8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Beth

I love the city. There's always so much going on, and so many interesting people walking around. I might feel a little flat today, thanks to recent events and memories of the not-too distant past, but I can still appreciate the bustle and enjoy a bit of people-watching.

"Convenience store!" I tell Catherine, pointing the shop out before rushing toward it.

"There's a candy store in the mall …" she calls after me.

Meh. The mall will take a while to get to, and I'm craving a fix of sugar now .

I step into the small store and pick up a nut and caramel filled chocolate bar, and a bottle of orange soda. My stomach rumbles a little and I find myself unwrapping the candy bar as I move to the back of the guy who's already standing at the counter, talking to the clerk.

I tune into their conversation without really thinking about it.

The guy with the record bag slung over his shoulder has something in his hand.

I'm not sure what it is, but it's making the clerk groan.

"Well, what about hanging a flyer in the window? Would that be possible?"

A flyer? One look at the guy's clothes and I'm thinking he must be in a band.

Jeans, and a black dress shirt that's not tucked in, but the sleeves are rolled up and I can see edges of a tattoo, or tattoos on one of his arms.

His dark-red dyed hair is short at the back, but I don't know how it looks at the front.

He's kinda tall, and I'd bet my last dollar he's cute.

He definitely sounds like he is.

Oh no, Beth. No more liking random guys for no damn reason.

You were just drugged and kidnapped!

Have some self-preservation instincts, please.

A pretty face is so not worth that kind of trauma.

"I don't know, man," the clerk says with a sigh. "I get shit off my manager for letting people leave flyers in the shop."

"But we're in the same street," band guy says. "We could help each other out. I'm sure we can trade some ad space or something?"

The clerk sighs. "Look, if you leave one, I'll ask my boss when he's in later. Come back in a few hours, okay?"

"Great!" Cute band guy sounds pleased.

I move back as he starts to turn around, getting out of his way, and trying not to notice how attractive he is. It's impossible. He's above average hot, and he definitely looks like he's in a band. Sexy hairstyle, hanging over one eye, check. Tattooed forearm, check. Leather pendants, check.

Penetrating stare, check, even if I can only see his right eye, a sparkling azure that seems even more dramatic close to the deep red of his hair.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice going soft.

Clearly, he didn't know someone was standing behind him.

"Uh, hey," I manage to mutter back, wondering why he's even speaking to me.

Maybe because you're the one who was staring first?

Even realizing that, I can't make myself stop.

Hot guys are my kryptonite, I guess.

"Are you new around here?" he asks.

"Um …" I murmur, apparently losing the ability to talk.

He opens the bag at his side and passes me a flyer.

I can't break my gaze away from his face to look at it.

"Best food in the city," he tells me, cracking a bright smile. "I hope you check us out."

"Sure." I blink when he walks by, leaving the store.

When I look down, I see the flyer is for Esposito Brothers' Taste of Italy.

He works at my new favorite pizza place.

Oh, I definitely shouldn't hit on him.

There's just something about men who bring me food that gets me all fired up.

If that already incredibly hot guy also brings me pizza, I might be convinced to ask him out, and that's the last thing I should even think about doing right now.

There's no way a guy that good-looking isn't a fuckboy, at best.

I might not have been laid in over a year, but that doesn't mean I'm desperate enough to go to bed with someone who's constantly scrolling EveryBeta looking for new matches.

I take my first bite of the candy bar, and I'm snapped out of my thoughts by the clerk at the cash register, who's giving me a disapproving stare now that his cleared throat got my attention.

"Are you going to pay for that?" he asks.

My face flushes as I nod. I chew and swallow quickly.

"Sorry," I murmur, as I take a ten out of my purse and pass it over.

By the time I'm stuffing my change into my pocket and leaving the store, there's no trace of the pizza place guy outside, but my sister's waiting by the side of the door with an impatient look on her face.

"What took so long?" Catherine asks, as I wave the flyer at her.

She takes it out of my hands and groans. "Don't tell me you want pizza for lunch …"

"I don't. A guy who works there was bugging the clerk to put his flyers out for customers or something. That's what took so long."

"Okay, well, let's head over to the mall. We can grab lunch at the food court so you can carbo-load while I eat something less heavy."

I take the flyer back, folding it up and putting it into my back pocket.

I'm only thinking about going back there for more pizza, not for the devastatingly handsome fuckboy who may or may not be a waiter.

It's a completely innocent food-related desire, for sure.

It has nothing to do with anything but pizza.

Nothing whatsoever.