My Almost

by Kelsey Cheyenne

  My Almost

  Kelsey Cheyenne

  My Almost Copyright © 2019 by Kelsey Cheyenne. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Richelle Emory of Wildelake Creative

  Editing by Melita Bloomer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: February 27, 2019

  Contents

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To everyone who’s fallen in love and not gotten their happily ever after.

  1

  I Knew You Were Trouble

  Retail is a bitch.

  I’m an eighteen-year-old girl working in the mall. That should be my dream job. No, scratch that. I forgot to mention I’m working in a shoe store. Now that’s every girl’s dream, right?

  Nope. Wrong.

  People are rude and crude and just plain annoying.

  I sell sneakers to people who think Jordans are the hottest thing since sliced bread and since I’m a girl, they automatically assume I don’t know what I’m talking about… and, for the most part, they’re right. It’s October and I’ve had this job for two months and I still don’t know a damn thing about Michael Jordan’s shoes or what makes them so special.

  The job itself is fine—I like my coworkers and my manager. It’s an easy job, and the money is good enough for me considering I’m a high school senior just wanting extra spending money.

  Most days follow the same, monotonous schedule: I go to school, I have soccer practice, and then I come home, hop in the shower, and shovel food into my face before changing into my heinous work uniform, kissing my two dogs on their heads, and heading to the mall.

  The one thing I absolutely love about this job? I’m the only girl and the guys are H-O-T.

  The smell of rubber soles greets me as I walk in the store. My eyes linger on the front display as the brand new Nikes catch my attention and threaten my paycheck.

  As I approach the computer where I’m required to check in, I notice my manager, Seth, standing with a man I’ve never seen before. Oddly enough, he’s wearing the same horrid gray work shirt with our store name across the front.

  The two men shake hands as I squeeze past them to clock in. I have the social skills of a dead, introverted squirrel, so I don’t say anything to them. I’m a lady, right? They can come to me.

  “Chelsea, I’d like you to meet Leigh, our newest employee.” Seth is smiling with a hand on the new guy’s back.

  “Hi, I’m Chelsea. It’s nice to meet you.” I extend my hand and do a quick once-over of Leigh—tall, glasses, dark hair.

  His eyes flick over me for one brief second, but he barely pays me any attention. His stormy gray gaze is filled with a combination of cockiness and disdain, like he’s above me. I get a short, quick handshake as he utters, “You too.” What an ass.

  They disappear into the stockroom and now I’m stuck on the sales floor unable to grab my nametag. The main rule at this job is to never leave the floor unattended.

  I’m impatient as I wait, tapping my foot on the wood floor. When the guys return, Leigh has a nametag hanging from his neck, but it reads “Aiden.” Color me confused. I think I would’ve known if they said his name was Aiden as opposed to a name like Leigh. But I’m terrible with names, so what do I know? I guess I won’t call him anything.

  I study Aiden. He’s around six foot with near-black hair and sun-kissed skin. He has an athletic build—he’s not too muscular, but he has toned arms and legs that only come from sports.

  Glasses sit atop his nose and a braided, worn bracelet is wrapped around his wrist. He’s wearing brand new black and orange Nikes and I know they’re new because we got that shipment in yesterday.

  Some women may find him attractive, but I can’t say for sure if I fall into that category. I can’t get over my first impression of him seeming like a pompous ass.

  The stockroom, which houses all the shoes, has two doors. When the new guy takes root at the far left computer, I decide to use the far right stockroom door to avoid him at all costs.

  Am I being too judgy? Probably. It’s possible he’s nervous because he’s new and that appeared cold and distant. Then again, he stands straight and tall, he’s offering a bright white smile to any customers that come up to him, and he’s carefree as he’s laughing with Seth. He doesn’t seem nervous. He seems confident. Cocky. Conceited.

  Gross.

  Some customers come in and I’m forced to get to work. Seth lets me get the sales since my pay is commission based and I’m an associate while he’s my boss, so it’s my job.

  The middle of the store is covered in carpet and holds apparel and accessories, such as shoe laces and insoles. Hardwood floors surround the outer edges of the floor where shoe panels run along both sides. One side of the store holds men’s shoes while the opposite side has women’s and children’s.

  “Heads up,” I call as I run back to the stockroom to grab a size for a tall man needing a size fourteen and I know damn well we don’t have it. We’re required to bring out three shoes for people when they want to try something on, even if we have the size they want. We have to bring out their size, another size just in case, and a different shoe they didn’t want.

  The thought is if they see it in their size they could want it. It’s asinine. Most people don’t work like that. When my other manager is working, he doesn’t enforce the rule but with Seth here I have to cross all my Ts and dot all my Is.

  As I’m carrying three oversized men’s shoe boxes to my customer, none of which are his size, mind you, my toe catches on one of the floor mirrors and I go sprawling. The boxes open and tumble all over the floor. Stupid three shoe rule.

