Page 23 of The Breaking Pointe
“Her name is Noelle.She was at the fight.She’s a dancer, I think, with long, reddishhair.It’s kind of curly, too,”I say.
“Noelle Mayberry?”he asks.
I shrug. “Yeah…how do you know that?” “Sheesh, Colton…”
I look at him, stiffening my face so I don’t show my curiosity for his concern.
“Uh, well, anyhow, she danced with me and then her friend took her away. She seemed in a rush,” I say as we walk into the market.
“Just be mindful, my guy. That’s Daniel’s girl, and I hear she’s got baggage.Or she was his girl?They’re wishy- washy—either way, it’s some bullshit you don’t want parts of,” he says, tightening up his tone of voice.
“Daniel? I beat his ass once. I doubt he wants that again.Besides, she was a free agent that night. Why else would she
havedonethat?”Iask,playingmywordswittingly.
Trey shakes his head.“Nah.See, women don’t operate like that.She probably digs the attention.Two men who box, boxing over her? Think about it,” he suggests.
I titter quietly under my breath, taking in his ideas.He could be right.Unfortunately, these are the things I’m careless about.The only thoughts in my brain at this moment are what steps I have to take to make her mine. And trust me, I’m something of a persistent man.
Weeventuallydecidetosplitupinthemarket,aswe need different things. As I pick through some strawberries, little conversations ensue around me. Moms picking snacks for their kids as they beg for the latest candies and sugar- filledsweets.Youngcouplesthrilledtofinallyshopfor themselves—when, little do they know, the prices are abso- lute hell. Then there are other men like me, some probably single, and others aimlessly fighting their way to the end of their wives’ shopping lists or just trying to get a meal for the day.All of this is what makes a grocery store pretty damn reassuring and wholesome to be in.We’re all collectively just wanting the same thing.
But a voice—subtle, yet honeyed—catches my ear. Turn- ing my head, I gaze down the aisle I’m in, following it.A small-framed, young woman with red hair water-falling down her back is approaching the vegetable section right next to me, sending a voice message.
This has to be a sick joke.
I nearly break my neck, snapping it back on the strawber- ries in front of me.I don’t want to seem too eager to turn my head again, so I gently start to set my strawberries in my basket, glancing as inconspicuously as possible. Which
isn’t as inconspicuous as I thought.She is invested in her shopping, though, which ultimately gets me a pass.
I didn’t need to see her entire face, because the hair said it alone. It’s exactly who I thought it was. Her voice is just too memorable. Even with the blaring music and a few drinks in my system, she had an unforgettable charisma that I just couldn’t shake. And the same, overstimulating butterflies I had that night are beginning to make a return.
Picking up an apple, I try to make myself look busy. Really, I’m taking time to steal some more looks at her, hoping she doesn’t notice. Her long curls bounce around as she whips her attention to different products. Something like a gazelle if I’ve ever seen one. Not one move is distasteful or coarse. Even while shopping for food. How do you look that perfect while shopping for food?
What would I even say to her?She’s more than sure of herself, making her not easy to persuade into a nice date. So, I can assume approaching her on a sober tip might be just as difficult. But I’ve been rejected an embarrassing number of times in the past, so this wouldn’t be a first. I don’t want her to give me the time of day because I persuaded her to, either. I want her to want me. For me. Not some façade.
My timing is beginning to run out. I watch as she throws some lettuce into her cart before walking into another section.
Don’tbeacreep,Colton.Don’tfollowher,that’sweird.
As much as my brain is thinking logically, my body is in no mood to follow suit.Slowly, I make my way behind her, now able to approach her. I have no idea what the hell I’mgonna say, yet I know I need to get her attention first. And fast.
She makes it to a shelf filled with different pasta noodles, coincidentally, reaching for a box that is a tad too high for her liking. Perfect opportunity.
I step up until I’m behind her, not hesitating to grab the box she set out for.Once I have it in hand, I drop a fixed look onto her, setting it in her cart as I half smile.
“Having a little trouble there, huh?” I ask, trying to ease into conversation.
She vacantly looks at me, trying her hardest to examine me. For a moment it feels like she genuinely doesn’t remember me. Which would honestly suck. But that isn’t it at all.
She lets out a small breath, furrowing her eyebrows.“Are you following me or something?”she asks, grasping
her cart as she watches me with pouted lips like she’s got a bone to pick with me.
I huff softly, still smiling. Sassy and beautiful. Right up my alley.
“Not at all,” I reply, blatantly lying as if I wasn’t just following her. “I’m also here shopping, as one does when they need food.Just thought I would lend a hand.I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing new. Guys must be constantly trying to help you, right?” I ask, now flashing some teeth with my grin.
She glares at me, her face noticeably reddening by the second.
