Young Annabelle (Y.A Series Book 1)

by Sarah Tork

  When I flew, I did it alone, and that meant no cars trailing beside me, ruining the one moment I looked forward to each time I went to work. The SUV took its chance and went rolling down the hill, cautious and slow. As soon as it rounded the corner, stopping in front of the valet stand, I glanced quickly behind me for any incoming cars.

  No cars.

  Check.

  I pedaled forward and gravity did the rest. I sped down the hill at speeds that would have made even a fearless person scream. I didn’t scream. I hollered in joy as I released my handlebars and held my arms out to dance against the wind as I soared.

  Fly!

  If I could have, I’d have closed my eyes too.

  “Hold your brakes!” Jenna screamed as I came charging towards her. I shook my head, laughing ‘menacingly’ at her.

  “Damn it! Anna, brakes!” she pleaded as she dove out of the way.

  I depressed my brakes a fraction and the bike slowed down a little. “Relax!” I teased Jenna as I came to a complete stop in front of an empty spot at the dock.

  Jenna walked around the dock as I got off my bike. “You almost crushed me!” She ‘cried’ as I bent down to lock up my bike.

  “Almost,” I grinned. “But you’re still here, safe and sound.”

  I straightened and shoved the key into my backpack’s front pocket. She scowled angrily at me, but it only lasted for two seconds before a wide grin broke out of her steel frown.

  “Bitch,” she muttered, linking her arm through mine, pulling me towards the employee entrance of the club.

  “Scaredy cat,” I retorted.

  Her shoulder bumped against mine, making me stumble.

  “Hey!” I laughed as she continued to drag me. “I see you’re resorting to physical violence now.”

  “Just keeping you in line, buddy.” She gave me a knowing grin and laughed.

  We rounded the corner, passing the valet stand. The employee entrance was tucked around the corner to the member entrance but, surprisingly, the bike dock was out front. Who else besides employees would ride a bike to a country club?

  My eyes widened when I noticed the black SUV idling by the employee entrance. Usually that kind of car either utilized the valet or they were dropping off someone at the front entrance.

  “What do you think that’s all about?” Jenna asked quietly. She, too, was perplexed at the sight of the expensive car back here.

  “Don’t know,” I told her as we approached the door. I craned my neck to take one last look before going inside. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see anything. I heard the car lock click and I quickly twisted back around. Jenna and I unlinked arms and went into the change room.

  *~*~*

  An hour and a half later, I was back in the employee change room, opening the purple lunch box from my childhood.

  My first break was only fifteen minutes. In this time I could use the bathroom, eat, socialize, rest or chill in the locker room. What I couldn’t do was buy food in the club’s restaurant because employees weren’t allowed in there. The stands that offered food outside had yet to open. Mine was the only stand that opened early. Apparently it was never too early for freshly squeezed lemonade.

  My stomach was growling and I knew that whatever mom had packed me wouldn’t even come close to satisfying the hunger pains.

  “Just great!” I muttered quietly as I peered in at what I would unfortunately be faced with consuming.

  Mom had given me a banana. She was trying to be nutritious yet playful at the same time. I hadn’t been called ‘Anna Banana’ in a while and the feeling of Mom and Dad attempting the whole ‘we just want our baby girl to be healthy’ thing was rubbing me the wrong way. My parents, especially my mom didn’t do sweet and cuddly. They were in your face, rash, and to the point despite your feelings. At least that’s how it’d been for the last few years. But recently, I’d been getting a few ‘Sweetie’s’ and ‘Sweethearts’. It freaked me out if I was being honest.

  Banana. First break snack. Check.

  For my second break, I pulled out a strawberry yogurt and turned it around so I could check the calories. Right under the nutritional information there was a red circle around total calories.

  My mother’s antics were driving me mad. Why would she feel the need to circle the information? The only thing calming me down was the fact that the entire yogurt was only 80 calories. Perhaps that was why it was circled; Mom thought it was an indulgence and a healthy choice at only 80 calories.

