An Angel Wears Hightops [A Sequel to The Devil Wears Girl Jeans]

An Angel Wears Hightops (Chapter 9)

“Quick question, but why the hell did you think taking me here would cheer me up?” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Because,” Mickey informed me from where he was sitting in the shopping cart, being pushed by a very grumpy Poe, “Grocery shopping is fun, and you needed to get out of the house.”

“I was actually really content with sitting in the bathtub listening to the same album on repeat and drinking pineapple juice, for your information.”

“I don't want to sound like an asshole, but I paid for that pineapple juice out of my own money.” Poe muttered, narrowing his eyes at me in contempt as he turned down the snack aisle. I watched him with mild disinterest as he swept his arm across one of the shelves, scooping five bags of cool ranch Doritos into the cart on top of Mickey, who let out a surprised yelp.

“Mick, did you just eat all the doughnuts? We haven't even paid for those yet.” Poe groaned, tossing a few bottles of Dr. Pepper in to the cart as well, probably because they inflicted more damage than the bags of chips had.

“...No.”

“The powders all over your pants. I can see it, don't lie to me.”

“That's cocaine.” Mickey said quickly, stashing the empty doughnut box under one of the shelves. Poe rolled his eyes and continued down the aisle, not bothering to wait and see if I was following.

I stayed where I was for about 30 seconds, having little desire to go after them, but eventually sighed and pushed off the rack I was leaning against. I managed to make it about 10 feet before something knocked in to me, nearly sending me to the ground.

“What the hell?” I gasped, looking up just as a tall, muscular guy in a baseball hat entered my line of view, regarding me as if I was a cockroach, or at least some other organism that was equally unpleasant. I guessed that he was probably in his 20's, and would've been fairly attractive if it wasn't for the thick scar that started in his hairline and ran diagonally across his face, cutting through his top and bottom lips, and coming to a stop just under his jaw.

“Watch it,” he grunted, even though he was the one who'd hit me, and then under his breath, tacked on, “bitch.”

He flipped up his hood and slunk away, hands in his pocket. Part of me felt like screaming every curse word in my vocabulary at him, but the other half of me just wanted to get back to Poe and Mickey. I was so emotionally exhausted from all the incident with Dallas last week that I didn't even have the energy to pick a fight with someone, which was really sad considering picking fights was one of my favourite things to do.

I jogged to catch up to Poe and Mickey, who had relocated to the pudding section, still rattled from the encounter with the scarred guy.

“Serious question, how many packs of pudding would it require to fill a bathtub?” Mickey asked Poe, who rolled his eyes and started pushing the cart forward again just as Mickey screeched and fought to grab as many pudding cups as he could before Poe steered him out of arms reach of them.