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and forth and I can’t help my thoughts drifting to whether or not she is wearing any underwear under those tight pink leggings. What’s-her-name turns back around at the door and gives me one last wave before leaving. I raise my hand, licking my lips while imagining my cock pounding into that tight ass.

Yeah, she’ll definitely call.

“And how can I help you-” I stop, words leaving me as Rach-psycho bitch steps forward. What the fuck? Is she stalking me now?

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She doesn’t bother answering me and instead sets a piece of paper down in front of me, which I don’t even bother to look at. Since when does she know where I work? I look around, noticing there are at least four other customers in the shop so it’s not like she can key me in the neck without witnesses. Not like that would stop her.

“I saw you have a job opening,” she says, twiddling her fingers while staring back at me.

I blink and finally look down at the flier. It says Fleet Feet all over it. We have been looking for a replacement for a while, ever since Lindsay graduated and left. Ahh Lindsay. Lindsay was great. Great body, nice ass, big tits, and completely lesbian. We would check out girls together and she would smack me around and call me a dog. It was a love-hate relationship. Maybe leaning more towards hate, but at least she wasn’t completely psychotic. Like this bitch Rachel.

She stood in front of me, staring at me expectantly, driving me crazy with those annoying mutant green eyes. I mean really. Who had green eyes that green? “What?” I ask angrily when she tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms in front of her barely there chest. It doesn’t help that she’s covered her girls with a baggy green plaid jacket that simply hangs off her body like as if saying: don’t even think about looking at my not-even-there breasts.

“I was hoping you’d give me a job application.”

I scoff and look her up and down. Nothing about her reads runner with her white cropped top exposing a slim bit of skin above her high waisted patched-up pants. She isn’t even wearing tennis shoes, instead opting for brown ankle boots. “You want to work here?” Do you even play sports? My guess would have to be a resounding no.

She nods. “Right on, Sherlock. You’ve solved the case.”

I glare down at her, tempted to send her back to whatever hell hole she came from, but we do need another sales assistant and by the looks of the growing customers coming in now from the end of their classes, we need one now. I sigh and yank open the drawer, grabbing an application and tossing it in her general direction before leaving the register and greeting the next customer. Let her figure it out. I’m in no mood to play mommy to an idiotic freshman with no tits.

“Welcome to Fleet Feet Sports, can I help you find a pair of new running shoes?” I ask the muscled man in front of me. “Or are you interested in our running assessment program?”

“I just want to look around man.”

I nod, glancing over my shoulder and getting a wonderful view of psycho bitch’s ass. “Fine with me.”

I cross my arms, frowning while I watch her fill out the form at the counter. Her ass is better than Mitzie- or whatever hell her name is, which is shocking since it’s not like she’s the sporty type whatsoever. Surprising indeed. Her hair falls over her shoulder, shrouding her pretty face. The thought has me scowling. Nothing about her is pretty. She’s crazy. She’s a complete idiot.

She looks over her shoulder and rage bubbles within me when she catches my stare. I scowl when she raises an eyebrow and waves the application back and forth. “I’m done,” she says, handing me the application and shrugging on her bag and heading for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She glances at the door again. “I thought-“

“Well, you thought wrong. Interview begins now.”

She looks around pathetically. “Shouldn’t I meet with your supervisor?”

“I am the supervisor numb nuts.”

She swallows, glances towards the door for the second time and I nearly laugh as a slew of emotions tumble through her, like she’s really dug herself a hole. Well, duh. Honestly, I don’t understand how stupid little girls like her even get accepted in Aurora University. She rests her bag gently on the floor and leans against the cashier’s desk. “Alright, I guess I’m ready.”

I take a moment to scan the contents written there, finding some freelance photography, but nothing more than that. Just some weddings and graduations, too. Nothing of substance that could actually be beneficial to a running store. Wonderful. She isn’t just an idiot. She’s a complete moron. “I see you haven’t worked in retail before,” I start, feeling already bored of this. Why do I even bother?

She nods. “Not at all.”

“So, given your lack of experience, what can you really add to Fleet Feet?”

“I have worked in customer service before and I know how to sell goods.”

My eyes narrow and I stop myself from groaning. Like what does that mean by that? Completely useless and I don’t have time for uselessness. “You know how to sell goods? What goods?”

“Well, I,” she pauses, grimacing for a moment.

“Well, I what?” I do not have time for this. Someone needs to be watching the customer on the treadmill and there are two people eyeing some shoes on the wall. One customer is already going for the door.

“Well, I sold my photography skills in New York and discussed with clients their wants and needs.”

I roll my eyes. “And how possibly would that work here?”

Rachel scowls up at me and rests her hands on her hips. “I can take pictures of your products and post them online. Do some advertisement for you. That sort of thing.”

“But you don’t have any experience