Maverick

Chapter 5

The Beach Shack was just as I remembered it to be. Cool; with a faint sound of music playing and the sea breeze coming in. I felt self-concious as I took off my rain jacket and stepped through into the shack. Ezra had told me to meet him there at six o' clock sharp to introduce me to the staff and give me the uniform; a white t-shirt with the beach shacks logo, any jeans you want and slip slops. The job was just as good as mine, he reassured me. I, on the other hand, wasn't so sure.

Over the counter facing the other way, chatting friendlily to an old bearded man while he fetched a rental surfboard was Ezra. I could tell it was him immediately just by his bleach blonde curls. Almost as if he had heard my thoughts, Ezra turned away from the surfer and waved, grinning at me. "Reece You made it!"

I forced a smile.

"Come here! This man wants a word with you."

I stepped forward uneasily to shake the man's hand nervously. "Pleased to meet you."

"Robert." The man offered, providing me with a broad smile. "Robert Smith, owner of the Beach Shack."

I nodded, my heart pounding too fast to care about making a good first impression. "Oh. Right."

A feeling of uneasiness swept through me suddenly. I had always prided myself on being a non-judgemental person, and now look at me. Robert Smith appeared a friendly man, with his rapidly balding head and thick figure, though the sharks tooth dangling from a piece of string from his neck through me off a bit.

He looked me up and down quickly, too quickly, like he didn't want me to notice. But I did. Ezra reached down and gave my hand a squeeze, and I looked up at him gratefully.

"You'll do."

My head snapped up at these words. "Really?"

"Yep." Robert reached behind the bar and pulled out a white t-shirt and slip slops to match, as if he had been waiting for me all his life. "We're pleased to have you on board. Go change, and you can start today. That all right?"

In truth, it wasn't. I was depressed, tired and feeling ever so slightly nauseous. However I owed this to Ezra, and to my dad. And maybe, even to Oscar. I didn't want him ever to see me in such a mess, it would probably put him on cloud nine. I had to perk up, and I had to do it now.

"Thank you," I managed to whisper. I took the bundle and tried to smile, even though all I wanted to do was curl up into a corner and sleep. The coffee from last night was really starting to take it's toll on my body. I left Ezra and Robert chatting amiably to the handful of customers around the shop, and escaped to the bathroom.

Looking into the clouded mirror in the bathroom, the white t-shirt made my skin look even tanner. For a second I wished I had brought my bag of make-up and maybe my hairbrush, but somehow I couldn't find myself caring anymore about what I looked like to other people. Since I lost Oscar, nothing mattered.

Figuring that cowering in the bathroom all day would do me no favours with my new boss, I sighed and opened the door right into the corridor that led to the shop. Someone was waiting for me right outside, and soon enough they were right in front of me.

"God, Ezra! What the fuck are you doing waiting outside the girl's bathroom?"

He grinned, tucking a strand of his beach blonde hair behind his ear. "Waiting for you."

"Why?"

He coughed. "You're needed as a cashier."

I stopped, and grabbed Ezra's arm in blind panic. "What? You're sending me to work now?"

Ezra saluted. "That's the plan, captain."

"I.. But...But," I spluttered, "That's madness! I mean, don't I need any training or anything first?"

Isaac handed me a name tag, with 'Reece' inscribed upon it in bold lettering. "No training required. You're a smart girl, Reece. Use your initiative."

"I think I just flushed all the initiative I had down the toilet."

Ezra laughed, and enclosed me in a brief, tight hug. If it was any other guy I would have felt extremely uncomfortable right now, but I knew Ezra. He smiled at me, his golden eyes glinting in the gloom. "You can do it."

I squeezed his hand gratefully. "Thanks, Ezra. Hey, do you think there's something wrong with that boss of yours?"

He laughed. "Probably. But if you're referring to why he hired you so fast, it's cause he needs some pretty girls to lure the people in. Draws the young surfers in."

I pulled a face as we walked back into the shop area. "Gee. Thanks dude. Nice to know I'm working for a pimp."

"Any time, baby. Remember, if you need me, call me, and I'm there."

"Thanks."

I watched as Ezra disappeared behind the door leading to the kitchen and emerged a moment later with a couple of packets of nuts and crisps. I shot him a grateful look, then surveyed my first customer with dissatisfied trepidation.

"Some wax, love."

His scottish accent was strong. I walked around he counter, sure enough, there was five different types. I grabbed a bag from the driftwood shelf over my head and called him over. The guy, about fifty or so and smelling faintly of car oil and detergent winked at me and took one. "Thanks." He slid the money over the counter.

"I need a surfboard, please."

The voice was so quiet and musical that, for a second at least, I couldn't register the order. I looked up slowly, dragging out the moment that my eyes could rest on his. "Sorry?"

"A surfboard."

l couldn't comprehend this relatively straightforward command. I was so sidetracked by his face. It was long, slender; dotted with freckles and the colour of fresh caramel. The cheekbones stood out prominently from his face, and his jaw was so deep set that it appeared as if he was permanently grinding his teeth. The boy's eyes were hard, but soft somehow; the exact shade of burnt sugar, and they bored into mine questioningly, surprised, as if he were completely unaware of his beauty.

I doubted that very much.

I had just torn my eyes away from his hair: blonde, curly and tousled, falling over his eyes perfectly, when he coughed.

"Hello any day soon?" His voice was deep and scratchy now, and it was directed right towards me.

Still dazed, I reached over for the clipboard with all the rentals. "Okay, in my defence, I just started working here."

He laughed, and it was so attractive that I got the heart-in-throat feeling I had only experienced with Oscar before. The boy shifted from foot to foot as I surveyed the rest of his appearance: white shirt, shorts, and an earring just poking it's way out from a curl in his hair. He fetched the surfboard and put it on the counter.

The money was suddenly thrust in my direction. "Maverick." he said, not quite meeting my gaze.

"Reece." I returned.