  Pssttt……LOOK….LOOK…LOOOOOK….. at all the great diet choices I had….like this yogurt, which was only 80 calories. Gee, if I just continued to make great choices like this, well, I bet I’d be losing MORE weight in no time!

  THANKS MOM! YOU’RE THE BEST!

  I threw the yogurt in the trash. I was making a statement. And that was….DON’T MARK MY FOOD. The banana stayed though. It wasn’t marked and I was hungry.

  Plain and simple.

  I glanced up at the clock. My break was almost over. I took out the banana and threw the lunch box back inside my locker. Half a minute later, the banana peel hit the trash and I was out the door.

  *~*~*

  “You’re late,” Shelby, the snack stand supervisor, said as I returned to my stand that still had the ‘Be back in 15 minutes’ sign up.

  I glanced down at my watch. I was only thirty seconds late.

  Those poor club members!

  They had to wait a whole extra thirty seconds on top of the fifteen minutes I had for break. I was truly the most insensitive employee ever.

  Not!

  I glanced around, the lot was empty. My eyes circled back, catching the burn of Shelby’s impatient glare. I was sick of people giving me glares. What the hell did she want? Maybe I had cramps. Maybe they were really bad. I wondered what she’d say if I divulged a detail like that as my reason for being late.

  I’m not late, so suck it!

  But I wasn’t in the mood to start anything with her so I didn’t fight it. It wasn’t worth the second scowl she/he would give me, or the lengthy lecture about punctuality. And I was on my own today. The other girl, Denise, quit yesterday and they hadn’t had time to find a replacement to work alongside me.

  “Sorry,” I said, watching her play with the papers on her clipboard. She grabbed the pencil from behind her ear and circled something on the sheets.

  “You’re training today.”

  “I’m training?” I repeated.

  “Yep, got a newbie today. Young like you. Great, huh?” She tilted her head to the side, eyeing a guy lifting up a crate of lemons.

  How did I not notice him there all this time?

  “Yeah, that’s great,” I replied with sarcastic enthusiasm, watching the new guy carry the crate into the stand and set it on the table.

  Shelby took that as an okay and left to bother one of the other snack stand operators.

  I took down the break sign from the front of the stand. The new guy’s back was still to me. He was tall.

  Maybe 6’1”… 6’2”…

  “Hey,” he called out, jolting me out of my daze.

  “Hey!” I practically shouted back. I instantly looked away, feeling embarrassed.

  Great, I probably looked mental now.

  I glanced at him briefly from the corner of my eye. His green eyes had widened at my volume and his expression read ‘Whoa, what was that?’

  THAT WAS ANNABELLE!

  Did I mention I loved the color green?

  Nervous butterflies began awakening in my lower stomach. I had made a hideous first impression. I used his stunned moment of taken aback-ness to quickly check him out.

  He was definitely 6’2” now that I could fully see him – a sight I knew I’d be daydreaming about for days to come. Besides being the perfect amount of tall, his body was well-proportioned. His lean, muscled physique was evidenced by the way the club’s black and green polo fit him.

  Tight…..but not too tight.

  The curv
es on his arms, chest, and back took on a life of their own. You’d need a map to guide you around those roadblocks. Only in my wildest dreams would I ever be given the chance to try navigating my way around so much man.

  Geez! Like I’d ever get that map……damn.

  Did I mention his hair? He had really nice hair. A dark brown mop flowed at an angle around his beautiful eyes, along the lines of Justin Bieber in his earlier days, but messier and way sexier.

  My fingers needed a play-date with that hair.

  Snap out of it, creep!

  I shook my head subtly. I did not need him thinking I was a head-twitcher too.

  I entered the stand, the crate of fresh lemons in between us. “Sorry, I was just shocked they got someone so quickly,” I explained, dunking my hands into the mass of lemons.

  He leaned forward, grabbing a lemon from the crate, tossing it in the air with a quick flick of the wrist and catching it again with ease. “What happened to the other girl?”

  “How’d you know it was a girl?” My eyes narrowed. A cocky smile broke out from his bored expression.

  That didn’t take long…

  “Simple,” he replied, “I’ve never seen a guy work in a place like this. Unless he was a fruit.”

