He Loves Me Not (BWWM Interracial Couple Story)

Chapter 5

Chapter 5: ALEX

"Clean up on aisle 2."

I placed my three items on the grocery belt as the same announcement went off for the third time.

Milk, eggs, orange juice. That's it right? I had this feeling that I was forgetting something even before I had entered the super market, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I was lost in my mind, trying to think of what I could possibly be missing when the tall, blonde woman in front of me turned around. She was dressed as if she had went running or cycling before coming to the store, with tight grey athletic leggings, a matching grey lightweight hoodie, and only a purple sports bra underneath. She was practically cheesing while batting her false eyelashes at me.

"Wow, someone should really clean up that mess, don't you think?" She said, in a seductive manner. Before I could even answer her, she blurted out, "My name's Jennifer, but you can call me Jen."

Not this again.

I've never really been one for wanting attention, at least not being the center of it. That was never a problem when I was younger. When I was little, I grew up being known as the fat, weird, quiet kid with a crazy case of "snaggle teeth". My mom always tells me that she thought I was adorable but she had to; she was my mom. By the time I reached puberty, my weight turned a complete 360, and I lost a lot of it through swimming and running, however I gained no muscle. So I went from being the fat, weird, quiet kid with messed up teeth, to the lanky, weird, quiet kid with messed up teeth. My parents decided to get me braces which I had to wear for about five years, and I soon discovered my need for glasses, so then I became the lanky, weird, quiet kid with braces and huge-ass nerd glasses. To sum everything up, I grew up as a complete and total loser. I honestly don't think I would have minded it as much if I hadn't been constantly picked on for it. I got picked on so much to the point where I refused to cut my hair so I could have something to hide behind. I would've much rather been overlooked than bullied, but I can't change the past.

About two-and-a-half years ago, I decided to change my appearance. Not so much to change who I was, like most people who get makeovers want to do. I didn't want to become a self-centered jerk who made people feel bad about themselves. I just wanted to make the most out of my appearance so that at the very least, I would stop being insulted. So, I joined a gym where I bulked up (but I try to maintain a balance between being muscular and being like the Hulk; I don't want to scare people away). I was able to get my braces removed, which made a huge difference. I cut my hair, got a prescription for contacts, and bam! It was as if all the bullies never even existed, and I could roam the earth at peace without being bothered. Or at least I felt like this until I started getting hit on all the time. By every freaking woman I encountered. I was even hit on a few times by men. Each time, I'm extremely flattered, but also a bit saddened because I know for a fact none of these people would've even wanted to spare a second glance my way had I looked like how I use to.

Being told that you're attractive is something I'm still confused by. I'm not used to it. When it happens, I can't help but to feel a bit uncomfortable and self-concious. I try to be as kind as possible, and I always make sure to thank the person. But then, sometimes there are the really desperate women. The women who make it easy for me to tell that they just want to get inside of my pants. I don't care for these women at all, and although I still try to be outwardly chivalrous and remember my manners, internally, I'm calling them all sorts of names. Of course I can't help but to feel guilty afterwards.

From the look of it, Jen was one of these desperate women.

"Um, it's... nice to meet you... Jen?" I honestly didn't even want to offer up my name. She smirked then, leaning way too close to me as she put her left hand square on my chest and slid her right hand into my back pocket. Was she really this desperate, or was she trying to mug me?