Chapter Text
She’s almost convinced he’s wearing eyeliner. That or his lower eyelashes are very thick, but that’s not really a possibility. She’s seen him freshly showered after gym class, and he’s always baby-faced and moody, but his lashes are overall ordinary and even leaning into the too thin category. Alright, Yelena only saw him once after gym class and yeah, she’ll admit she wasn’t paying attention to his eyes – sue her if the way his hair fell on his forehead made her run into the lockers – but right now, under the fluorescent lights of the gas station, it looks like he’s wearing eyeliner and it makes her stomach flip.
Even hiding in the driver seat of her Pontiac Sunfire, parked alongside truck drivers taking a nap before going on the night shift, Yelena feels like she might combust into flames if he as much as turns in her direction. There’s no way he can spot her from this far, but as much as she dreads it, she craves it even more. If her friends were to see her like this, hanging around the gas station parking lot, wearing her best clothes and the sluttiest makeup she could manage, she would never hear the end of it.
There’s no real glory in having the biggest, fattest crush on the one guy the whole school agrees is a complete scumbag, but the heart wants what it wants, and Yelena wants him bad. Which is, honestly, so embarrassing. She has so many things to do, homework piling up on her desk, a whole cheer routine to learn by the end of the week, her mom needs her to clean up the attic – fuck, her dad asked her to take the car to the mechanic two weeks ago – and somehow, Yelena decided that the best way to spend her Tuesday night is stalking the only boy she knows who doesn’t give a crap about her.
Yeah, okay, she doesn’t know him, but she knows about him. Yelena knows that he comes from another town; a city, actually – which makes him more interesting that half the school already – and that he lives with his Aunt Carol, who works with her mom at the hospital as an accountant, and that he’s older than her because for some reason he needed to repeat senior year, and that he… is coming this way, fuck fuck fuck.
Before she can think it through, she finds herself sliding off the seat, trying to disappear under the dashboard. “What the fuck, fucking hell, Bob, turn around, what the fuck,” she whispers against the steering wheel, feeling the pedals dig painfully into her calves. It’s too dark; he probably won’t notice her hiding like this. She stopped growing when she was fourteen, so there’s no reason to think her head is poking out. He’s just probably checking on the trucks parked next to her, might be part of his job, even. Part-time gas dispatcher, part-time parking lot guard, yeah.
“Your window is down.”
“FUCK!”
Yelena’s never living this down. No, she’s not looking up; she’s dying here. There’s… no way to get further down, but maybe if she ignores him, he’ll leave? If her legs cramp then so be it.
No, she can hear him clearing his throat. And yeah, he’s laughing.
“Hey, uh, lady, I mean, miss, are you okay? Do you need help?”
Yelena would be laughing too if the roles were reversed. Hell, she would be laughing right now if it had been anyone but him catching her in this situation. When she was younger, she did a lot of stupid shit just because Nat convinced her to, and there was never a time when she couldn’t talk or laugh her way out of the consequences. This should be no different, and yet.
Nowadays there’s no pushy older sister around to blame for her endeavors. Or maybe…
“No, no help needed,” she finds herself saying in a voice that doesn’t belong to her. Yelena sounds timid, almost fearful, and with a great effort, she stares up at him, dreading the sight that’ll meet her. Yeah, still gorgeous, fuck. “I’m fine, I swear. I’m… waiting for my sister.”
Waiting for my sister? Who the hell is gonna believe that?
Bob’s eyebrows go up to his hairline, head tilted, definitely not believing that. She can tell he’s fighting a smile, though. “Crouched down like that?”
She wants to yell at him that it’s none of his business, but then again, it is kind of his business, considering she invaded his place of employment to stare at him from the shadows.
Nat’s ears must be burning back at her place in the city. Somehow, those big sister instincts must be telling her that Yelena is making a fool of herself all the way at home for no valid reason whatsoever. If she knew this was all for a boy, ugh.
“Yeah, she told me to be subtle,” Yelena says through her teeth, biting her cheek at the lame as shit excuse she manages. Bob snorts.
“Those bright ass lights are not subtle at all, dude. You’re blinding the whole lot.”
Okay, she’s had enough of his teasing tone. Hot and everything, she still has her pride, and she has not permitted him to tease her like this. Even if it makes her blush.
“What are you doing here anyway?” she mutters under her breath, managing to fall back on the driver's seat and prodding at her hair to put the ponytail back in place. Feels all crooked, and she spent like an hour on it. “What I do or don’t do with my lights does not concern you,” she tries at last and manages to look him in the eye for the first time since he approached her.
They’re the darkest shade of blue. Perhaps cobalt? Almost brown if the light stops hitting them directly. Her breath hitches against her will. Pretty.
Bob, however, looks a bit flustered. He still manages a slightly annoyed tone, but she can tell his heart is not in it. “It concerns me when it bothers my boss enough to send me here,” he says, glancing down at her clothes for a fraction of a second and meeting her eyes again. “So, can you please turn them off?”
