But she doesn’t wait and turns to face the two assholes, squaring her shoulders.
And god damn…she’s breathtaking. Looking past the red and gold polyester vest she wears with a name tag—clearly a uniform—I see her face is flawless. Creamy skin that glows, high cheekbones, a straight nose that tilts slightly at the end, and full lips that look sexily puffed even though they are flattened in a grimace. Her hair is not blond, but not brown. I’d describe it as caramel with honey streaks and it’s pulled back from her face in a ponytail with a low fall of bangs falling from left to right across her forehead.
While she faces the two men resolutely, I can see wariness in her eyes as she sets the cigarettes and condoms on the counter in front of them. “Will that be all?”
Her voice has a southern accent but it’s subtle. She looks back and forth between the two men, refusing to lower her gaze.
Redneck number one nods to the twelve-pack of beer he had placed on the counter and says, “That was the last of the Coors. You got any in your storage room?”
“Nope, that’s it,” she says firmly, and I can tell it’s a lie.
“Are ya sure?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter and leering at her. “Maybe you could check…I could help you if you want, and we could make use of them condoms there.”
I’d roll my eyes over the absurdity of that attempt to woo a girl who is way out of his league, but I’m too tense over the prospect that this could be more than just some harmless goofing by some drunk rednecks.
“What do you say, sweet thang?” he says in what he tries to pass as a suave voice but comes off as trailer trash.
“I say there’s no more beer back there,” she grits out, gives a look over her shoulder to the closed door, and then back to the men.
And that was a worried look.
A very worried look, so I decide that this isn’t going any further. Grabbing the closest bag of chips my hand makes contact with, I stalk up the aisle toward the counter as I pull my hat off with my other hand. I tuck it in my back pocket, and when I’m just a few feet from the men, the woman’s eyes flick to me, relief evident in her gaze. I smile at her reassuringly and flick my eyes down to her name tag.
Julianne.
Pretty name for a really pretty girl.
The sound of my footsteps finally penetrates and both men straighten to their full heights, which are still a few inches below mine, and turn my way. My eyes go to the first man, then move slowly to the other, leveling them both with an ice-cold glare. With the power of my gaze, I dare both of them to say something else to the beauty behind the counter.
Because I suspect the only sports these guys watch are bass fishing tournaments and NASCAR, I’m not surprised neither one recognizes me as the Carolina Cold Fury’s starting goalie. Clearly the lovely Julianne doesn’t either, but that’s also fine by me.
The sound of Julianne’s fingers tapping on the register catches everyone’s attention and the two men turn back to her. “That will be $19.86.”
One of the guys pulls a wallet from the back pocket of his saggy jeans and pulls out a twenty, handing it to her wordlessly. Now that they know there’s an audience, neither one seems intent on continuing the crass game they were playing. At least I think that was a game, but I’m just glad I was here in case their intentions were more nefarious.
Julianne hands the guy his change and they gather their purchases and leave without a word.
As soon as the door closes, her shoulders drop and she lets out a sigh of relief. Giving me a weak smile, she looks at the bag in my hand and says, “Is that all?”
“Uh, no actually,” I say as I give her a sheepish grin. “Got distracted by those assholes.”
“Yeah,” she agrees in a tired voice, brushing her long bangs back before turning away from me to an open cardboard box she has sitting on a stool to her left. She reaches in, pulls out a carton of cigarettes, which she efficiently opens, and starts stocking the rack of cigarettes behind the counter. I’m effectively dismissed and there’s no doubt in my mind she doesn’t know who I am.
I head back down the chip aisle, grab a bag of Corn Nuts, and continue straight back to the sodas. I grab a Mountain Dew, never once considering the diet option, because that would totally destroy the point of having a junk food night, and then head over to the candy aisle. I grab a Snickers and I’m set.
When I get to the counter, she must hear my approach, as she turns around with the same tired smile. Walking to the register, her eyes drop to the items I drop on the counter, robotically scanning the price of each. I watch her delicate fingers work the keys, taking in her slumped shoulders as she rings in the last item and raises those eyes back to me.
They’re golden…well, a light brown actually, but so light as to appear like a burnished gold, maybe bronze.