I snatch the flier and walk through the hallway, reading the contents on the paper. Part time position with minimum wage, flexible hours, discount on running goods (which I’ll never use), and the possibility for growth. Sounds perfect. I hold the paper to my chest, walking down the steps and towards the small kiosk at the bottom floor.
I’m absolutely starving after only eating granola bars for dinner the night before and staving off breakfast for a late lunch. I look at the time. 4:00 in the afternoon. That is quite a late lunch, but looking at the prices and remembering the very few dollars I had in my bank account reminds me that I couldn’t just splurge on a giant mocha and a piece of cheesecake. My stomach grumbles and I look at the flier again. If they hired me tomorrow I would have money in my bank by next Saturday. Then I could get all the candles and giant mochas a girl could ever need.
But I don’t like running. I’m not an athlete. I’ve never worked in retail and even if I did, I wouldn’t have any idea on how to sell running shoes to wealthy jocks. But you need money Rachel. Money makes the world go round Rachel. Especially your world. And it would be so easy. I wouldn’t have to wait tables and deal with low tips. I could sit at the desk and smile while ringing up socks and tennis shoes. Maybe there wouldn’t be too many customers either.
I buy myself a small peanut butter and jelly sandwich and shove it in my mouth while walking through the quad and towards the quaint college town in the distance bordering it. The bright yellow Fleet Feet Sports flag flaps in the wind in front of the small opening to the store making it easy to spot. I push through the door, the bell ringing, but no one coming to answer its call. There are several students surrounding the shoes, a stack of them piling next to one customer in particular. Thin girls in yoga pants walk around in bright yellow and pink shoes, one running on a treadmill next to the wall.
I go to the desk, waiting for whomever it is taking their sweet time to come on the floor. I guess they are busy. Probably won’t be spending too much time at the desk, but still. Money is money.
In the mean time I stare at the assortment of gels in front of me. The name on the packaging spells out GU. Now is that GU as in goo? Or is it just the letters GU? They are all different flavors ranging from chocolate, peanut butter, strawberry-banana, cucumber mint. I pick up one, smooshing the package in-between my fingers and inwardly gag. Why would anyone ever eat this crap? I drop it down into the box on the table and turn to the assortment of Fitbit and Garmin watches locked behind a glass door.
$500 for a sports watch? I grimace. That’s crazy. How can I sell this stuff? All of it is crazy.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I hear a familiar voice behind me.
No.
I don’t want to turn around. In fact, I outright refuse to turn around. It better not be him. I grind my teeth and hiss at the feeling of my nails digging into my palms. That better not be who I think it is.
I chance a glance over my shoulder and inwardly groan. It is him.
I watch Seth Garcia bring out several boxes to the blonde girl sitting next to the pile of already opened shoe boxes. His brown hair is sticking up in tufts and he wears a grey Fleet Feet shirt tight enough to expose his lean chest muscles under his varsity jacket. He has a nice smile, a sneaky little thought whispers in the back of my head and I scowl, wanting to smack myself out of whatever spell he had put over me. He is a complete asshole.
I sigh and with slumped shoulders I begin my gloomy exit towards the door. There is no way I can live and work with him. My stomach grumbles and I close my eyes at its reminder of my lack and need of money. I stare at the exit, longing to walk through it. I really, really, really do not want to go up to him and ask for an application. Actually, I don’t want to talk to him at all except for at the end of the school year when I return my keys and wish him a nice life. But I take a deep breath and remind myself of the giant mochas, the fairy lights, and the scented candles.
And I turn myself around, roll back my shoulders, and take the few steps towards the cash register, where he is currently ringing up the blonde girl purchasing two pairs of shoes. You can do this, Rachel. Do it for the candles.
4
SETH
“Alright, you’re all set,” I say, my smile breaking my face while I hand the bag to the hot looking bitch with the see through pink tank top. No bra and her tits are completely visible. She leans them over the table, giving me an ample view of her cleavage. Nice. “Have a nice day…” I look at her meaningfully. I already gave her my number on the Fleet Feet card I stashed in her bag. Not that I really need her name, but bitches sometimes need a little effort in order to get them into bed. Or up against a window. Outside bent over a bench. Whatever it took to get my dick wet.
“Lisa,” she giggles.
“Lisa,” I repeat.
She gives me one last smile, before turning on her heel and making her way to the door. Her ass sways magically back
