The sound of the small bells hanging from above the entrance door ring in my ears. My boss turns his attention to me, giving me a glare, and then going back to what he was doing.
I walk to the counter and clock in. We barely get customers, and when we do, they stay here for hours, searching for the right book.
I slump in my chair and notice my co-worker Patrick walk in with a plastic cup of coffee in his hands. There's a coffee shop literally next door to us, so it's easy for us to snack during work.
"Hey Brendon," Patrick yawns, and clocks himself in. Patrick's been working here for about two years now, but as for me, this is only my third week here. Mom rang me up on the phone and wanted me to finally get a job, and I stumbled across this book shop when I went out for coffee one day.
"Patrick, you here?" I hear my boss call. "I want you to stack the new arrivals up,"
Patrick groans silently in response and almost slams his coffee down on the counter. Before he leaves, he stops and gives me a quick look.
"Don't drink my coffee," he says like it's an order.
I raise my hands up in defense. What I don't understand is why we open shop at 7:00 in the morning. It's not like people wake up this time of day to buy books.
When Patrick is still gone stacking up new arrivals, I glance to my right and to my left, and finally I quickly take a sip of his coffee. He doesn't realize that I do this every time he buys coffee.
I instantly set the cup down and clear my throat. I mentally laugh in my mind because no one will know that -
"Not your coffee, huh?"
I frown. I see a boy with a dorky green tee-shirt. His skin is pale and bright. He has a smirk on his face, and he's clearly enjoying that he caught me drinking my co-worker's coffee.
I decide not to engage in war right now. I won't meet him again, but this boy has definitely ruined my moment of glory. Fuck him.
I clear my throat and give him a fake smile, like one of those smiles that you see television reporters have. He still has that stupid smirk on his face and it's driving me crazy.
"How may I help you?" I manage to say. The boy is crossing his arms now.
"I can't seem to find Invisible Monsters," the boy says, looking serious now.
"Palahnuik, right?" I say while typing the title into the computer. He nods and begins tapping a rhythm on the counter with his fingers.
"Found it," I say. "It's in transgressive fiction, over there," I say, pointing over to a small shelf labeled transgressive fiction. The boy gives me a nod as a thank you, and leaves for the shelf.
I sink down in my seat. In the corner of my eye, I secretly watch the tall, lean, dorky boy flip pages over the book. He reads the summary of it in the back and smiles to himself before sinking down against a wall, opening up to page one.
He's a beautiful human, I will admit.
I hear foot steps coming towards me. I swivel the chair around, and I'm greeted by Patrick, picking up the coffee that I secretly drank out of. He has a flushed look on his face.
"Any customers yet?" he breathes out.
"Just one," I say casually. Patrick's eyes widen as he sets his coffee down on the counter.
"Really? This early too?" He asks disbelievingly.
I smirk. "I know man. I'm just as surprised as you are,"
Patrick giggles in happiness, and runs towards the back of the store, probably telling our boss that we have a customer this early in the morning.
Patrick is a person that makes my days at work slightly a bit better. He's always determined to put everyone in a good mood. He lives in a small apartment about ten minutes away from here. One thing that I know about him that no one else here knows is that he owns about four guitars, and a powder blue tang fish. He once told me a story about his neighbor's cat climbing into his apartment and almost eating his fish.
The boy interrupts my thoughts when he's knocking on the counter. I snap back into reality and look directly at him. He has probably the cutest and most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.
"I'd like to buy these books," he states, and drops Invisible Monsters and Fight Club in front of me. I give him a quick nod before scanning the books. He pays for both of them and gives me one last glance before walking away into the coffee shop next door.
I stare after the door, and I realize that I never knew his name.
But no, he is just a customer. Who knows when he'll come back again? The bell on top of the entrance door rings again, and an old couple walk in slowly. They walk towards the transgressive fiction shelf, and I bite my lip. The boy has now occupied my mind. For now.
