled, not sure if I had control over my knees anymore. Topping it off, a suddenly warm, wet sensation pooled in my groin that craved sudden and fervid contact.
I think I muttered something. I really think I heard my voice, but I was too consumed with his eyes, and the burning taking over my body, to be sure. I think I kept walking, but when you lose the feeling in your legs, it’s anybody’s guess.
The slide of the electronic door right in front of me fed an alarm through my brain, but too late. My foot caught the end and jerked my whole body. My purse went flying, the items in it splashing the cement. Limbs flapping, I tried to maintain balance only to wildly stumble and bodily greet the display of large children’s balls. The flimsy white cage couldn’t compete with my a-bit-more-than-average (ahem) weight. It bent madly, the hole for extracting balls gaping. Florescent spheres gushed out everywhere, the balls sensing freedom and going for it.
“Oh crap!” My stumble, which had started with the door, and continued through the ball stand, took me to a painful slide on my knees.
No time to lose!
I was up like a pogo stick, running madly after pretty little balls dotting the outside entryway of the store.
“Who puts displays by the door?” I muttered in extreme embarrassment regardless of the fact that displays were standard the world over.
Why me?
As I captured two strangely hard to hold on to balls, the first staff member rushed out of the door.
“Is everyone all right?” It was a young kid with concern written across his face.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I gushed, dumping the balls in the cage and wrestling with the opening so they wouldn’t just come rolling out again.
Seriously, why me?
Another staff member came bustling out, a portly woman with a fantastic bee-hive. Her gaze swept the area, landing on me. My stomach tightened up as I stood in the wake of a self-made natural disaster.
Hurricane Jessica.
“I’m so sorry! I’m really sorry!” I bleated.
I braced myself for the rant. For the store owner to barge out, yelling about the mess. Threatening me with a counter-suit if I even dared think of a lawyer. He would chase me out of the store, my backside a welcome sight in the wake of the mess. I would then go to the next grocery store where I wouldn’t be known for disturbing the peace.
Only problem was, I wasn’t in L.A., and I had no idea where another shop was. They weren’t on every corner in this neck of the woods.
Beehive-lady clutched my arm as I stooped for more balls. “Don’t worry yourself none.” She escorted me to the side as the young guy went about straightening the ball cage. Her eyes glanced over my body and lingered on my knees, a small tear marring my jeans. “You alright? You hurt yourself?”
“Oh no, no no! I’m okay. Seriously. Just wasn’t paying attention.” I brushed my bruised knees in an effort to wipe off the scuffs.
“Here, come over here and have a seat. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She gestured me to a wood bench next to a small flower display. In shock, I took two steps, carried away by her concern. It took logic to still my feet.
Why the hell wasn’t she mad? I’d just rumbled through and blasted a stand of kids’ balls!
That sounded wrong.
The brown haired guy was picking up the balls now, but making quick, worried glances in my direction. He wore the same mask of alarm, probably worried I’d set fire to the place next, or something else equally outlandish. No telling what I was capable of, really.
I needed to fast forward this scene. My embarrassment was out of hand.
“No, no. Oh my God, really, I’m fine. I’m just clumsy and totally ridiculous! I have no idea what happened. Sorry for the mess! Really!”
My eye scoured the ground. Where the hell was my damn purse? I had taken the tumble in the doorway, but it wasn’t there. That brown-haired staff member was more than halfway done corralling balls, uncovering nothing on the walk-way.
“You don’t worry yourself about no mess,” Beehive-Lady said with her hand on my back, trying to get me to the bench. “Ronnie will have that dealt with in a jiffy. C’mon’ere and have a seat. You sure you’re not hurt?”
“Oh, ha! No,” I said distractedly, frantically searching for my bag and its contents. “I’m good, seriously. Just so sorry for the mess!”
I took a step around Beehive-Lady, scanning the sidewalk, when the Greek God Apollo himself stepped up with my handbag in hand, a devastatingly handsome half-smile filled with mischief lighting up his face. His blue eyes caught and held me, that weird heat returning to my body.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He tried for a concerned look after a quick glance at Ronnie and Beehive-Lady, but only managed a handsome farcical look instead. “I’m sorry to have startled you. I believe this is yours?” He reached out with my purse.
Must-pull-eyes-away.
God he was so beautiful.
NO! PULL-EYES-AWAY!
I managed to look down at my purse long enough to get my hand on it. It was bigger and fuller than I was used to, because I shoved a bunch of little bits in there when I was moving, and Apollo must’ve had muscles of steel to make the weight seem nonexistent, so when I thought I had hold of it, it plummeted toward the ground.
In his eagerness to help me, Mr. Apollo took a big step toward me, snatching the bag with lightning fast hands before it could spill onto the floor. I was acutely aware of his musty man smell. It wasn’t a clean, fresh out of the shower smell, but like a man that was working outside all day. Eau d’Homme. Not BO or anything, but pure Man.
My groin burst into flame. A million points of lava erupted across my skin; the heat of him so close, the smell of him, the man-ness of him. I couldn’t help a tiny moan escaping my lips before he stepped away nonchalantly.
My God woman, get a grip! This was all going downhill so fast I had skid marks! Literally. I needed to get the hell out of there. Away from him.
But I didn’t want to.
But I had to! I looked like a mental patient. No hot guy would want to be ten feet from me.
But he was so hot!
But I smelled. I was here to get a toothbrush. I probably peeled his eyebrows off when my breath hit his face.
Wait…did I talk to him?
I pushed my schizophrenia to the side and about-faced. Along with my body, my face was on fire…of a different kind. Of the can one person really be this humiliated? kind. I muttered a quick “thanks,” nodded to Beehive and Ronnie, and turned to go further into the store. Grudgingly, but necessary.
I was such a douche! My first day here and I meet the most ruggedly handsome guy I have ever seen, with manners no less, and eyes that are as deep and bottomless as eternity, and I blow it. It was a fairy tale encounter. Right up until I walked into the door, knocked over a stand of balls, spilled my handbag everywhere…I mean, did I have to go on? I almost dry humped the guy’s leg! I suck. I so suck. What is my problem?! Seriously, what-is-my-problem?
Lost in self-incriminating thought, I collected the basics for my new home. I walked into the checkout line, checking my list off item by item in my head, when I felt a presence.
No. Oh no. Not again.
Yes please, my inner self peeped.
I knifed my inner self immediately.
I knew it was him. I knew it was. I don’t know how I knew—maybe it was the rubbery quality of my legs. Maybe the lightheadedness. Maybe it was the musty, not quite sweaty eau d’homme smell. Or, maybe it was the fire combined with goosebumps that once again spread throughout my body. Christ-on-a-crutch, what was going on with me?
Don’t look up. Don’t look up! Be busy. Busy and important. Crap to do. Dinner to cook. Or not. Something to do. Don’t look up.