The paper bags are heavier than I remember them being in the parking lot.
I haul the last two through the front door and kick it shut behind me with my heel. The bags crinkle as I set them on the kitchen counter, one after another, until the whole surface is covered in brown paper and the faint smell of produce.
I reach into the first bag, pulling out a carton of eggs and leaving them on the counter beside the carrots. The bread comes next. Then a jar of pasta sauce that is heavier than it looks.
I am reaching for the second bag when I feel it.
A presence at my back. Close. Right behind me.
Arms wrap around my waist, tight and frantic, pulling me backward into a body that radiates a soothing, cool chill.
She is sobbing. Rough and broken, muffled against my shoulder blade.
My hands freeze on the counter.
"Nicole?"
The arms tighten around me. Her face presses harder into my back, and I feel the dampness of tears soaking through my shirt.
"I am sorry," she chokes out against my back. Her voice is hoarse, shredded from crying. "Please don't leave me. I am not... I am not creepy, I swear. I won't…" A sob cuts through her words. "I won't try to put your pants on again. I promise. Just... just don't hate me."
The words hit me harder than I expect them to. I turn around slowly in her grip, her arms loosening just enough to let me rotate but not letting go completely.
Nicole's face is a mess. Tears stream down her pale cheeks in steady tracks, her white eyes somehow managing to look red-rimmed despite having no color. Her black hair hangs in tangled strands around her face. She is wearing the same flannel shirt from before, open over a band tee I don't recognize.
"Nicole," I say softly. "I don't hate you at all."
Her face crumples at my words, and a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks. She looks so completely miserable, so utterly destroyed, that my chest aches just watching her.
"But I ruined everything," she whispers. Her voice cracks on the last word. "You think I am a freak. I know you do. I tried on your pants like some kind of pervert and now you are never going to want to talk to me again and I will be alone forever and…"
"Nicole." I reach up and cup her face with both hands, cutting off the spiral. Her skin is cold against my palms, but it is that good kind of cold. Soothing. "You didn't ruin anything. I like you."
She blinks at me, tears still streaming. "What?"
"I like you," I repeat, slower this time. "I flirt with you because I like you. That's the whole reason I do it."
Her eyes widen in shock. "But... but the pants..."
"Yeah?"
"You are not disgusted with me?" Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. Not mocking, just genuine surprise at the question.
"No. Actually, I thought it was hot that you wanted to put on the pants I came in."
Nicole makes a sound that is halfway between a groan and a whimper. Her hands come up to cover her face, but she is still pressed against me.
"Don't say that," she mutters through her fingers. "You are making it worse."
"Making what worse?"
She drops her hands. Her gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"I missed you a lot, Nicole."
Her breath hitches, sharp and ragged. Her breathing picks up, coming faster and harder. I can feel her chest rising and falling against mine.
"I can't..." Her voice comes out strained, urgent. "I can't take it anymore."
"What?"
She moves so fast I don't have time to react. Her hands slam against my chest and she shoves me backward. My back hits the wall hard enough that the impact rattles through my shoulders, and then her mouth is on mine.
The kiss is fierce, consuming. Her lips crash against mine with a hunger that borders on violent. Her tongue pushes past my lips immediately, demanding entry, and I open for her without hesitation.
I kiss her back with the same intensity. My hands come up to grip her waist, pulling her closer even though there is no space left between us. Her tongue tangles with mine, feverish despite the cold of her skin everywhere else.
She tastes like nothing I have ever experienced. Not sweet or bitter or anything I can name. Just her. Just Nicole.
Her hands move from my chest to my neck, fingernails lightly catching against the collar of my shirt. She is pinning me against the wall with her whole body now, every inch of her pressed against me like she is trying to merge us into one person.
I pull back, breaking the kiss. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath.
"Nicole, I have to put away the food."
Her eyes flash with annoyance. She doesn't step away.
"Who cares about the food?" she breathes out against my lips.
Then she is kissing me again before I can respond. Her mouth claims mine with renewed fever, swallowing any protest I might have made. Her palms flatten firmly against my chest, anchoring me in place.
I kiss her back because I can't help it. Because having her pressed against me after days of silence makes my brain short-circuit.
But the eggs are still sitting on the counter. The milk too. Things that need refrigeration.
I pull away again, turning my head to the side. Her lips chase mine for a second before she registers that I am not kissing back anymore.
She makes a frustrated sound low in her throat. She pulls back.
"Fucking fine!" Her voice comes out sharp and loud enough that I flinch slightly. "I will help you put the stupid groceries away!"
She releases me and spins toward the counter, grabbing the nearest bag with both hands. Her movements are jerky, aggressive, like she is trying to physically manifest her frustration through the act of grocery handling.
I push off the wall and move to join her, but she is already pulling items out at random. A can of soup. A box of pasta. A bag of frozen vegetables that is already starting to sweat condensation.
"Where does this go?" She holds up the soup can, waving it at me.
"Pantry. The cabinet next to the…"
She is already moving, yanking open the refrigerator door instead.
"Not there," I say quickly. "That's the fridge."
"I know that!" She slams the fridge shut hard enough that bottles rattle inside. "I was just checking something!"
She stalks over to the cabinets and starts opening them one by one. The first one reveals my sad collection of plates and bowls. The second has glasses. The third is completely empty because I haven't filled it with anything yet.
She shoves the soup can into the empty cabinet and reaches for the pasta box.
"Nicole, canned goods usually go together…"
"I am helping!" Her voice splinters on the edge of a sob, and I realize she is still crying. The tears haven't stopped, just quieted down while she has been kissing me and now yelling at me.
I step forward and pull her into a hug. My arms wrap around her gently, one hand coming up to rest between her shoulder blades.
"Nicole, it's okay." I keep my voice soft, steady. "I am not turning you down. I want you just as bad as you want me."
She goes completely still in my arms. The pasta box drops from her hand, hitting the counter with a hollow thud.
"I really don't think that's true," she whispers against my chest.
"It is. I promise."
Her arms come up slowly, hesitantly, until they are wrapped around my waist. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt at my back. She is trembling.
"Okay..."