A Bad Boy Named Finn

P R O L O G U E | It's Unfortunate, Really.

                               P R O L O G U E | It's Unfortunate, Really.

It feels strange not to have my braces in my mouth like they have been for two consecutive years. I can’t stop licking my teeth. My orthodontist smiles and hands me a mirror. I glance at my reflection and can’t help but smile at the sight. All I see is white; no metal whatsoever.

I slide off the uncomfortable dentists chair and smile at my mother who is across the room. She seems just as excited.

I want to continue staring at my reflection but stop abruptly when I notice what I am wearing.

It’s my work uniform.

I glance at the plain black watch on my wrist.

10:39. I’m already more than half an hour late!

“Fuck!” I exclaim. My mother frowns disapprovingly. She’ll definitely have a word with me about my language when we are no longer in the dentist’s office. But I don’t care very much at this point. “I’m late for work; I’ll see you at home,” I say in a rush. I stop by her seat and plant a quick kiss on her cheek.

She smiles apologetically at the orthodontist.

I grab my side bag from its place beside her seat and hurry out the door. My bicycle is attached to the back of our old, four-wheel-drive and I make a mess of trying to unlock it. After a series of swear words and weird stares from various pedestrians, I manage to hop on and can only be grateful that the beach isn’t very far away.

It’s basically road rage as I swivel past numerous cars’ and angry drivers that – at this moment – would probably want nothing more than to run me over. But I hardly have time to feel guilty about possibly scratching a few cars as I force more power into my sandal-clad feet and pump onwards.

I reach the parking lot, skid to a halt by the bicycle racks and am practically blinded by my frantic hair as it whips about in a panicked state. It’s windy today which cancels out the heating effect of the sun and makes the beach a very cold place. Goose pimples begin to form on my arms and legs as I move to lock my bicycle.

Except my bicycle chain isn’t inside my bag and I belatedly remember that I left it on the back seat of my mother’s car.

I’m torn between leaving my bicycle in its vulnerable state and appeasing the nerves of my boss.

“Fuck it,” I growl as I drop my bicycle. I begin an ungraceful sprint for the shop.

Cliff’s Subz isn’t very far away now.

I wouldn’t be as worried if this was another business and the Manager didn’t act like an officer of the state just because his dad owns the place. He will probably fire me. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did just that.

The shop is in my line of sight.

I fight to tie my hair and almost cry out in annoyance when all at once, the elastic of my hair tie breaks and the front strap on my right sandal snaps out of place. I have to stop and change into my back-up canvas shoes which – thanks to the mercy of God – I have kept in my bag for a week. My hair will have to survive untied.

Before I begin rushing for the store, I raise my arms and glance at my arm pits.

The sweat stain isn’t that bad, I just need to make sure I don’t raise my arms all day.

I dig into my bag in search of my deodorant and spray it on like my life depends on it.

When I finally pull the door open to the shop, it’s to find the area completely empty. Don’t get me wrong, there are still tables, chairs and a lengthy sandwich bar at the back but there are no human beings. At first I take this as a good sign; maybe they decided to open late and I was the early one.

But I remember that it’s still only ten; not many people are at the beach around this time. The only signs of human life are the most dedicated of surfer’s who like to arrive as early as possible and spend most of their day in the water anyways. Most of them are from out of town and only come here for the summer because we have the greatest waves this side of the continent.

And then I notice something else.

There is someone in the store. My heart drops from fright when I recognize the ruffle of dark, brown hair atop his head; the shape of his muscular shoulders; the way he stands rather lazily as he gazes down at a register.

I rush forward with only one thought on my mind which is that I need to think of a way to prevent him from firing me. “Listen, Dan. I –”

Except when he turns to face me, I realize that I am wrong and it isn’t Dan. The person standing by the register – my register – looks a lot like Dan but is definitely someone else.

And I recognize this someone else because he goes to my school. I know he recognizes me too.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says. His voice is entrancingly deep. He flicks his head to the side; sending away every tendril of dark brown hair that may have blocked his line of sight.

I say the first thing I can think of. “Step away from the register or I swear to God, I will be forced to –”

“Forced to what?” he interrupts. “Beat me with a can of deodorant?” I notice that his eyes haven’t left the general direction of my legs which are fully exposed in the denim mini-shorts I am wearing. I quickly stuff the deo into my bag and try to hide my embarrassment by appearing angry.

“If you killed Dan, I –.” I stop myself when I spot the name tag above his right breast; right where company regulation states it should be. Unlike my own pale green t-shirt, he is clad in a darker shade which indicates that he holds a higher rank than me. “You’re the Manager?” I ask; dumbfounded.

“Depends,” he starts with a sly smile, “does that turn you on?”

My jaw drops and I am sure it will take a screwdriver and some nuts to fit it back in place. “No, that does not turn me on,” I respond disgustedly.

He rolls his eyes and jumps over the counter to meet me at the heart of the room. “Listen, Blaze. My brother is on leave for the summer; I think he went to volunteer in Malaysia or some other country in Africa. So I’ve been forced to take his place whether you like that or not.”

“Malaysia isn’t in Africa, you small-minded ape,” I reply, irritated. I’m sure my mouth is foaming at this point. “And my name is Blair. You’d better at least remember that if we're going to be stuck working together for two flipping months.”

He smiles smugly and I notice his electric, green eyes as they light up. He's actually enjoying seeing me angry. “I think I prefer Blaze though; it suits you more,” – he responds slowly; seductively. I hold my ground, even as he takes a step closer to me. I can’t ignore that there isn’t much space between us. His next words are just above a whisper – “because you’re sort of on fire right now.”

                               //

A/N:

Designed a new cover, yay!

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