Flabbusted

Things had been moving fast.

From the moment she had mistakenly grabbed his trolley and taken it to the checkout, and he had breathlessly chased after her, bringing up the rear with her trolly in tow to explain the mix-up, there had been an explosive attraction.

The way his hair tumbled across his eyes. Oh, and those eyes. The colour of honey in sunlight shaded by the thickest black lashes she had ever seen.

Amid blushes and apologies, giggles and furtive glances over comparable grocery selections, she quietly praised the saints that she had stoically passed on the two bars of Cadburys she had considered but not popped in with her shopping.

Her cart looked positively healthy, fruit, broccoli, fish, lean steak, canned tuna. His, except for a couple of large packets of crisps, was similarly virtuous.

Groceries untangled and returned to their rightful owners, they had gone for coffee, which moved into lunch.

She chose the salad and entirely distracted by his smooth tanned skin, chiseled hands, sinuous forearms, and full soft lips, didn’t feel the absence of a crusty bread roll or some fried chicken.

Several, maybe four diet-friendly white wine spritzers later, they were in his apartment. She had managed about 5000 steps on the walk there, a big bonus, so it cancelled out the many sips of French brandy that seemed to free her of every inhibition.

Lights dimmed, lips locked, his warm hands slid under her skirt, rolling down her control brief and setting her body free.