Page 36 of Calling the Shots

“Hey!” A familiar, tinkly voice stops me in my tracks, my fingers brushing against hers as we both grip the greasy paper bag.

Gracelyn.

And she’s every bit as beautiful as she is in my dreams, wearing tight jeans and a satin blouse, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. Bright, blue eyes shining beneath the fluorescent lights of the grocery, she stares straight at me, hand on her hip.

“I was gonna buy that.” She points at the chicken we’re both clutching, her pretty bow lips scrunched up.

I shift my weight, not loosening my grip on the bag. “Me too. How about a sub instead?” I tip my head in the direction of the meat counter and she frowns.

“Not really feeling it tonight.”

“Huh. Could be a problem. Maybe they have more chicken in the back.”

Gracelyn waves at the woman behind the counter and she sidles up behind the display.

“Yes, honey?” The woman squints at the two of us from behind her oversized glasses. “What can I do for ya?”

“Do you have any more rotisserie chicken?” Gracelyn asks in the sweetest voice possible, not a trace of aggravation in her tone.

“Sorry, sugar. It’s late. What’s out is all we’ve got.”

Gracelyn blinks once, twice, exhaling a tiny sigh. “Well, shoot. Thanks, anyway.”

She glances over her shoulder at me, not loosening her grip on the bag. “Looks like this is the last chicken.”

“Appears so.” My lips quirk in amusement as Gracelyn’s foot taps double-time on the linoleum.

“How about we play Rock/Paper/Scissors for it?” She tips her chin up at me.

I quirk a brow, somehow managing to hold in a chuckle. “You want to play a game for the chicken?”

“Yeah. Unless you’re willing to cede to me right now.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” Mouth set in a tight line, she has on her game face now and it’s fucking adorable.

“I didn’t say I’d play.” I lick my lip, stringing her along.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s only fair.”

I exaggerate a sigh, shrugging. “Fine. I’ll play the damn game.”

“Best out of three.”

“Okay.” I nod at the bag. “But you’re going to have to let go of the bird.”

She narrows her eyes, debating the wisdom of that move. Like I’m going to steal the chicken when she lets go or something.

“You are too.”

“Obviously.” I loosen my grip and she follows suit, both of us backing away from the warming display.

“Alright, on the count of three—” Gracelyn squeezes her fist, ready for battle. “One, two, three!”

We both shoot our hands out, Gracelyn’s palm flat and mine squished into a tight ball.

“Yes!” She pumps her fist in the air, victorious. “Paper beats rock. Let’s go!”

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