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in that,” I point at her application. “All you’ve done is taken some pretty pictures for mommies and daddies.”

“But I know how to take a good picture,” she hisses and I can tell she’s trying not to raise her voice. I look around and see a few stares in our direction. “Can you say the same about yourself, Mr. Running Man?”

I purse my lips and grip the paper in my hands. I really do not like the fact that she found something useful. The boss would love the idea of having photographs for social media. In fact, he is always searching for someone in the art department, yet they always steer clear of anything to do with movement. The weirdoes always remain in their own closed off pacts and frankly I’m surprised to see psycho bitch not doing the same.

“Do you even run?” I ask, knowing the answer wouldn’t even matter at this point.

“Don’t think I could even if there was a zombie apocalypse.”

I roll my eyes. Just great. Most likely she’ll quit this gig after a day and I will have wasted all my efforts for nothing. “Fine. Hired.” I stalk to the storage room, already pushing the curtain to the side when I turn around and see her still hovering by the cash register. “Well, are you coming or what?”

She looks around and I nearly stomp my foot. The door clangs shut with one customer having left and I see more glancing at the door with the same idea. I really do not need to explain to the boss why we lost so many customers today, especially when I’m looking for a raise. “Job starts now.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “Do you want me to-“

“I want you to get your ass here,” I snap, pointing at the ground I’m standing on.

She, thankfully, hurries towards me, slinging her bag over her shoulder and follows me behind the curtain into the cluttered stock room. I roll my eyes when I glance over my shoulder, finding her looking around at the metal shelving filled with Nikes, ASICS, Brooks, Saucony as well as running belts, compression socks, GU energy gels, and a plethora of other running products I love testing out.

This job is amazing. The store discount is amazing and every time there’s a new product, the employees get to test it out, talk to the company reps, and sometimes receive free samples. It is definitely a perk, since me being a track star and all.

And sharing it with someone like her, who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about over pronating, arch support, and running rhythm is like a punch in the gut. Samples are going to be completely wasted on her. She’s not even going to know how things work. How is she ever going to sell anything?

Seriously, I bet she lasts one day.

I dig through one of the boxes, finding several employee shirts, but all of them are XL until I finally find a small blue shirt. I chuck it in her general direction. “Put that on.” I look her up and down again. “And next time dress a bit more…” I wave at her and grimace, “sporty. You know. Tennis shoes. Running pants.”

“Will yoga pants work?”

I bite my tongue from saying something even ruder. There’s nothing wrong with yoga, but the question is stupid. Absolutely, freaking stupid. Most people don’t even realize the difference between yoga pants and workout pants. It’s simply the flexibility of the fabric is all, which is why it’s so stupid.

I inhale deeply, letting it out slowly. “Sure, yoga pants work fine.”

She smiles brightly and I feel my heart plummet. “Perfect.”

I grimace. “Whatever.”

I turn around, striding back towards the entrance to the floor and praying there are still customers to sell to. I really need some more money. I stop, peaking around the shelving unit and watching with something I ascertain to be curiosity as she pulls her crop top over her shoulders. She’s wearing a nude bra, her freckly breasts peeking out at the tops. They aren’t the largest I’ve ever seen. There’s a little pudge in her stomach, but I wouldn’t necessarily say her body is bad. Quite cute actually.

I grimace and shake my head, stalking out of the storage room. Don’t even go there. I scowl, looking around at the shop and seeing at least six customers all waiting to be helped. Great, six new customers and I have a newbie who knows absolutely nothing about sports. I smile wickedly as a thought enters. A terrible, wonderful little thought. I glance back at the storage room. Let’s see how long you last, psycho bitch.

“Welcome to Fleet Feet Sports,” I say to a tall, lanky man staring at the shoe rack. He’s the sort of guy who plays basketball and looking at his thick socks stuffed inside his tight tennis shoes, I would surmise he had some pretty stinky feet. “Would you like to try anything on?"

5

RACHEL

 

This whole retail thing, I’m quickly discovering, is not easy. Not easy at all. And Seth is being a complete jackass about it. As soon as I flung on my shirt and met the bastard on the floor, he gave me a customer to size, didn’t bother to explain the whole storage room and searching for shoes concept, and just sat at the cash register, happily charging customers and wishing them a pleasant day.

Currently, I’m helping a customer put on a shoe. His stinky socks nearly swallowing me whole and I have to stop myself from gagging. Get a job. It’ll be easy. I can buy candles and drink mochas in my fairy lit room. I scowl up at Seth, leaning over the table while he smiled at another female customer. His gaze dipping down and glimpsing her giant cleavage. Wasn’t the whole point of a sports bra to keep the girls in? And why do people walk around like that? Just walking around in sportswear as if advertising: Hi, I go for long runs and