I have my share of good features: clear skin-always a bonus-and decent lips. The memory of watching all the other girls run around screeching while Kissing Peter chased after them during recess still stings a bit. It’s a terrible thing to realize that you’re the only girl whose cooties are so repellent, even the class booger-eater won’t touch you. All the way back to first grade when little Peter Bondi chased all the girls for a kiss-except me. I ought to know I’ve been overlooked by guys like him my whole life. They do not look at girls of average height, average weight, and average looks. They favor tall, thin goddesses with perfect bone structure, or diminutive elfin pixies with big eyes and perky smiles. Guys like him never look at girls like me. Nope, he definitely can’t be stalking me. I’m snagged by jade-green eyes beneath expressive dark brows before I look away, my heart thudding from being caught in the act.
Possible stalker guy glances up, his big hand wrapped around a rosy Honeycrisp, the same type of apple I’d put in my basket a moment earlier. Is he following me? The jury is still out. If I’d met him before, I’d remember his brand of hotness. It’s so strong that he seems vaguely familiar, which is just ridiculous. The guy has a luster that has nothing to do with looks but is closer to sheer magnetism. There’s something too self-possessed about him, as if he’s actively trying not to be noticed. Examine, if you will, the facts: Mega Hot Dude has appeared in every aisle that I’ve been in, but he doesn’t seem the type to follow anyone around. And, okay, maybe I’m about 80 percent sure he’s following. It’s never a good idea to shop for food when hungry everything starts to look tasty. Tall, lean, fit-at least judging by the way his coat hugs his broad shoulders-even features, good jawline. I slide a glance over the organic apple bin at the stalker in question. Though it should be freaking me out, I’m more intrigued at this point.
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