Looking to Lose (completed)

*5*

"No, here," I say, leaning over and clicking the clear button on the screen. "Try again."

Answering with nothing but silence, Aaron sullenly tries again to ring up the book I am fake buying from him. After his third try, the cash register opens with a satisfying ring and I smile in spite of his emotionless expression.

"Yes!" I punch my fist in the air. The closer Aaron is to being trained, the faster I can stop talking to him. Not that he says much in return; he hasn't thanked me once for spending my whole day training him.

"Okay, now let me show you how to serve the hot drinks," I say, walking towards the taps.

"I'm pretty sure I can pull a lever," he replies sarcastically. I clench my jaw shut, biting back the snarky comment threatening to spill from my lips. Instead, a much more rewarding idea pops into my head. Motioning to a cup, I take a few steps back and say nothing as I let him show me just how talented he is with these "levers."

Confidently, he places a mug under the coffee tap and pushes it open aggressively. A stream of scalding hot coffee sprays out, spattering all over his face and shirt before he manages to pull it shut again. I try to stifle my laugh, but a chuckle escapes me. Aaron whips his gaze at me, his eyes flashing angrily, and for the briefest moment, I feel bad that I didn't warn him. Don't feel bad, he said he could handle it.

"Come on," I say with a smile still on my lips, "let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm. Fine."

I give him my best death stare, though it can't compete with the daggers he's shooting me right now.

"I really don't care," I say truthfully. "But you can't greet customers in a coffee stained shirt." I turn on my heel and walk to the back room, knowing he'll follow, and grab a new shirt off the rack. Just to spite him I choose a soft pink color, despite him previously only picking black, grey and white shirts for his uniform.

He glowers at me when I hand it over, but my I set my jaw fiercely, and it seems to deter him from challenging me. Instead, he pulls his coffee-soaked shirt over his head, not breaking eye contact until the shirt covers his eyes. Only then do I allow myself to look at his naked torso. I gulp audibly. He's built. And I mean, 6-pack abs, pecs bigger than my future, v-line so sharp it'd give me a papercut built. If the torso didn't belong to the most despicable person I currently know, then maybe I'd be attracted. Turned-on even. I may even daydream about this moment.

Fortunately, the minute Aaron's face reemerges, all potential fantastical thoughts are dashed. I rip my eyes away and walk back to the bar, not needing to see the rest of the show.

A few seconds later he is back, and I get down two mugs and motion for him to take a seat. I expertly pour coffee into one, keeping the mug flush against the nozzle to prevent any spray back, and hand it to him with a self-satisfied smirk on my face. I pour hot chocolate into the second and hop up onto the bar counter itself, taking a happy sip. There are a few things in this world that I can constantly rely on to bring me joy: hot chocolate ranks very high on the list.

"Why are you here?" I blurt out, asking the question that has been burning within me since I first saw him here yesterday. After the adverse reaction he had to me, I was positive nothing could get him to come back.

"My dad said I either had to work for him or get a job."

"Yeah, a job. Not this job," I point out.

"I was late to apply," he replies icily, as if he doesn't have time to explain it to me. "This was the only place still hiring for the summer."

"What does your dad do?" I ask.