"Don't fucking touch that!" I scolded, practically launching the pasta sample out of Hudson's outstretched hand. "We only have twenty minutes until this Costco is packed with the church crowd, and I'd rather not explain to Susie May Stanton why I'm buying a bulk-sized box of condoms."
"You're being extra paranoid..." Hudson huffed, glancing forlornly at the carbohydrate carnage I'd waged across the frozen foods aisle.
The pharmacy and contraceptive section of the warehouse store was located in the furthest possible corner from the entrance. Not that it was really much of a surprise. Nothing in Vertie was easy. Especially not something as sinful as safe sex. If God wanted you to have a baby, then it was meant to be. It didn't matter if you were sixteen or sixty-five. Three pumps and you were done for....or so I'd heard. Hudson and I still hadn't gotten to that point of the porno. The penetration portion. The point of no return. Not that I was nervous for it. I was ready. My heart was just hammering between tampons and Tylenol in anticipation.
"What size do you think we should get?" I lowered my voice like I was in some super secret sting operation. As if my black Vertie hoodie and black sweatpants weren't a dead give away.
Hudson on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb in his neon yellow Metallica t-shirt and ripped up black jeans.
"Definitely not these..." He smirked as he passed a regular sized box.
"Or these..." He passed the scented ribbed kind.
He grabbed a box that screamed words like Magnum and bragged that 'it feels like nothing was there'. My eyes darted from aisle to aisle, waiting for Susie Stanton to pop out and throw holy water on us.
"These could work..." He flipped over the box a couple of times, reading the fine print like it was Pulitzer Prize winning.
"Great!" I snapped, snatching the condoms and tossed them into our oversized cart. They looked so small, yet so freaking obvious. Like a neon yellow arrow pointing at our plans to do...it.
"We need to hide them....need to buy something else!" I hissed nearly running over Hudson's massive combat boot on my way toward the overflowing clothing bins.
Combinations of nylon, and cotton, and spandex littered the twelve by twenty four foot space. Some of the carnage screamed Vertie pride, while the rest was more subtle in it's approach. I veered toward a section of all black and plaid, void of any identifying emblems.
"I don't really need anything..." Hudson smirked as I picked up and dropped down clothing left and right, searching for the ideal cover. He was cool, calm, and fucking collected and I wanted to deck the guy. How could he be so at ease about all of this?
"Well, I could actually use a fresh pair of pajamas for tomorrow." I spotted a perfect pink and purple striped set two rows over. The only problem was that they were situated directly next to a tall athletic specimen of a man. Bryce Hall. Fanfuckingtastic.
"Bailey!" He waved from across the mound of clothing.
On any other planet, I would've turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, but southern manners were more deeply ingrained than self-preservation.
I blindly grabbed the striped pair I had my eye on and another set of men's black joggers in the next bin over.
"Bryce Hall." I smiled easily, despite the box of latex hidden beneath my mound of polyester.
"You know you can just call me Bryce." He smirked, crossing his buff arms over his chest and I only half-pretend not to stare.
"Or you could just call him douche bag asshole." Hudson muttered beside me and I gifted him an elbow in the side.
YOU ARE READING
The Impact of Intimacy
Romance***ONGOING*** Being the only virgin left in small town, Texas was a major fucking buzz kill. Bailey Sawyers didn't get invited to parties, she didn't get to gossip with the girls, and Bryce Hall certainly never looked in her direction. Which was wh...
