Page 35 of The Hookup Situation
“That’s pure sugar.”
“That’s pure joy, you mean.” I toss it in the cart with a thud. “What do you usually eat for breakfast?”
“Protein shake or eggs.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s efficient. I was on a super-strict training schedule for years of my life. Some habits die hard.”
“Sounds depressing,” I say. “We’re fixing your breakfast situation immediately.”
“We?”
The word hangs between us.
“Yeah,” I clarify. “Can’t have my boyfriend eating a sad-to-be-alive breakfast every morning. And what if you get hungry late at night? Cereal is always the solution.”
He chuckles.
We’re standing too close in the aisle, as Mrs. Lutcher—one of the librarians—takes photos of us with her phone.
“We should eventually practice PDA,” I say. “Small stuff. It can’t look forced.”
He steps closer, his hand coming to rest on my lower back. It’s barely a touch, but I feel it everywhere. I enjoy the heat of his palm through my shirt and how my body automatically leans into him.
“Like this?”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out breathy.
“And this?” His other hand tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering against my cheek, giving me a smile.
“That’s … that’s really good.”
“Julie?”
“Hmm?”
“At least five people are watching us.”
“I know,” I say with a grin.
We have an audience, pretending to be fascinated by pasta sauce and canned vegetables.
“Should we give them something to talk about?” I ask.
“What do you have in mind?”
Instead of answering, I rise up on my toes and kiss his cheek, letting my lips linger just a second longer than necessary. He smells like expensive cologne and coffee, and I have to resist the urge to capture his lips again.
“Perfect,” he mutters, and I’m not sure if he means my performance or something else.
We finish shopping, the cart full of a variety of foods from healthy to horrible. At checkout, Linda, the cashier, gives me a smile.
“You two are adorable together,” she says. “About time you found someone who matches you, Julie.”
“Thank you.” I try not to blush as Nick loads the bags.
“He’s a keeper,” she whispers. “Any man who lets you pick the cereal is marriage material.”
