A/N: So, this is a oneshot, but I'm not really sure whether to expand it? I kind of planned to, but I'm not sure. Anyway, leave a review and thank you for reading!

I never looked that sexy in a uniform, I thought to myself shamelessly. I wasn't quite sure what to feel, looking at that boy. Part of me was a little bit jealous, more of me wanted to grab that hot piece of ass and fuck him senseless. Or something.

Mostly just something.

It was kind of stupid, in a way. He was actually making me flustered, and I really didn't like that. I mean, I'm Jean Kirschtein. I'm supposed to cruise in; all charm and two-tone hair and nipple piercings. I'm supposed to smooth talk the pants off every faggot I meet, literally. I'm not supposed to get flustered.

That's how I imagined myself, anyway. I guess, sometimes, that's how I am, but this guy was totally throwing off my game. All freckles and smiles and too-white teeth. Rippling muscle and perfectly proportioned hands. Fuck those hands, or maybe, fuck, those hands. I wasn't entirely sure.

To distract myself from feeling distinctly unruffled (my face was getting red, for fuck's sake), I stared down at my grocery list and pretended to read it. I skimmed the scrawled words absentmindedly, trying not to think of what was underneath that boy's green supermarket uniform. Hot dayum, it was difficult not to let my mind wander casually into his pants. Nevertheless, I tried my absolute best to focus singularly on the crumpled paper in my hand.

It wasn't like I really needed to read my grocery list anyway. I'd recited it so many times, in so many different stores, to so many different people, that I knew it completely off my heart. That list practically plagued my dreams. Mentally, I cleared my throat: Soy Milk, Brown Sugar, Lube, Grapes, Chocolate, Nuts, Green Apples and Barbecue Tofu.

I'd managed quite easily to procure every item on the list - even the lube - except the fucking barbecue tofu. Seven different supermarkets, seven different selections of vegetarian products, and not a single one had the goddamn tofu. Except this one. Reaching to grab the final three packets of soy-ey goodness felt like the resolution to some evangelical quest or something, like Monty Python and The Holy Grail. Or whatever. That was probably a shitty comparison.

But anyway, I was so caught up in my epic tofu saga or whatever that I didn't notice the line to the checkout had jerked forwards. There was that smoking hot guy again, beckoning me forwards impatiently...

Sheepishly, I shuffled forwards and places my tofu on the conveyor belt, trying not to look Mr Checkout Chick in the face. Instead, I let my eyes drift down to his name-tag, cheerfully adorned with a rainbow flag sticker holy shit he's gay too. Before I could stop myself, my eyes widened and my head snapped up and I was looking "Hi, My Name's Marco" right in the eyes.

Marco seemed to have caught what I was staring at and reached with a long finger to pick at the sticker self consciously. His facial expression melted into one that was halfway between a kicked puppy and an angry Rottweiler. I was worried he'd misunderstood my surprise.

"Do you have a problem?" His voice was deep, but it had a certain lightness to it, and I couldn't help but like the way he skimmed delicately over each syllable. I felt my eyebrows crinkle together habitually, wrinkling in the middle and lighting my face up with a kind of surly confusion.

"No, no... I'm, uh, I'm like that too."

Wow, Jean, 'like that?' What are you, a middle school student?

I bit my lip and tried to smile in a way that mirrored him, but I found myself struggling with the innocence in the grin and gave up. His eyes brightened, though, and he literally turned that frown upside down. Like, I could see the whole rotation, the way his mouth just turned over into a perky, devastatingly cute little grin.

"Oh, sorry! I guess I'm just hypersensitive and used to negative stuff," he apologised and finished his sentence with this kind of 'chuckle,' for that was the only word for it.

I couldn't help but smile for real this time. Marco was opening his mouth to say something else when the customer behind me in the line started really obviously tapping her foot and looking at her watch, in a display of frustrating and extremely rude impatience. We both turned to look at her; Marco innocently and I somewhat maliciously. I meant to appear angry, but part of it was just the way I looked - my dark, thin eyes and small, turned-down mouth gave me a perpetually annoyed quality.

The customer raised her eyebrows and spoke in a drawling manner, stringing her words together and playing with her red curls. "Can y'all hurry it up a little bit?" I was about to have a go at her, but Marco jumped in with a slightly bashful Yes, sorry, of course ma'am.

He handed me my bag and I was suddenly conscious of how odd it was to just buy three packets of barbecue tofu and nothing else, but there wasn't anything I could really do. I payed him quickly with a handful of coins, but as he reached to take the money, our fingers brushed like in one of those tacky romance stories. Except, not quite - I jerked back in alarm at the jolt of static that passed between us. "Shit," I muttered, sucking my finger. Marco had started apologising profusely, but I shook my head and silenced him with a few reassuring, if gruff, words of my own. I offered up yet another smile - my supply was running out - and finally handed him the coins.

By now, the impatient woman was getting seriously pissed, so I hurriedly bustled away. As I went, Marco mumbled a shy "see you," which admittedly made my hopes soar. I nodded my head over my shoulder at him and made my way out of the supermarket, thoughts ruled more by my dick than my brain.

I took a second to lean against the wall and rifle through my bag. The packets of tofu rustled comfortingly in the bottom of it. My hand brushed against the receipt and I pulled it out as I started walking, ready to pin it into my "How-I-Irresponsibly-Spend-My-Limited-Money" book.

After wrenching the door of my significantly unreliable Chrysler Neon open, I flopped onto the squishy/foamy seat and fumbled for my notebook. I uncrumpled the receipt and was about to unceremoniously stuff it into the rather overfull pages, when I noticed another piece of paper was folded inside the top of it. Rolling my eyes and expecting an extra bill or something (that would be just my luck), I carefully extracted and unfolded it.

My heart jumped kind of embarrassingly in my chest, like I was a fucking twelve year old girl or something. I mean, it was seriously no big deal. I got guy's numbers all the time all the goddamn time. I got guy's dicks all the goddamn time.

Why on earth was Marco's number, staring innocently up at me from the sheet of paper, making me so fucking flustered?

Stupid, sexy checkout chick.