Friend-Zoned
Authors: Belle Aurora
Tags: #Romance, #Love, #Friendship, #friends, #adult, #Humor, #funny, #Contemporary, #Humour, #Series, #friends to lovers, #friendzoned
Friend-Zoned
Published by Belle Auro
ra at
Smashwords
Copyright © 2013 Belle Aurora
First published 2013
All
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter
One
My name is Tina
Rawr
Raaawr.
Damn
,
forgot to replace the batteries on the doorbell sensor
again,
I think
Now, instead of the regular Ding Dong most doorbells have mine
sounds like a cat in heat.
“Good Morning, Ladies.” I smile and look over to greet my first
customers of the day. “My name is Tina. If you need any help with
anything, just holler.”
When I see them smile and nod back at me I go to my table of
sweaters which have become a bit of a mess from the day before and
commence re-folding.
Most people wouldn’t do this with a huge smile on their face but,
what can I say?
I take pride in my work.
Rawr
Raaawr.
I start speaking cheerfully before I see who comes through the
door, “Good Morn…Oh, it’s just you! How’s it going?”
I see my not so cheerful worker girl Mimi walk through the studio
and straight to the staff room without so much as a
nod.
Ooookay
then.
This is not unusual for Mimi.
She is super surly in the best way. You can ask her anything,
anything at all and she’ll only give you a straight answer.
Everyone needs a friend like her.
She emerges from the staff room, walks across the studio and
straight out the door again.
I see her turn left and smile to myself. I know she’ll only be a
few minutes but will come back with the best Good Morning greeting
anyone can get.
Re-commence sweater
folding.
Five minutes later I hear
the god awful doorbell again and Mimi walks over to me carrying the
elixir of life in her dainty hands. I take the cup from her and
sip.
Mmmmmm, Caramel Latte. I love
you, Meems.
She takes her place
behind the counter and logs into the register.
She looks over at me and asks, “What are you smiling at, Atomic?”
Surly as ever.
She calls me Atomic because of my surname. I laugh and shake my
head at her. I see her lip twitch as she looks over her day’s to-do
list.
I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Tina Tomic. Actually,
my name is Valentina Tomic. But the only time I ever get called
Valentina is when I’m in trouble.
I manage Safira Boutique. Actually, scratch that, I own Safira
Boutique. None of my workers know this. They all believe I’m the
store manager because this is what I have led them to believe.
Safira Boutique is my pride and joy.
I bought it two years ago. The building was in pretty good shape
but I put some money into renovating. I made all the fixings more
modern and added a small kitchenette in the back which holds a
fridge, microwave, small two-burner stove, and a sink to wash our
dirty dishes. I also had new signs put up and a brand spanking new
front counter put in. It’s very modern, shiny black with a high
back; this hides our register and computer. There is also a super
tiny change room at the back of the store. The store room was in
good condition but the overall wiring needed to be re-done. This
cost me a packet, but it was
totally
worth it.
Safira’s is a narrow building but is long; it looks small from the
front but is surprisingly deceptive.
I had it repainted a deep blue color because Safira means Sapphire
in Croatian which is my ethnic background.
The store front window holds two mannequins; I change their outfits
every week.
I love doing this.
We carry many types of clothing items for several occasions.
Clubbing and party clothes, cocktail dresses, formal occasion wear,
sexy sleepwear (ooh la la), and a crap load of accessories. Our
accessories are our main seller. We have clutches, necklaces,
bracelets, bangles, costume jewellery, rings, and hair accessories.
The reason these are our main seller is because they don’t cost a
lot, so after school hours we are packed with high
school and college girls who, unfortunately,
can’t afford our clothing but go nuts over the affordable
things.
I love my job.
Safira has three workers; myself, Mimi, and Lola. I work full time,
9 to 5. Mimi and Lola get three to four shifts a week depending on
how busy we are. We’ll soon add a fourth to our trio.
My BFF Natalie is coming to live in New York!
Excited, you ask?!
Who, me?
Noooooo… I’m freaking ecstatic!
Although born and raised in California, I moved to New York two
years ago. Natalie has been my best friend pretty much all my life.
So when I moved away, it broke both our hearts. I had my reasons
for moving. She understood why I left Cali but declared she
couldn’t live without me because she says “Cali sucks without
you”.
So, this week I’ll have a moving truck arrive at my apartment. I’ll
pack the second bedroom full of her stuff and next week my BFF will
not only be living with me but also working with me.
Totally awesome, if you ask me.
Mimi interrupts my thought by nudging me. “There he is again. Damn,
that boy is fine. And I mean
fine
with a capital F.”
I look through the shop window, past the mannequins and my heart
stutters. This is not the first time I’ve noticed him. And Mimi is
right.
He is fine.
Super fine.
So fine he should be on a billboard or a book cover somewhere. But
something about him bothers me.
***
Two weeks earlier…
Great. Just
great.
A traffic jam and I have
approximately six minutes to open the store. No way am I going to
get there on time and this ticks me off. I open the store at nine
a.m. and pretty often there are already customers waiting for
me.
