Here’s the part where any normal person trying not to be recognized would give up and leave. Actually, a normal person wouldn’t have disguised themselves in the first place, but that’s a whole other matter. I, being a very nonnormal person, am going to have to ask the cashier and hope he’s some college kid that won’t give me a second look.
I take another fortifying breath and walk up to the counter. The guy is bent so far over a comic I can only see the top of his head, which is covered with brown, messy hair. I make an “ahem” noise to get his attention, but he doesn’t look up. I raise my sunglasses up a little to glance at the book he’s reading. I see a full splash page of Marcus. His whole body is contorted in agony as he screams—and I know he’s screaming because the speech bubble next to his head is all pointy—“NOOOOOO!!!!” I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting the book to be spoiled for me, but the damage is already done. I’m at the end of my rope.
“Do you have a copy of The Super Ones #400?” I say, abandoning my faux-guy voice.
He finally looks up, and I recognize him. Not only do I recognize him, I know him. I could probably tell you what shoes he’s wearing (black and white chucks with frayed laces) even though his lower half is hidden behind the counter. I know this because he’s kind of been my geek idol for a while now and I’ve…paid attention.
Last year, he got in trouble at school because he was wearing pornography. At least, that’s what the students were told, when in reality, he was just wearing a T-shirt sporting an Adam Hughes drawing of Power Girl. Ridiculous, I know. I mean, Adam Hughes is one of the best purveyors of the female form in comics today, even if he has a tendency to overexaggerate certain body parts.
Ever since then, I’ve had a thing for Logan Scott. Not an actual thing since I have a boyfriend and that would be bad, but he’s got these cute freckles on his nose and cheeks, probably from playing soccer—he’s the Natchitoches Central High School’s goalie—and he’s always reading, comics mostly, but every once in a while, I’ll catch him with a high fantasy book with dragons or elves on the cover. Not that I’m stalking him or anything.
He has really nice eyes, though.
His brow furrows when he looks at me. “Sorry, we’re all out.”
“Really? What’s that?” I point at the book he’s currently stuffing under the counter.
“It’s…” He trails off as he takes in the way I’m dressed. He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to see behind me. I whip around, thinking someone else is there, but the store is still empty. When I turn back, a knowing smile plays at the edges of his mouth. Sighing right now would be bad, but he has perfect boy-lips—not too full, not too thin.
He props his chin on his fist. “Do I know you?”
“Uh, no, I mean, I don’t think so. I’m just passing through town. I mean, I don’t live here or anything so how could you know me?” I say in a rush.
“Okay.” He squints like he can pull a confession out of me with his eyes alone. “That’s too bad, because this is the last copy.”
He pulls #400 out and waves it around, which sends electricity shooting through me because: (1) it’s right in front of my face, and I can see the amazing cover, and (2) the way he’s flopping it around is breaking the spine, which breaks my heart. You’d think a guy who works at a comic shop would be a little more careful.
Instinct kicks in, and I throw out my hands like he has a gun pointed at a puppy. He stops and lays the book on the counter between us.
“Why is it too bad?” I ask. “I’m a paying customer. I give you money, you give me #400. That’s how these things work.” I tentatively reach for #400, but he slaps his hand down flat on top of it.
“It’s too bad you’re just passing through, don’t live here, and don’t know me, because this is my copy, and if you weren’t just passing through, lived here, and knew me, I might let you borrow it.”
He smiles that knowing smile, and more of that electricity shoots through my body, but for completely different reasons: (1) that smile is the irresistible kind I can’t help but return, and (2) his voice has a soft, smooth quality that makes my brain turn to jelly.
I shake these thoughts from my mind when a voice in the back of my head shouts, “Quarterback boyfriend!”
“Well, by passing through, I meant visiting. I’ll probably be around for the next couple of days so I could have it back to you pretty quick.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Hmm.”
“I promise,” I blurt out, my hands clasped together. I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to begging. “I’ll have it back to you in a couple of hours even.”
There’s that smile again. He might be adorkable, but he’s not being very nice, teasing me like this.
“We’ll be closed in a couple of hours, so I’ll give you my number, and you can call me when you’re done.”
“Perfect. No problem at all.” I nod again and again until I think I’ve given myself whiplash.