We had been flirting with each other the whole time standing in line at the check out of the grocery store. He could have gone to a different line seeing as I had a whole cart of items and he only had an armful of snacks to take with him back to work. Our conversation struck up when he looked down the back of my loose fitting, worn out jogging shirt and commented on my tattoo.
"Nice owl" he said and grinned boyishly.
Any other nice girl would have been offended at being so openly checked out but I was happy to have been paid attention to.
I smiled up at him and asked "got any of you own?"
He nodded and pulled down the collar of his cotton shirt to reveal beautiful calligraphy on the lower side of his neck down towards his shoulder. It was in Gaelic.
Being naturally curious I asked "Whats it mean?"
"Die with honor."
I almost came right there. Here's the thing. I had been engaged at a ridiculously young age to a music making, sex god, pagan love machine. He had lived by the words Die With Honour. And die he did. Tragically in a drug over dose when he was 20. That was eight years ago. Since then I had married a wonderful, more conventional man and had a baby. Life was good. Not spectacular, but good enough for me. Never again did I hear the words die with honour until that monotonous Wednesday at the store. It was like my fiancé's gods were keeping an eye on me to send me a treasure.
And what a treasure. At least 6'4 and handsome. Dark blond hair that needed brushed. Huge hands that hinted to something artistic and brown eyes that captured me. The tattoo was a nice touch.
"Are you ok" he asked slightly concerned.
I waved it off "Oh yeah. Sorry I was not expecting to hear that at all." I smiled and loaded my things onto the conveyor belt. We talked about the crappy music in the store and how many tatts each of us had. The cashier must have been new as she was taking a long time with my produce but neither of us minded. He seemed to be enjoying talking to someone about something other than how many sheets of drywall was needed or who to hire as a landscaper. He worked for a contractor in town. He asked what I did. I'm a manager for a well known retail store in our town. I was sad to see that the cashier had finally finished I would have to leave. I paid, said bye and pushed the cart outside.
The weather had decided to throw a fit today, complete with clouds and lots of wind. I wasn't wearing a bra, being only an A I usually don't when just running errands. But with the wind I was sure I would flash somebody. So of course, the wind whipped up my shirt before I could grab it and I had flashed Hottie from the Line. He grinned as he walked up to me, his three items had taken a fraction of the time to ring up as mine had. Setting his bag in my cart he asked where my car was and steered the cart to it. I loaded it up quick and turned to thank him for helping me, and I stopped.
I must not have noticed talking to him before, but I noticed now. I was dripping wet. If it hadn't been so windy I'm sure he would have smelled me. He was so good looking, and he had been so sweet to push the cart I reached up, standing on tip toes and lightly kissed his mouth.
He was a bit shocked at first. He held still for a moment as if getting used to the idea of kissing a stranger then slipped his hands around my waist. It was a bit of a stretch for him as I am only 5'4 but he did it. His tongue crept out to taste mine and I moaned. His hands grasped me to him and he pressed his body hard on mine making me lean back onto my car. He was getting hard I could feel it. I could feel one hand tangling itself in my hair in an effort to pull me closer to him. I moaned again this time producing a groan from him.
A car honked at us breaking me out of my temporary insanity.
