Floss // A Harry Styles AU

twelve

On Friday afternoon, the handsome but rather irritating 'Darren' was called to pick up his car. I'd done exceptionally well in avoiding having anything to do with it, too. Zara wasn't even the one that serviced it - Dad did it for me, and called him straight afterwards. I hadn't told him about Darren and his rather forward behaviour with me the other day - I'd rather him see it for himself. If Darren was anything like Frank, he wouldn't peacock when another man was around.

It was a sticky kind of hot today. I was uncomfortable working and most interactions with people had irritated me, so I was doing my best to keep conversation to a minimal. I hated the humidity like this. Part of me wanted to close but I couldn't afford to lose a day's work like that - not after buying that unassuming puppy.

Bongo seemed to be struggling more than I was. I'd locked him in the office with two fans to make sure he didn't overheat. Either me or Dad were also constantly topping up his water because he was drinking it so quickly. I didn't really know what else to do. It was better than leaving him in the car.

I was eyeing up the hosepipe on the forecourt while I downed an entire bottle of water when Darren turned up. I didn't realise who it was at first, mostly because it was so bright outside that I couldn't see. I was squinting a lot.

He wasn't wearing a suit today - instead a pair of bright Hawaiian board shorts, flip flops and a gaping vest. He might as well not have been wearing a vest. He looked ridiculous.

"It's hot, innit?" He asked with a weirdly smug grin.

He was a fine one to talk. He wasn't the one wearing overalls as well as a t-shirt.

I didn't answer him, instead wandering inside to find his key and the invoice for him so I could get rid of him as quickly as possible. He lingered outside of the office while I did so, and I ignored the fact that I could feel him staring at me.

"Sweat looks good on you." He commented as I handed him the invoice and the key.

I chose not to answer that. "You need to be careful with your clutch."

Darren blinked and looked down at the form. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Not yet. But it's obvious you ride it more than you need to and if you continue to do so it'll overheat and you'll need to replace it."

"Ride it"? He giggled.

I inhaled a subtle breath. "Coasting. Or sitting in traffic for too long without releasing it."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"You'd know if I was flirting with you." I said sharply. "I'm sure you'll be right back down here in a panic when you start to smell burning, and I'd really like to try and avoid that. So ease up."

"Yes, ma'am." He smirked. "Devastated I didn't get to see you all over my baby."

My expression was flat. "I haven't been near your baby."

"Who has, then?"

"Floss," Dad called from nearby, and when I looked over my shoulder he appeared from underneath an old Renault Clio, "¿donde esta el trinquete de ocho pulgadas?" Where is the 8-inch ratchet?

"​​En tu caja de herramientas donde la dejaste." In your toolbox where you left it.

My dad looked around himself for his toolbox, and nodded to himself when he found what he was looking for. He then noticed who I was talking to and cocked his head. "¿Es ese el dueño de Lamborghini?" Is that the Lamborghini owner?

"Sí."

"You need to be careful with your clutch, mate. That thing is only a few miles off overheating."