  “Then why are you here? You’re a guy and this is a lemonade stand. We make fresh lemonade here. It’s very girly, obviously,” I told him, locking my arms across my chest.

  He grinned, showcasing a perfect set of white teeth.

  I could melt…

  “I’m a different case,” he stated as if it should qualify as an answer.

  I snorted. “That’s not saying much, so I’ll make it easier, since you’re circling the issue at hand_”

  He interrupted, cringing. “I’m not circling anything, I’m different_”

  “Yeah, I bet you are,” My tone was rising, “but in this day and age, we don’t call gay guys fruity, that’s discriminatory and incredibly rude!”

  He leaned forward. “Your words not mine, Fireball.” His grin instantly returned.

  I let out an exasperated grunt and shook my head at the nickname.

  Wow, I didn’t think it was possible, but asshole could trump cute.

  “What now?” He teased with a laugh.

  Clearly he’d noticed I wasn’t too fond of the name he’d branded me with. It didn’t even begin to describe my personality, not that ‘Fireball’ was beyond my realm of expression though. Perhaps I should show him how a ‘Fireball’ really acted.

  He grabbed another lemon from the crate. “So are you gonna ride my ass every time I say something stupid or are you gonna teach me this shit?” He held out the lemon in the space between us.

  Ignoring his extended arm, I leaned down to grab a lemon. “How about both, douche!”

  He dropped his lemon back into the crate. “Both,” He echoed, which meant he knew he was an asshole and didn’t care. Well that wasn’t going to fly with me.

  “That’s right,” I snapped, “if you say something stupid I’m going to call you out on it but, if you’re a good little boy, I just might teach you how to make freshly squeezed lemonade.” I offered him a faux sweet smile.

  I turned toward the juicer on the table and dropped the lemon beside it. “Come here and bring your lemon.”

  He took a few extra seconds to select the perfect lemon before coming to stand next to me. His shoulder grazed mine ever so lightly.

  Okay, a little too close.

  Normally it wouldn’t have bothered me if a hot guy stood beside me, I’d be all ‘yay me’, but the asshole persona was a major turn off.

  Really, it was.

  My head dipped down slightly and, for a brief second, I caught a whiff of his scent: a mixture of shampoo and cologne. It was nice.

  “You like how I smell, huh?”

  WHAT! How on earth did he notice?

  My ponytail flew through the air as my head jerked back up. I shook my head in disbelief. “I didn’t smell you!”

  “Did so, Fireball,” he replied smugly. “You got all quiet and the only thing I heard was the sound of your nostrils sniffing my sweet scent!” He ended that beautiful sentence with a loud laugh.

  My eyes bulged. “I was not_”

  “Yes you were. I don’t blame you, if I wasn't me, I’d smell me, too.” He smirked.

  I scowled at him. “Oh my God! Get over yourself!”

  I reached down and grabbed my lemon so brutally that a bit of juice leaked into my hand. I held it in front of him and shook it to get his attention.

  “Watch how I do this!” I ordered.

  “Got it, boss.” He saluted.

  I took a deep breath and decided to ignore his remark. I placed the lemon on the cutting block and sliced it in half. I then demonstrated how to use the juicer with half the lemon. As one cup was filling with juice, I grabbed another and walked over to the giant juice jug that contained the club’s signature water-sugar syrup. I explained how much to pour in (approximately half the cup), he watched closely and didn’t make any smart-ass comments. I mixed the syrup in with the fresh lemon juice, then grabbed the other half of the lemon and cut it up.

  “The other half we cut it into five wedges and put in the drink along with a scoop of ice,” I told him. I crouched to open the electric freezer underneath the juicer’s table and scooped some ice into the lemonade. Then I pulled out a few frozen pieces of mint. “We add these on top, as a garnish and for taste. And voila, freshly squeezed lemonade with frozen mint.”

  He was staring blankly at the drink.

  “Can I drink it now?” he asked then suddenly, before I could say ‘no’, he picked up the drink and downed it. I stepped back in surprise at his level of thirst. I had never seen a person drink so fast. I guess he was a growing boy.

