Broken Dreams (A M.C. Story)

Takeout and Bad Decisions

The work week flies by, I collect my paycheck, and decide to stop at the market on my way home; seeing as I haven't gotten around to properly restocking any of my groceries or essentials this week. I park my Honda CV-R in a parking space under one of the few light posts in the parking lot, a lady can never be too careful.

Green's Supermarket is a one stop shop, literally. Need food, clothes, or medicine, then Green's has it. Grabbing one of the shopping carts from the small hallway at the front of the store, I begin making the rounds. First grabbing any produce or other cold items, then meandering down the snack aisle grabbing an assortment of chips, popcorn, and candy.,

I turn the corner heading to the beauty section, when I crash into another shopping cart, accidental knocking over a display of neatly stacked graham cracker boxes. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to crash into you." Not sparing a second glance at the person I crashed into, I immediately crouch down to start picking up the boxes.

A heavily, tattooed hand appears in my line of vision, trailing my eyes up the clothed arm up to the face of the most attractive man I've ever laid my eyes on. Tanned skin, and contrasting blonde hair; blonde stubble covering his chiseled face with deep blue eyes that seem as though you could get lost in their depths. A frown prominent on his lips, his attention focused to the task at hand.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going then," rising to his feet, he drops the boxes he'd collected off the floor and drops them back onto the display table, his height towering over my five foot five height. His eyes stare down into mine for a moment before scanning over the pale skin of my face and my black hair that falls just shy of my waist, down to my feet, then returning to my face. Immediately blushing from the blatant staring, but his statement only now hits me.

"I was turning the corner, wasn't expecting anyone to be there, but once again, I'm sorry." He only responds with a grunt before walking past me, returning to his shopping. Just as he passes, I notice he's wearing a similar leather vest as the bikers in the diner earlier this week.

Choosing to ignore the rude, yet strange interaction with the overly attractive brute of a man, I finish my own shopping and checkout. Spotting the stranger again through the glass doors of the supermarket, leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging from his lips as he listens to whomever is speaking on the other line of the phone call.

How can someone so beautiful appear so standoffish? Terrifying even. But often enough the most beautiful things are often the most dangerous, a lesson learned the hard way.

***

I check my phone again, 8:15, Cassidy should be here within the next fifteen minutes with Mexican takeout and tequila for our girls' night. Bryson once again has Carson, and she needs some time to unwind and forget all of her stress for a little while. So when she called me whilst I was dying my hair, I didn't hesitate to accept her offer.

Washing the dye from my hair, I watch as the black color swirls around the sink and then disappears down the drain. The first time I did this was in a motel just off the Pacific Highway in Tacoma, Washington; it wasn't the best day. I had just run away for the-

A loud banging echoes through the house, snatching a towel off the hook beside the bathroom door, I make through my bedroom and down the hallway to the front door. A quick peek through the peephole and a giddy Cassidy stands on the step. Flipping the bolt, then snatching the door open, my hands arm immediately filled with two bags full of clear bottles.

"I'm pretty sure one bottle would have sufficed, it's just the two of us." Cassidy silently makes her way past me to the kitchen, not once meeting my now suspicious gaze. "It is just going to be the two of us, right?" The multiple bags of takeout are spread across the granite countertops.

"About that. So I may have slipped up and told Cheyenne," she glances up from the task at hand before surrendering her hands in the air, "I'm sorry! She told some of the girls and they'll be here in maybe ten minutes." He southern accent getting thicker the more nervous she gets, guiltily awaiting my reaction.

"Cass. Which girls did Cheyenne tell?" Wringing her fingers together she shrugs her shoulders, making eye contact with everything but me. "Cassidy!" She rolls her eyes, sighing in exasperation; frustrated by my reluctance to move past the issue., and throwing her hands up in defeat.

"Fine!