Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 80: Grocery Store

"Son of a bitch."

My whisper is like a bomb in the ensuing silence. Penelope leans over to read the text, frowning.

"I don’t get it. What’s food poisoning?"

"Mike." Turning off my phone, I toss it across the coffee table with a shudder, as if the device is somehow tainted by whoever’s messaging me. "I drove him home the other night. The same night the panther shifter appeared to warn me to be careful."

"Right. That guy. McHandsy."

My lips twitch, amused despite my anxiety. "Yes. McHandsy."

"So, what happened?"

"Didn’t show up to work. Turned out he had food poisoning." I motion toward my phone. "Maybe it’s not food poisoning."

"Or maybe it is."

I shrug.

"If it really was food poisoning, it’s like they’re trying to tell you they’re watching you, even at work."

"Yep." Popping the last sound, I rub at my temple. "Or it’s not food poisoning, and they’re telling me they can get to anyone around me."

Penelope groans. "Why can’t you catch a break?"

"I had a break." My lips twist into a wry smile. "For, like, two weeks."

"Point taken." She nods, then suddenly jerks upright. "No, you’re wrong."

I arch an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "About?"

"The weirdo in the grocery store." Her aquamarine eyes gleam.

Meanwhile, I’m left frowning in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

She huffs impatiently. "We went to the grocery store together last week, remember? You ran into the same guy like, four times in different aisles."

A vague memory surfaces—tall, kind of nerdy, wearing a loose cotton t-shirt and basketball shorts. Was he wearing glasses? Maybe he was. I can’t remember, really. I shake my head. "How does that even fit with all the strange shit surrounding me lately?"

"It was weird," Penelope grumbles, crossing her arms. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

"That’s just normal-weird. It happens sometimes. He was probably trying to hit on you." Some people do that, trying to awkwardly flirt with Penelope at the most random places.

Penelope’s face scrunches up in thought. After a moment, she shakes her head emphatically. "No, he barely even spoke to me. He only had eyes for you." She pauses, then adds reluctantly, "Though maybe he was just hoping to pick you up from a grocery store."

We exchange glances, and I can’t help but snort. "Ah yes, the classic pickup spot—between the cereal aisle and frozen foods."

"Hey, it’s a step up from bars," Penelope quips, a weak smile tugging at her lips. "Though, that would make me go broke. No, they need to stick with picking up girls at bars. That pays my bills."

"A step up?" I counter, grateful for the momentary levity. "I think you just proved it’s somehow creepier than slutting it up at your local bar. You just put it on the same level as murder."

We share a laugh, but it’s tinged with an undercurrent of unease. The brief moment of humor is already done.

* * *

Penelope reluctantly leaves for work—I had to shove her out the door—but eventually, my apartment is empty again. Except for Princess Paws, who’s recovered her energy level and batting a plastic rolling toy across the floor. It jingles as it goes, thanks to the silver bell inside.

Every move she makes is an answering jingle.

Letting her do her thing, I turn on the TV, turning to the news out of habit. But it’s all weather and basic news stories. Nothing interesting.

The jingling of Princess Paws’ toy fades into background noise as I stare at the TV, my mind wandering. My stomach growls.

Food is good. I should eat.

I drag myself to the fridge, hoping for a miracle. Opening the door reveals a sad sight—a half-empty bottle of ketchup, wilted lettuce, and something that might have been cheese in a past life.

I haven’t been grocery shopping. I meant to do it, but... Well, Logan.

Maybe there’s such a thing as too much sex. We should work on that.

"Looks like we’re going shopping, Princess."

The kitten ignores me, far more interested in her jingly toy than my culinary crisis. She has plenty of food.

I grab my keys and purse, giving Princess one last glance before heading out. The grocery store isn’t far, but the drive feels endless. My mind keeps circling back to the texts, to Mike, to... everything, and how freaking hopeless I feel.

The fluorescent lights of the store are oddly soothing, distracting me from the constant spiral of thoughts. I grab a cart, its wheel squeaking in protest as I push it down the first aisle. My eyes scan the shelves, but nothing really registers.

I pick up a can of soup, turning it over in my hands, before putting it back.

A box of pasta catches my eye. I reach for it, then pause. I always make too much and then get sick of the leftovers.

I toss it in the cart anyway, along with some sauce.

Aisle after aisle, I wander. My cart fills slowly with random items - things I think I should buy rather than things I want. It’s pathetic, really. Using a grocery run to kill time, to feel like I’m doing something productive when really, I’m just hiding from reality.

Lost in thought, I round a corner without looking. My cart collides with another with a metallic clang that echoes through the store. I jerk back, an apology already forming on my lips.

"I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—"

The words die in my throat as I look up. Familiar eyes meet mine, a slow smile spreading across a face that leaves me uneasy.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here. Isn’t it Ms. d’Armand?"

Ethan. I forgot he even existed, and seeing him outside of the police station is weird. Like he doesn’t belong here, doing mundane things.

I peek into his cart, but there’s precious little there. A case of bottled water. That’s it.

"Officer Lewis," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. "Fancy meeting you here."

His smile widens, predatory. "Indeed. I didn’t realize we shopped at the same establishment."

I grip my cart tighter. Knowing he lives in the same area I do makes me want to move, even though he’s never done anything to me—exactly. And I’m not even the one he’s interested in.

"It’s a free country. People can shop where they like."

"Of course, of course." His eyes flick to my cart, then back to me. "Stocking up, I see. Planning a dinner party?"

"Just the usual groceries," I say, forcing a smile. "Nothing exciting."

"Hmm." He leans on his cart, far too casual for my liking. "And how have you been, Ms. d’Armand? Keeping out of trouble, I hope?"

I do not want to have a conversation with this man in the middle of the store. "Always, Officer. If you’ll excuse me—"

"Is that so?" He cocks his head, studying me. "I thought you’d be more concerned."

My heart flops. He’s successfully arrested my attention. "Concerned about what?"

Ethan’s smile turns enigmatic. "If Penelope hasn’t told you, it’s not my place to do so."

My eyes narrow. My stomach clenches with worry, and my sluggish pulse speeds into an erratic rhythm. "What are you talking about?"

"Hmm." His gaze roams over me, making my skin crawl. "You know, you’re much prettier than I remember. How strange. I thought of you as plain, but you’re not, are you?"

I grip the cart handle tighter. "What’s happening with Penelope, Officer Lewis?"

He just clicks his tongue and smiles. "Have a nice day, Ms. d’Armand." With that, he pushes his cart past me, leaving me standing there, frozen.