Scored in Love (Wattys2015)

~9~ a hard(ware) day's night

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The highlight of my day is attaching price stickers to hardware stock. Currently, I’m having the time of my life wielding the pricing gun. You can imagine how bored I must be feeling. What they say about retail is true — it’s mindless work. 

Earphones are great little inventions. I’m humming a random tune as I go along. Bang. Bang. Bang bang. This stock is so dusty. It’s an asthmatic's worse nightmare. 

I’ve been helping Dad in the hardware store since I was seven. He says it’s good for me and I’ll appreciate the value of money. Yeah right. Why doesn’t Dad cut with the spiel and just admit the real reason he needs me — free slave labour. 

The hardware store has been a staple of the local community for 150 years. Or it might be closer to 160 years — I don’t know. It’s been passed on from generations to generations of Van Hoffs. My grandpa loved this dusty sh!thole. He was the type of man who refused to believe in the Women’s Liberation Movement. So, when he croaked his last breath, he pleaded with Dad to sire a male heir. Even on his deathbed, the old man was glaring daggers at me — I was only seven. How is it my fault I wasn’t born with a d!ck?

Let’s just say, hardly anyone came to Grandpa Van Hoff’s funeral. That didn’t come as much of a surprise — he was an incredibly mean, tight-fisted old codger. The minister’s wife had a worried look plastered on her face throughout the service. She thought it was strange that I wasn’t crying. Uh… mind your own business. 

This shop is dead most days. Dad mainly uses me to draw in customers. No, he’s not p!mping me out, okay? I know all of you have dirty minds. Dad’s of the opinion that if female customers see a female worker, they’ll be more inclined to venture into this sh!thole and buy more goods. Amelie add slave labour equals increase in profit and happy Mr Van Hoff… 

Fingers brush against my earlobe and yank out an earphone. What the fvck? My vest strap is smoothly pulled back into place — a thumb trails along my collarbone. 

“Tut-tut, Miss Amelie. Not being an obedient girl, are we?” Mr Zeepler breathes, his lips briefly touch my earlobe. Soft as the wind. They tickle against my skin.  

Well, if it isn’t the town’s golden boy… 

Mr Zeepler's ash-blond hair gleams under the spot lights. His crisp blue eyes are gazing deeply into mine with mischievous wonder. All of the townswomen go gaga over this creep… 

It astounds me. Can’t they see beneath his urbane, sophisticated good looks? He’s the most charmless man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

All though, I have to admit (grudgingly), that’s a fine suit he’s wearing — tailored, understated and pure quality. It hangs off his body in all the right places. The wonders of men’s tailoring!

“Oh, it’s you,” I try to scramble up from my kneeling position. 

Too late. His hands cover my shoulders and push me back down. Ouch. 

“Why so stressed?” he starts to give me a shoulder massage, “Patrice says I’m good with my hands…”

Smooth. I can already feel his cool blue eyes focus on my cleavage. Sh!t. I regret abandoning my jumper in the stockroom. He’s getting a good eyeful from that position…  

“What do you want, Mr Zeepler?” I prise his fingers away from me. Such a space-invader! Argh. 

“Eye-hooks,” he says simply, letting go of me.

I give him a fierce glare, before heading for a shelf. Better get rid of him quickly — my eyes  spot a packet of eye-hooks. 

“Here,” I shove the packet into his hands, making sure to keep myself at arm’s length from him. Now where was I? Oh yeah — pricing the paint cans.

That silky voice breaks the silence. “I like a girl who’s good with her hands…”

What a smileball. I shake my head with a smirk. 

Mr Zeepler’s looking thoughtfully at the packet as though he’s had a sudden revelation. He starts to rub it. “Hmm. Cup-hooks. I’m quite jealous. Hooks are lucky — they hold such beauty.” 

He directs his eyes at my chest again. 

Another one of Mr Z’s suggestive one-liners… 

Does he even realise how much of a creep he is? He’s completely oblivious to my disinterest. Mr Zeepler studies the shelf and his eyes widen as though he can’t quite believe his luck.

“Screw-eyes!” He says gleefully, “I’m torn about which one to choose. Cup-hooks or screw-eyes? I’d certainly like to sc£w you…” The last sentence he mutters — a devilish smile plays on his lips.

“What did you say?”

A bland, innocent expression comes over his features.  “So, what would you choose? Cup-hooks or screw-eyes?”

He weighs the two packets in his hands.

Seriously, if he wasn’t a customer, I’d pepper spray him. He’s such a pest. My anger is practically boiling inside me. “You need both, idiot.”

He raises an eyebrow and starts to walk over to me. Sh!t. Mr Zeepler has a determined, arrogant gleam in his eye. I take a few steps back. My fingers explore the shelves and racks frantically. I grab an arsenal of boxes, paint cans — anything. I’m aiming stock at him but Mr Z dodges each time. His confidence grows as some packets bounce harmlessly off him. God, this man won’t go down! I’m edging further and further into a corner. 

“Why so defiant, Amelie? Such a wildcat!” He laughs — it’s a mellow laugh — the one he uses when he want to charm someone…

Mr Z is getting seriously turned on. There’s a raging fire in his gaze. This is all an amusing game to him.

I narrow my eyes at him. “No. Get over it.” 

This man needs to be told. I’m sick and tired of him. 

My back hits a shelf. Oh no. I’m such an idiot! Mr Z’s cornered me like wild animal. The poacher’s a few yards away from me. In an instant, he closes the gap and his body presses against mine. His aftershave invades my nostrils — citrusy and cool. 

“I’ve got you right where I want you,” he says.

A/N: Please VOTE, COMMENT and SHARE! ;D What do you think will happen next to Amelie? Happy new year! Dmitri.