3

3

Angus

"So, Angus, when's your next gig?" Barry was saying. The word "gig" always sounds so strange coming out of his mouth, like it's some foreign language and he's not quite sure how to use it in a sentence. "‘Cause I was thinking we could all go."

I gave the closest self-check a halfhearted spritz of disinfectant. "Yeah, I was pretty much planning to be there. Seeing as how it would be my gig and all."

Barry's pale cheeks blotched an unflattering shade of pink. "Haha, good one! I just meant—"

That he wanted to go out with Colleen without putting himself through the risk of actually asking her. I knew it. He knew it. And unless she was a lot dumber than she looked, Colleen knew it, too. But she was so inscrutable, there was really no telling exactly how much she enjoyed watching Barry squirm. Before I could come up with a suitably smartass remark, the fluorescent lights kicked on and the automatic locks clunked open…and there, framed by the whoosh of the automatic door, stood a guy who made me forget all about the whole awkward not-date.

He was twenty-something, tallish and slim. Pale, with striking dark eyes, and wind-tousled dark hair. Not quite goth. More utilitarian, like he didn't have time for fussy haircuts or sorting laundry. In the circles where I "gig," everyone goes to great extents to be noticeable, me included. Tats, piercings, and all manner of bleached, dyed, tweaked and sprayed hair. But this guy, in his faded black jeans and dark duster, didn't need to do a damn thing. And I noticed him just fine.

Truth be told, I couldn't take my eyes off him.

It's a certain kind of customer who crosses the threshold the moment the store opens. The third-shift hospital worker coming home after a night of emptying bedpans. The senior citizen who's been up since four and is jonesing for their decaf. The panicked chef whose delivery service got their order wrong. But this guy fit none of my preconceived expectations—which only intrigued me more.

Especially when he picked up a flyer from the floor—an AndHedonia flyer—and instead of just tossing it aside, carefully pinned it back on the bulletin board.

Clearly, he was someone I needed to know better.

Leaving Barry stammering away while Colleen stared at him with her bland shark eyes, I peeled off from our conversation and launched myself on an intercept course with the guy. He drifted toward the baking aisle in a daze. Although he wasn't going particularly fast, I couldn't catch up with him without obviously running. But if I slipped down the adjacent aisle and rounded the endcap display just so, I'd be in just the right spot to accost him with Val-U-Mart's cheesy requisite greeting: Welcome to Val-U-Mart, where "U" come first .

I took the corner with a sharp turn, plastering on the cocky-yet-self-deprecating grin that's always served me so well, and prepared to deliver the opening volley with just the right blend of confidence and camp—

—only to find the baking aisle completely deserted.

What the heck?

My guy must've backtracked to the produce section. I jogged one more aisle over, but there was no one there except a little old lady brutally manhandling the plums. Huh. Maybe the guy had gone the opposite way, toward the greeting cards. That might provide some good fodder for flirtation, all those hackneyed lines, delivered with just the hint of an eye-roll….

"Young man?"

Damn it. In my eagerness to meet my guy, I'd gone and let myself fall on the plum-squeezer's radar.

"Young man—did you know your romaine is wilted? And another thing, why are your bananas so green?"

"Fabulous question! I'm sure Customer Service would be ever so grateful if you stopped by and filled out a comment card."

I made tracks toward Seafood before she could point out the pointiness of the pineapples or the squishiness of the squash, only to see a frazzled, half-asleep woman in a tracksuit and fuzzy slippers grabbing a can of Pringles from a pyramid display…from the bottom row. With no time to spare, I startled her with a jaunty, "Welcome to Val-U-Mart!" and prodded the cardboard cylinder back into place. As the whole display swayed, I grabbed a can from the top and lobbed it into her now-empty hands. I'd barely broken stride. She blinked vaguely as I whisked past her and headed toward aisle 3….

And found myself face to face with Management.

I backpedaled hard, and even so, I nearly sent the guy sprawling. "Aren't you supposed to be at the register…." He scowled at my name tag. "Angus?"

"That's exactly where I was headed," I said with a sigh, now wishing I'd let the damn chips fall where they may.