Olivia Martin thought she'd only ever need 3 things to survive her 4 years at California State University:
Her Friends, Good Grades and Photography.
But after meeting an irresistable footballer, Noah McCoy, she added two more things to her list; Noa...
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"Noah," I whined for the fifth time since we've arrived at the store.
"Yes, Angel?"
"I want to push the cart now." I've been pleading with him but all my attempts of a pouty face and sad eyes were proven futile.
"I heard you the first four times."
"Then why aren't you letting me do so?"
"Because I don't want to." He answered, rolling away from me and down another aisle.
"Please. Please. Please. Please. Please." If he wasn't going to just willing let me push the damn thing I'd just annoy it out of him. That or resort to brute force. I'd rather not attempt to tackle a 6'4" quarterback.
"What's it going to take for you to stop complaining?"
"Have you not been listening to a word I've said?" I asked, rolling my eyes at him. "Let me push the damn thing."
At this point, I was starting to get frustrated. And tackling was starting to seem like a great choice. But then this idiot had the nerve to laugh at me.
I paused to glare at him which caused him to halt as well.
"You're really cute when you get all worked up." He said. Leaning forward and resting his arms on the hand of the cart, tilting his head to look at me.
I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react to Noah calling me cute. I've been called that four-letter word numerous times and I've never known how to respond. Do I say thank you? Do I say nothing? My cheeks seemed to have a mind of its own though as heat started to spread across them.
"How about this. You hop on the cart and I'll push you around." He offered.
I pretended to think about it for a while, though I didn't need to think about it at all.
"Okay fine," I answered, "Just know that I'm not getting out to get stuff off shelves. That's your job now." I informed him, trying to climb in but failing miserably.
After a few tries and a little help, I managed to make it on.
"You good now?" He asked.
"Yes. Charge!" I shouted pointing in the direction of the toiletries aisle.
Noah chuckled, obeying my orders by entering the aisle.
"Okay, Here's Naomi's list," I said. Handing him the long sheet of paper and showing him the toiletries category.
"She categorized the list?" He asked, looking over the contents of the paper.
"She categorizes everything."
"Why does she need so many toilet papers?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. No one quite understood Naomi's obsession with have exactly what she needs when she needs, how she needs it.