Ten minutes later I have my car parked at a public parking spot
because I can never get a space by my store and I don’t have
parking spaces under or behind the building. I’ve tried taking the
bus a few times but found I value my sleep too much to get up an
hour earlier than I have to if I take my car.
Four customers are waiting on me. Three of them are smiling when
they see me running towards them. One of them is scowling at me and
it makes her pretty face oh-so ugly.
“I am
so
sorry.
There is a traffic jam down the street and I was stuck. I hope you
haven’t been waiting long.” I unlock the door and they follow me
inside.
I open the staff room door, literally throw my bag onto the
kitchenette counter, and run back to the register to log on.
The scowling woman is waiting for me.
I smile and say, “Good Morning. My name is Tina. How can I help you
today?”
She flicks her nails at a garment on the counter and replies, “This
dress is awful.”
She has a great Jersey accent.
My smile falters and I respond, “I’m so sorry you don’t like it.”
I’m trying to be sympathetic but it’s kind of hard when she’s
looking at me like I forced her to buy it.
Her elbow is resting on the counter, she looks closely at her nails
and says, “Yeah, well, I wanna refund.”
I look closely over the fabulous dress, smile and say, “Okay, let
me see what I can do.” The tags have been removed and there are
stains on the hem.
Uh oh.
Great.
Shit just got serious.
I hate confrontations; they give me hives.
I clear my throat and say, “This dress has been worn ma’am. I can’t
give you a refund or exchange. I’m sorry but our policies are
clear. They’re on the walls and receipt.”
Her scowl re-appears. She would be so pretty if she smiled.
She leans forward and hisses right in my face, “This is BULLSHIT!
That dress cost me THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS!” I know this. The dress
is one of our most expensive pieces and is fab-U-lous. I really
want to ask her if her daddy actually bought it but she continues.
“It looks like a goddamn potato sack!”
I feel the flush rising up my neck and I so badly want to scratch
at it. I say quietly, “Like I said ma’am, there’s nothing I can
do.”
Her lip curls and she spits, “I wanna speak to a manager.”
I nod and respond, “I am the manager.”
She smiles almost cruelly and says, “Then I wanna speak to the
owner.”
I stare her right in the eyeball and I’m thankful none of my girls
are working.
I say in a firm voice, “I am the owner.”
Her face shifts into something even uglier than her scowl. I don’t
know how to describe it, but if looks could kill, I’d be six feet
under. She snatches the dress out of my hands and storms out of my
store.
Rawr
Raaawr.
Damn it.
Crap! Forgot to get batteries for the doorbell.
Again.
I look out the window past the
mannequins, and the She-Devil is walking across the street to a man
standing with his back to me. He looks big. Not fat but built.
She-Devil talks a mile a minute pointing towards Safira. The man is
obviously talking back to her because she stops talking and starts
pouting. Then she stomps her foot. Yes, actually stomps her foot
and pushes her chest out while pouting up at his face. I can almost
hear her whining. She walks off and the man turns towards Safira
and shakes his head slowly. What a spoiled brat!
It takes me a second to notice the man.
Oh. My. God.
Angels must have
broken out in song when this man was born.
I
feel like breaking out in
song.
He is
so
handsome.
I’ll admit I can’t see his face very well from across the street
but I can see enough of it to see he is hot. As in
hawt
. And the rest of
him is just as impressive. He’s tall, probably 6’2” or 6’3”, and
has gorgeous olive-toned skin. He’s dressed in suit pants and a
shirt. He has broad shoulders and great arms; I can tell from the
muscle definition I can see through his shirt. He has a face made
of straight angles and his lips have a natural pout to them. His
hair is styled in a masculine faux hawk, shaved at the sides,
longer on top, and spiked up and to the left side of his head. I
can’t see his eye color from where I am, though.
This makes me sad.
I want to walk up to him and hold his face in my hands just so I
can get a good look at him, but that would be rude. And I’d
probably get arrested after he called the cops on me.
The only turn off I can see from my vantage point is that he’s
smoking.
He looks angry, too. His lip is curled as he looks into Safira’s
window.
I’m scared he’ll come in here and yell at me trying to get his
girlfriend’s money back for the fabulous dress she’s ruined. I just
know my neck is red, I can tell from how much it’s
itching.
Please, please don’t come in
here and yell at me, Mr. Large Man.
Like an answer to my silent prayer he throws his cigarette
butt onto the pavement (another turn off—litter bug), steps on it,
and walks into a building I was told by my girls is a very popular
nightclub.
From the front of the building it doesn’t look like much. The large
double doors are the typical ones you’d normally see at a club. It
also looks narrow. Not quite as narrow as Safira but still narrow
for a club. The sign atop the door catches my eye.
The White Rabbit.
The sign is white with a whimsical feel to it. The words are
written in black and it all looks very plain but artsy.
What a strange name for a club.
I’m confused.
Why would he be at a nightclub during the day?
Maybe he’s security? He’s definitely built for it.
I’m intrigued. I want to know more about him.
The week passes and I observe the man from afar. I have made mental
notes. He takes three cigarette breaks a day. He is always dressed
in business attire. And I never see him leave. But something about
him bothers me.
I have never seen him smile.
***