  “Easy there, Tiger,” I suggested softly.

  He put down the cup and looked at me with a gentler expression.

  “I’m ‘Tiger’ now?” He was grinning again.

  Oh shit!

  I stood silent, at a loss for words. I hadn’t intended to give him a nickname.

  “Um, no, that didn’t come out right, I didn’t mean it!” Minor-ly humiliated, I snatched the cup and walked away from him to the garbage can on the other side of the stand. He followed right behind me.

  “Umm, yes.” He mimicked my flustered voice as I threw the cup in the trash. “It’s okay, Fireball. If it makes you feel any better, I’m okay with ‘Tiger’. You can call me that anytime you want.” He sat on the edge of the table and smiled wryly at me.

  Great, could I have boosted his ego anymore?

  “Can you please act serious? I’m not going to call you Tiger.” I put my foot down, catching myself before I did a childish stomp.

  He pushed himself off the table and towered over me, invading my personal space. I bit back my bitchy comments about personal space, instead tilting my head back to look up at him. Who the hell did he think he was, trying to intimidate me with his height? I could play too, with the best of them, and I’d crush them all.

  I hoped I could at least.

  “Well if you aren’t going to call me Tiger, what are you gonna call me then?” He leaned in closer and I instinctively leaned back.

  Putting my hands on my hips, I replied coolly, “I’m going to call you by your name.”

  “Yeah, well go ahead. What’s my name?” He sneered.

  I opened my mouth but quickly shut it when I realized I’d never asked him his name.

  I don’t even know his name…and we’re arguing like we know each other.

  “Well, you don’t know my name either. Hypocrite much?” I jerked my chin to him.

  He straightened back up and played with the collar of his shirt. He didn’t say anything. It was obvious now that this boy was a child. And since one of us had to be the professional adult, I decided to break first and ask.

  I exhaled, feeling exhausted. “Fine, what’s your name?”

  “Tiger!” he declared and began to laug
h.

  I leaned forward and shoved his left shoulder with my arm. “Hey, abuse, abuse!” He yelped, laughing even harder.

  “You’re an asshole!” I branded him.

  He took a brief moment to calm himself down. “Okay, relax. Ask me again.”

  “What. Is. Your. Name.” I slowly enunciated each word, hoping to make him feel stupid.

  He looked down at me with an amused expression, as if I were the stupid one who dared to even play that game with someone of his caliber of smart ass-ness.

  He sighed loudly and looked away. “Oh Fireball, what am I going to do with you?”

  When he finally turned his eyes back to me, his expression had changed – it was different, weirder. It made me feel funny. Nevertheless, I was not someone who was going to bow down to his obvious cuteness.

  Even if he was really, really, really cute.

  “For the last time: what is your name?” I asked, lifelessly.

  His lip twitched. “I told you, it’s Ti_”

  “You two!” a voice interrupted loudly.

  We spun around to find Shelby standing in front of the cash register with her hands on the counter, giving us glares of destruction.

  “Annabelle. You’re supposed to be training James. I don’t see any training going on. I see wasting the only time you’ll probably have available today to train him!” she yelled at us, well, me.

  Bitch!

  “I’m sorry. I already showed him how make the lemonade.”

  I felt James move close beside me.

  “Oh, so he knows how to make them precisely and efficiently?” Shelby asked with slight hesitation, a strange look in her eyes.

  She thought I was full of shit.

  I glanced up at James. His eyes never left Shelby’s. I looked back to Shelby. “Yes.” I did a silent a prayer that he’d paid attention.

  “Wonderful. Show me, please,” she ordered, indicating the juicer with her chin.

  A frozen chill rode a slow elevator from the soles of my feet to the tip of my head. My ears seemed to be the only sense my body could account for. Behind me, I heard shuffling feet and the roar of the juicer.

  After a few seconds of listening to the juicer hard at work, I snapped out of my little ‘oh shit’ haze and glanced at Shelby, who now reminded me of skinny blonde troll. It might have been the bulged out nose that seemed to be inhaling everything earthly, including my soul, or maybe it was the giant forehead that had an invisible logo flashing on and off just for me.