  New guy chuckles from behind me, a deep throaty chortle erupting from his lips, and I throw a glare at him over my shoulder. “Yeah, I’m okay, thanks for asking.” Seth at least helps me clean up the mess.

  My customer doesn’t buy anything considering we don’t carry his size and as he leaves, Seth corners me. “So, what do you think of Aiden?”

  “I didn’t really get a chance to talk to him tonight, so I’m not sure.” I shrug in faux nonchalance when in reality I want to tell him that his new buddy Aiden seems like a major douche cadet, but I can’t tell him that. Not yet anyway.

  “He’s friends with Reese, which is how he got the job. I figured I’d give him a chance.” Reese is the assistant manager at the store and while I like him, it appears his judgment of friends is pretty shitty.

  “Oh, that’s cool.” I try to sound convincing but my face likely show
s what I think about our new employee.

  Seth walks away and I stare at Aiden from afar. A scowl pulls at my upper lip watching him laugh and schmooze our boss. They’re already acting like best buds, meaning this new guy won’t get fired anytime soon.

  Lucky for me, the night shifts are short and they pass quickly. Everything seems to be passing by at lightning speed.

  Maybe it’s because it’s my senior year. Soon enough I’ll be moving on from my friends and family, and this chapter of my life will end. But why does it have to pass by so fast?

  Between school and work, and playing soccer year-round, and trying to fit in time with my friends and boyfriend, I’m exhausted.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The next day the cycle starts all over again. I don’t always work every day after school since I’m part-time, but right now we’re short staffed as we’re preparing for the holiday season.

  My phone rings as I’m climbing in my silver Saturn Ion to go to work and it’s Dan, my boyfriend, is calling. “Hey.” I hate pet names, so he doesn’t get a ‘hey, babe’ and neither do I.

  We haven’t seen each other in a few days since he works first shift and goes to bed super early, plus my daily life is already packed to the brim. “Hey, what’re you doing?” His voice is toneless and grating and devoid of any real emotion.

  “Going to work.” I first met Dan through a mutual friend and it was instant attraction. Now, since we’ve been dating for nine months, the fire is out. He’s my first serious boyfriend, so I figure this is probably normal.

  Although he’s twenty-years-old, he’s different than what I thought I’d ever look for in a boyfriend. He’s about five-foot-ten with dark hair and glasses, but he likes his car more than he likes me and he’s reckless while driving it.

  On top of that, he’s a smoker and a college drop-out working two jobs while still living with his parents. I don’t fault him for that since college isn’t for everyone and most twenty-somethings still live at home in this economy.

  He was my first and I love him…or I think I do. It’s not love in the you’re my soulmate and I can’t live without you bullshit way that books and movies talk about, but it’s a more realistic type of love.

  “You’re working again?” He scoffs, taut and loud. “I was going to ask you to drive me to AutoZone.” Oh, yeah, part of him being irresponsible with his vehicle is how he lost his license for speeding a few months ago and now he thinks I’m his freaking chauffer.

  I roll my eyes, wishing he could see my irritated reaction. “Too bad, guess you’ll have to find someone else to take you.”

  “I already asked around and everyone is busy.” So, not only does he expect me to drop everything to drive him to a car store, but I’m his last choice of chauffer. Isn’t that just a kick in my metaphorical nuts?

  “Sorry. I gotta go. Love you.” He doesn’t say anything back and just hangs up the phone. Whatever.

  I’d rather work than spend time with him, anyway. I kind of have a major crush on one of my coworkers, Reid. He may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but damn, is he hot.

  Reid is short though still taller than me at my outstanding five-foot-three. He’s Italian, has a faux-hawk, and at least one tattoo on his inner bicep. I found out he plays soccer, like me, and both our numbers are eleven.

  Clearly we’re soulmates.

  Kidding. Sort of. It’s just a crush and we’re both dating other people. Not that he sees me that way, anyway. Besides, people say you shouldn’t shit where you eat for a reason—if a work relationship ends badly it’s awkward for everyone.

  I think I could spend all day obsessing and fantasizing over him, but that would be unhealthy and creepy and plain bad considering I have a boyfriend already. But it makes work a little sweeter when I get to see him.

  I walk into The Starting Line—my store, not to be confused with the band—and see Reese standing with Leigh, err, Aiden? Great.

  And no Reid tonight either. Bummer.

  Reese is cute too though he’s no Reid. He’s tall and lean and downright hilarious. I love working with him because he’s so much more lax than Seth is, but knowing he’s friends with the new guy is disappointing.

  “Chels,” my name is called from the front of the store and Reese is waving his hand in a come here, join us motion.

  He’s standing at the folding table with New Guy, and I wanted to continue my streak of avoiding him, but I guess I will have to get to know him sometime.

