Strings Attached ➤ Jay

|| Behind the Counter Wars

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tempo -

ᯓ‎♪"Yeah, baby, you my biggest vice
Yeah, you my guilty pleasure"˖ ˚𝄞. ⋆˚. 

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I was late.

Not, like, actually late — but late by my standards, which meant I was rushing through the shop door with my blue hair still damp from the shower, coffee in one hand, bag in the other, and the general aura of someone who had absolutely not had enough sleep.

My dad was already at the counter, arms crossed, grin suspiciously smug.

"You look tired," he said casually. Too casually.

I narrowed my eyes. "Why do you sound like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you know something I don't."

He just hummed and went back to organizing receipts.

Suspicious.

I hung up my jacket, muttering under my breath, and had just started setting up the front register when the door chimed.

"Morning, Blue."

I nearly choked on my coffee.

Jay was standing in the doorway, hair perfectly styled as always, hands in his pockets like he'd just stepped out of an ad campaign. He looked obnoxiously well-rested for someone who'd been out late.

"Don't call me that," I said automatically, turning back to the counter.

"You didn't seem to mind last night," he said, stepping inside.

I froze. "You— what— how—"

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "What? It's just a nickname. Relax."

From the counter, my dad made a noise suspiciously close to a snicker.

"Are you serious right now?" I asked him.

"What? I like him," Dad said, shrugging. "He's polite. Helps out. Probably good for business."

I gaped at him. "You've known him for, like, three days."

"And in three days he's proven more useful than the last kid we hired who quit after one afternoon," Dad said. "Give him a chance."

Jay was smirking like the cat that caught the canary.

"Oh my god," I muttered, rubbing my face. "This is my nightmare."

The rest of the morning was torture.

Jay followed me around the store like some kind of very expensive, very persistent shadow — asking questions, stocking records, double-checking prices like a model employee.

And every time I thought he was actually being serious about the job, he'd lean just a little too close and whisper something that made me want to throw a box of CDs at his head.

"So," he said as we were restocking a shelf, "was that your first time performing in front of me last night?"

I shot him a look. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Because," he said, smirking, "you were good. Really good. Kind of hard to imagine you hiding a voice like that behind this counter all day."

"Maybe because I don't like showing off," I snapped, sliding a record into place.

"Shame," he said lightly. "You should do it more often."

I glared at him. "Stop trying to charm me."

He grinned. "Didn't say I was trying."

By the time lunch rolled around, I was convinced I was losing my mind.

Jay was at the counter, ringing someone up perfectly like he'd been doing it for years, and I was leaning against the back doorway with my arms crossed when my dad walked over, still grinning.

"You know," he said, too casually, "he's good at this. You two make a good team."

I stared at him. "Please stop trying to set me up with my coworker."

Dad raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about setting you up?"

"You just did," I accused.

"I'm saying you work well together," Dad said. "But, you know, if something else happens..." He shrugged innocently.

I groaned. "I'm going to quit."

"No, you're not," Dad said, patting my shoulder before walking away.

Jay, of course, had heard everything and was biting back laughter.

"Shut up," I said before he could open his mouth.

"I didn't say anything," he said innocently.

"You didn't have to," I muttered.

Later that afternoon, I was restocking near the back when I realized Jay had followed me again.

"What," I said flatly, not even turning around.

He leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, looking way too relaxed for someone at work. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"About the guitar," he said. "You let me hold it the other night, but you still won't sell it?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, Jay. I'm not selling you my guitar."

"Then let me play it," he said, grin tugging at his mouth.

"Nope."

"Just once?"

"No."

"Come on," he said, stepping closer. "You can watch. I won't break it. Promise."

I crossed my arms. "You're insufferable."

He just grinned wider. "You didn't say no that time."

I opened my mouth to argue, but then the door chimed and a customer walked in, saving me from answering.

When I glanced back at him, he was still smiling — like he knew he'd gotten under my skin.

And annoyingly, he was right.

By the time we locked up that night, my head was spinning. Between my dad teasing me, Jay pushing my buttons all day, and the memory of his stupid soft smile from last night, I felt like I'd been run over by an emotional freight train.

When we stepped outside, Jay glanced at me with that calm expression again.

"See you tomorrow, Blue," he said.

I glared at him. "Stop calling me that."

He just smirked, walking away like he'd won something.

Which — okay, fine — maybe he had.

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A/N: for those who watched iland and don't know this but this song was made by my queen daniel and i love it sm so i had to include it here