Page 17 of A Fine Line
“Hi Crew.” I mused.
I had been selfishly hoping to see him soon. Not for any reason other than I was desperate to taunt him of his obvious mustache-ry just two days prior.
He groaned, a low rumble, then spoke through grit teeth. “Hello. I didn’t know they sell witch potions here.”
The corner of my lips pulled up. “Oh yes, on aisle five right next to the cauldron I bought last week.”
His eyebrows lifted to the ceiling in a way that said ‘typical’ before he maneuvered his cart around mine, passing down the aisle I just came from. And even though I knew it would be best if I went on my way, I apparently had always had a thing for self-destruction and thought why not? I turned my cart to do a one eighty and followed right beside him.
I watched his back side as he powered through the aisle, pulling his buggy to a stop in front of the sugar. He dressed a little different than normal today. Those same shorter shorts he wore a few days ago but instead of one of those unbearable Hawaiian shirts he typically wore, his broad back was stretching out a washed out navy blue t-shirt with a bars logo. Romfuzzled. I recognized it from one of his brothers that regularly came by the trucks. Was this Crews outside work attire? Yum.
He lifted on arm up, and with a single hand grabbed an extra-large bag of powdered sugar. Strong fingers gripped the white and pink bag, wrapping around it effortless and carrying into his already full cart.
“What do you need powdered sugar for?” I asked, lifting up on my pink converse to watch him drop it in place.
“To smother you with it.”
“Sounds lovely, a beautiful way to go.”
The corner of his lip pulled a little, and even if it was at the expense of my death, it was very cute. “It will be. For the first time in years I’ll have true silence.”
I smiled at that. Crew Wells could do this all he wanted, hate me for no reason whatsoever. What he didn’t know is I had been trapped by hatred for years, and whatever game he thought he could win against me, was a lost cause. Believe it or not, I could be the bigger person. Something he didn’t allow himself to have the pleasure of experiencing.
He pushed his cart further down the aisle. I followed.
“Are you trying to figure out what to bake?”
“I’m trying to figure out the best way to get you off of my last nerve.”
I ignored that. “Because you know if you just asked I would gladly help you.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and I absolutely beamed under it. Because him asking me for help would mean admitting failure to me, something I knew he would hate most.
“You know, I met the most interesting couple the other day…guy had a really sexy mustache?”
Crew cleared his throat as he looked over to the full shelves, cheeks turning pink under my watch. “Oh?”
I hummed with my lips pushing together and took a bite of my hot dog, talking around the food. “Oh, yeah, incredible legs. Lean arms. Broad chest. Not too lean though, the kind of guy that could toss me around a bit, you know?”
Crew cleared his throat, multiple times, and looked right past me.
“It’s a shame he had a girlfriend with him though.”
“She’s not my girlfr-”
His gaze locked on mine, my knowing smirk, and instantly dropped.
“Why is it so hard to admit you need my help, Crew?”
“Because I don’t take handouts from anyone but especially someone like you.”
My chin jerked back a bit. I mean the evil witch stuff, the poisoning jokes, sure, sure, another chip off the block. But why did this time feel heavier than that? Heavier than someone just showing up and taking a fraction of his business.
“Someone like me?” I hated how my voice sounded wavy.
“Yes.” He stared directly ahead of us. “You know exactly what I mean too.”
“Um, I don’t, but okay.”