  “So, how did you two meet?” I make it sound like they’re dating or something.

  “We go to school together, same major, and live near each other,” Reese answers me. I’m still not getting any warmth from his buddy… whose nametag still reads Aiden.

  “Okay, stupid question, but didn’t Seth say your name was Leigh?” I have to ask because it’s killing me and I hate being confused.

  “Yeah, but I prefer to go by my middle name, Aiden, because I hate my first name.” I guess I know what to call him now that since we got it straightened out. But he still seems like a douche, no change there.

  “Oh, okay,” My reply is lame and my voice is weak. I mean, what am I supposed to say ? Yeah, sucks to be you? Change your attitude while you’re at it? The passive-aggressive bitch in me wants to call him Leigh, but I’ll refrain. For now.

  2

  Keep the Change, You Filthy Animal

  My favorite month passes in the blink of an eye and the next thing I know, it’s November and the holidays are rapidly approaching. Work is loud and buzzing with the sounds of people starting their Christmas shopping.

  “Chelsea, can I talk to you for a second?” I nod and walk to where my manager is standing at the back of the store. “I want to talk to you about black Friday.”

  This will be my first experience with the dreaded day and I’ve been told horror stories from all of my coworkers. “What’s up?” I’m afraid he’ll make me close and clean up the store after the wreckage of the customers.

  “How would you feel about opening on black Friday?” He makes a face that’s half-grin half-grimace. It’s not like I can say no to him. “I have Reid opening with you too. I thought I could bribe you with him.”

  He laughs at my expense. Everyone knows about my crush on Reid because I’m not very subtle. That Seth is using said crush to persuade me into opening should be embarrassing, but I don’t even care. It’s one less thing to be miserable about when waking up at the ass crack of dawn. Man candy is handy that way.

  I don’t understand why Seth would want me to open the store and handle the initial rush of customers. Here’s the thing I’ve learned about myself in the past couple of months working as a salesperson: I suck at being a salesperson.

  I hate talking to strangers and starting conversations about the weather or some other mundane topic. I hate pushing products on people that don’t work and, although we have to, I don’t do it. Therefore, my sales numbers are consistently shit.

  I’m surprised I even still have a job, though I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that I volunteer for all the tasks nobody else wants to do. I fold the clothes, I organize the stockroom, I fill the online orders, etc.

  Also, because bribery can work both ways, I bake cupcakes for everyone to sweeten the day—pun intended—since it will be a long and tiring. At least I don’t have to close and clean up the store.

  I’m about to get back to work when Aiden walks in hand-in-hand with this gorgeous, short blonde girl. Her platinum hair is braided down her back and her smile is bright and genuine.

  She looks equine-chic with tight navy jeans, a white sweater under a navy vest, and tall chestnut boots. Her oversized purse matches her boots and everything about her screams put-together and wealthy.

  I’m still avoiding Aiden like the plague but I’m watching them from afar. Seth goes up to talk to them and they all laugh together. Her laugh is light like floating bubbles. She seems perfect.

  “Jess, what do you think about these?” The blonde bomb
shell has migrated to the women’s side. Aiden lifts up an Air Max Nike to ask her opinion, and she glides to his side. They fit together so effortlessly.

  As I watch them and how they interact with such ease and grace, I realize how desperate I am for something that sturdy and loving.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The loudest and most irritating sound known to man rips me out of my deep, blissful slumber. My alarm chimes at a decibel that should be illegal for three thirty in the morning.

  The exhaustion is painful. My eyes are somehow heavier than my legs dragging me to my car. It’s going to be one long night…morning…day? Whatever.

  I pack up the cupcakes knowing I’m bound to need a lot more than sugar to deal with people today. Pity I don’t like coffee.

  The bright lights in the mall are blinding and cause an instant headache. Seth’s cheery, go-get-em attitude is irritating as hell. “Morning, Chels.” A red bull sits on the counter beside him, which at least explains his mood. I think I grunt in response.

  I go to push open the stockroom door and almost take Reid out as I push it open. He holds the door since I’m carrying precious cargo. “Hey, Chels, watcha got there?”

  Reid is a fitness fanatic, which is why he looks so damn good. “Cupcakes,” I say on a yawn. It’s doubtful he’ll even eat any since they contain actual sugar and are delicious and not healthy.

  I put the cupcakes in a safe space in the stockroom and grab my nametag before trudging back to the front of the store. The pure exhaustion is making me wish I brought a coke or something with me to perk me up.

  The second we open, shoppers swarm the store. People come in with their young children—who should be in bed sleeping—and tear apart the store. “Do you have this in a size one?”

  “The biggest size those go up to is an infant size ten.” She nods.

  “Can you grab that? We’ll try it.” In no universe would an infant-sized shoe would fit a school-age child, but to each her own.

  Spoiler alert—it doesn’t fit.