Checkout Girl

One vanilla latte later, and Evelyn White finds that she can't seem to get this guy that she served that day off of her mind. What happens when this 'guy' turns out to be Harry Styles - and she didn't even notice?


2. Pink Motorcycle

A string of loud giggles erupt from the kitchen as the door clicks shut behind me, and I allow my bag to slip from my shoulder and to the floor: oh God, I dread to think what I was going to discover here.

‘Dad?’ I yell: a warning. Maybe if I yelled he’d be able to stop whatever it was that he was doing with the giggler to make her the giggler. I dread to think.

She was blonde, blue-eyed and boobs that were like pint jugs. I guess it was her intellect that my dad had gone for. ‘Hey,’ I mumble and that oh-so-awful tendency to blush flares up again.

‘Oh hey, honey,’ she drawls, ‘how ‘ya doing?’

I force an awkward smile. ‘I’m doing fine, thanks.’

A pause ensues, to which my father stands abruptly and drapes an arm over my shoulder. There was brandy on his breath. He leans in close so that his words tickle my ear. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he whispers, ‘but she’s a keeper.’

I nod. ‘Sure she is, Dad.’

‘She is!’ he exclaims.

‘Who is?’ the girl chips in, giggling – yet again.

‘What?’ my father says.

‘Who’s  a keeper?’ she laughs.

‘Okay...’ I trail off as I slip away from beneath my father’s arm and retreat back into the hall, but not before calling out, ‘I’m going to Allie’s!’

My father pokes his head into the hall. ‘But we’re doing dinner together!’ he mock-whispers.

I shake my head. ‘You two have dinner. I’ll grab something at Allie’s.’

‘How was work?’ He is still mock-whispering.

‘It was fine, Dad,’ I say, scooping my bag from the floor. There is a moment of silence. ‘Where did you pick this one up?’

‘She’s called Amy,’ he says, completely missing the point, ‘and she’s from Louisiana.’ He was grinning now.

‘Alright,’ I say, opening the door, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ he sings, just as the door closes on him. Wandering down the path, past that wretched bicycle and onto the street, my converse squeak a little on the concrete. Okay, so here’s the thing about my dad: he was a great dad, but he was as lonely as fuck. And to fill that void of loneliness that seemed to have cracked open at my mother’s death – but no, kids, I crave no sympathy here for I don’t even remember her – he seemed to pick up every blonde in town, or out of town too it now seemed. So things like pink motorbikes on my doorstep along with a fancy array of foreign cars parked outside the house was the norm, but a somewhat tragic norm at that. Tragic, but not for me – only for dad, who seemed completely inept at taking anything seriously anymore. Even his love life it seemed.

But hey, life goes on after it’s been there and got the t-shirt. Just don’t expect me to be surprised when there are pieces of lacy underwear strewn throughout the house – pink pieces of lacy underwear, it often seemed.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial Allie’s number. ‘Hey,’ I say when she picks up, ‘can I stay at yours tonight?’

‘Sure,’ she replies simply – and through some form of food, too, ‘when you coming?’

‘Now.’ I turn onto her street.

‘Oh, right,’ she says casually, ‘I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.’


If this gets more than 5 likes, then I'll upload the next chapter - and the next one just happens to feature a certain curly-haired lovely!


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