Home Bargains Quickie

Home Bargains smelled like cheap air freshener and desperation. Perfect for my mood.

I was comparing two different types of drain unblocker—riveting Saturday night activity—when a trolley nearly took out my ankles.

"Shit, sorry!" The girl pushing it was already cringing. "These things steer like shopping trolleys. Which they basically are."

She was exactly my type—alternative, pierced to fuck, with a shaved undercut and the rest dyed electric blue. Nose ring, lip ring, eyebrow bar, probably more I couldn't see. Her Home Bargains polo clashed magnificently with her whole aesthetic.

"No worries," I said. "Ankles are overrated."

"They're really not. You need those." She parked her trolley, started loading shelves with fabric softener. "What brings you here on a Saturday night? Hot date with some Fairy Liquid?"

"Just moved into a new flat. Need literally everything."

"Ah, the big shop." She nodded knowingly. "Brutal. You want a basket or trolley for that?"

"Trolley, probably."

"Smart man. I'll grab you one." She disappeared around the corner, returned with a wonky-wheeled shopping trolley. "This one's shit but it's all we've got. I'm Zara, by the way. Shout if you need anything."

I shouted. Multiple times. Partly because I genuinely couldn't find things in this labyrinth of bargains, partly because Zara was genuinely good company.

"You're gonna need more bleach than that," she said, peering into my trolley. "New flat? Trust me. Triple it."

"Voice of experience?"

"Voice of someone who moved into a shithole in Peckham and learned the hard way." She tossed two more bottles in. "Also, these toilet blocks are better than the branded ones. Industry secret."

"You're full of secrets."

"Mate, I'm an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a minimum wage retail job." She grinned, showing a tongue stud. "Store closes in twenty. You nearly done?"

"I think so?"

She peered at my trolley, nodded approvingly. "That's a good haul. Bring it to the back till—I'll check you out."

"Is that an offer?"

Her grin widened. "Depends how good your chat is in the next twenty minutes."

The chat was apparently good enough.

After closing, Zara led me to the stockroom under the pretense of helping me carry my bags to my car. The stockroom was more maze than room—industrial shelving packed with boxes, flickering strip lighting, the hum of refrigeration units.

"This is cozy," I said.

"It's really not. But it's private." She hopped up on a stack of boxed air fryers, legs dangling. "So here's the thing. I don't usually do this. But you're fit, you're funny, and I've had a shit week. Fancy making it better?"

"What did you have in mind?"

She grabbed my collar, pulled me in, and kissed me.

Her lip ring was cold against my mouth. Her tongue stud clicked against my teeth. She tasted like energy drinks and bad decisions.

"This okay?" she breathed.

"Very okay."

Her hands were under my shirt, nails raking down my back. I found the hem of her polo, pulled it over her head to reveal a black bralette covered in little skulls.

"Cute," I said.

"Thanks, it's from Primark." She unhooked it, let it fall. Her tits were small and perfect, both nipples pierced with silver bars. "These cost more than the bra, though."

I took one in my mouth, ran my tongue around the metal. She gasped, arched into me.

"Fuck—sensitive—so fucking sensitive—"

I played with both, alternating, while she squirmed and moaned. Her hands found my belt, working it open with shaking fingers.

"Need you," she panted. "Been thinking about it all shift. You've got this whole hot dad energy thing going on."

"I'm twenty-six."

"Hot potential dad energy, then." She shoved her work trousers down, revealing black lace knickers. "Now shut up and fuck me."

I did. Right there, on the air fryers, her legs wrapped around my waist. She was vocal—really vocal—and I had to kiss her to muffle the sounds.

"Harder—yes—right there—"

She came with a muffled scream, biting my shoulder hard enough to leave marks. I followed seconds later, pulling out to finish on her stomach.

"Well," she said, wiping off with some tissues from a nearby shelf. "That was a good Saturday night."

"Better than my usual."

"What's your usual?"

"Drain unblocker and regret."

She laughed, pulled her clothes back on, then grabbed a pen from her pocket. She wrote her number on my arm in blue biro.

"I work Wednesdays and Saturdays. Come bug me. Maybe buy some more bleach." She kissed me quickly. "Now help me carry your shopping to your car before security does their rounds."

I drove home with a car full of bargains and a phone number on my arm.

Best shopping trip of my life.