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addicting habits. Regardless, we hadn’t exchanged contact information, so I wouldn’t be seeing him any time soon. Crisis—and possible addiction—averted.
    So there I was, after a long work week with no sleep, my cart rattling down the aisles of the liquor store.
    That’s right, I was using a shopping cart at the liquor store.
    I had a glass or two of wine every night after work and needed to replenish my stash. The pallet wine rack that hung on my kitchen wall looked sad and empty. The various bottles of wine in my cart rolled and clanged against one another as my phone beeped with an incoming text message. I pulled it from my pocket as I turned down the Moscato aisle.
    Jameson: Why don’t we get together for dinner this Sunday? It’s been awhile since we sat down with —
    My phone fell to the ground as my cart came to a jarring stop. My wine bottles toppled over, producing a chorus of clangs as they fell into one another. Looking up, I hoped to see I’d run into an aisle or end cap, but my hopes were dashed, meeting the broad chest of a man.
    Awesome.
    Fortunately, it looked like his beer hadn’t been dislodged from his arms. As I raised my hands, plastering an apologetic smile on my face, I said, “I’m so sorry, I looked down for just a second and didn’t watch where I was going and … oh, my goodness. I’m so …”
    My eyes locked on a very familiar, brilliant blue pair of eyes.
    Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
    “Ohhh shhhit,” I dragged it out, prolonging the horror that was my life at that moment.
    “Why, hello Luella. Fancy meeting you here.” Jack stared at me, his lips tilting up at the right corner. His eyes crinkled and almost gleamed in satisfaction.
    I knew I looked like a deer in headlights, and probably stopped blinking until he started speaking. My eyes were drying out and still all that fell from my lips was another, “Oh shit.” Except this time it came out as more of a whisper.
    “I’m not going to lie, this isn’t usually the type of response I get after running into a woman I’ve been so … intimate with. But then again, they also don’t usually run out on me after such a thorough fuck.”
    His lips stretched to a full on smile now. Although I knew he was laughing at me, I couldn’t help but think about how damn hot he was. My dreams just didn’t do him justice. Standing before me, wearing black slacks, a dark navy t-shirt and a black leather jacket, I was frozen, staring.
    My mind screamed at me, holy shit woman, SPEAK!
    “Hi?” A question. I literally said “hi” as a question. I shook my head trying to clear it. “ I mean, hi, Jack.” I attempted a smile, but I felt like it was coming off almost maniacal and scared. “Yeah … fancy meeting you here too. How crazy that we would run into each other. Ever again. I mean not that the chances are non-existent, but they are slim. And yet, here were are at a liquor store. Buying alcohol. Crazy. Not crazy that you drink … “ And so it began: the word vomit. I couldn’t even make eye contact anymore. With a breathless laugh, I looked anywhere but at him, sure that word vomit was the least of my worries. “I mean obviously you drink. You have that case of beer. And here I am with my drinks. All the wine.” I gestured wildly with my arms. “I mean, not all the wine. I’m not an alcoholic. I mean I’ve tried drinking myself to death, but it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Cue awkward, high-pitched, borderline insane laugh.
    I looked up to see the damage done. Although he wasn’t laughing out loud, his eyes were laughing.
    “Oh, shit .”
    I dropped my head, ashamed of my awkwardness and a little alarmed that I made a joke about being an alcoholic.
    Suddenly, a hand was on my chin, lifting my face to look at him. Somewhere during my rambling he had set his case of beer down on the floor and stepped much closer to me. His laughing eyes were replaced with thoughtful ones. We both looked at each other with