Yelena’s not gonna fight him on that. She just sighs and lets her head fall back, eyes fixed on a dirt spot on the roof of her car.
“Aight.”
He’s turning around when he speaks again, and if it wasn’t because her embarrassment has made her painfully aware of everything around her, she could’ve missed Bob’s last remark.
“Nice legs, by the way.”
It’s only there that she notices her skirt has ridden up to her hips, and her panties and legs are on full display for anyone to see. This time, she makes sure the window is up before sliding under the dashboard.
-
“And she’s back!” Bob greets her with such enthusiasm that Yelena looks at him in surprise, hoping the whole scene in the parking lot was not the most pathetic thing he’s witnessed at this job. He, however, is shooting her the fakest smile she’s ever seen on anyone – and she grew up with Nat! – and realizes that nicety has to be the way he’s told to treat customers.
Something deflates inside her ribcage. Suddenly, she’s furious at him for not living up to the expectations Yelena set in her mind. Doesn’t care if it’s not fair or logical, she’s hurt all the same.
“She’s thirsty,” she says, dropping on the register the few groceries she can afford right now to bring home as an excuse to be out this late. No one’s gonna believe her, but there’s no loss in trying.
“I can tell,” Bob replies, voice absent and judgmental. Yelena wonders if it would fuck with her Brown application if she sucker punched him. Not worth it, but her hands still shake with rage.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks him instead of choosing violence, like she ought to. He’s looking directly at her, hair unruly and fluffy falling on his face, and even though Yelena feels like kicking him until he cries, she also wants to crawl over the register and kiss his stupid face.
Then he opens his mouth again.
“How is she gonna drink that gallon of juice by herself?” he wonders aloud, looking around the empty store like he’s waiting for the fridges and shelves to agree with him. “Or… do you have a UTI?”
She gasps. “No, jerk, don’t you see the soda can right in front of you?”
She grabs the Pepsi for good measure and shakes it in front of him, maybe a bit too close to his face, causing him to take a step back and look at her with aversion. Fine, that’s not her proudest moment. Yelena’s usually way nicer to service workers. Or at least to those who don’t make assumptions about her downstairs affairs. “This is for, uh…” Who in her life needs cranberry juice right now? And why does she care if he catches her in another lie?
“Your sister,” he supplies, putting the groceries in a plastic bag with a little too much force. In return, Yelena places the money in his hand with a slap that resonates through the hallways and smirks when Bob flinches in surprise, dropping the bill on the counter.
“Right,” Yelena adds, needing to have the last word.
It takes him a second to come with a reply. “And that whole outfit is for her, too? Is sister the new term people are using to refer to –”
This time Yelena really gets in his space, making sure their faces are centimeters apart before she talks. “Be careful with what you say next.”
He swallows, but stands his ground, lips thin. In what feels like a practiced power move, he decides to stand tall, taking advantage of all his height, and looks down at her. The cashier machine starts printing her receipt and… whatever that was, is broken
While Yelena busies herself with double bagging her few items, Bob clears his throat and makes a show of checking her out. Which would be her dreams come true if he didn’t have that mocking expression on his face.
“Dude, your clothes are barely there,” he says, looking directly at her skirt. It’s fake white leather and Yelena thinks it clings nicely to her ass, but the way he says it makes her feel dumb and ugly. “Why are you dressed like that? We’re months away from Halloween.”
And it’s so childish. For months, she pictured him to be thoughtful and considerate and attentive and everything a good guy should be. Instead, he turned out to be mean and spiteful and nasty.
“Why do you care?” And why is her voice sounding so small? Why does she care what a random dude thinks?
He sighs, and for the first time in the whole night it seems he’s thinking before speaking. “Look, I have half a mind to give you my jacket; it can’t be safe to walk home wearing that.”
Ugh, and isn’t it awful, how just a simple sentence said with barely contained guilt and most likely born out of pity makes all those ideals of ‘thoughtful and considerate and attentive’ to rush back to her, even when minutes ago he was about to call her a hooker? But, fuck, wait a minute, what did he say?
“Why would I walk home, you idiot?” she asks him, dumbfounded. “My car is parked right outside.” And just because she can, Yelena points to it, making sure he follows her gaze. To her great despair, when he looks back at her his mouth is curved on a cocky grin, hands on his hips, and she just knows he’s gonna ruin her night even more. What a shame he looks so handsome while doing it. Motherfucker.
“Yeah, no,” he laughs, running a hand through his hair and making her blood boil. Bob mimics her earlier pose, pointing to the car past the glass doors, and waits for Yelena to look him in the eye before throwing the final punch. “The battery is fried. You were there for two hours, car off, lights on to their fullest. You’re fucked.”
Oh, no. The car. The car that was supposed to be dropped off at the mechanic two weeks ago because it was acting up. The car that was supposed to take her home after this. That car.
Yelena lets her face fall on her hands, not caring if it smudges her make up. “My dad is gonna kill me.”
She feels Bob’s hand on her shoulder and welcomes the warmth for barely an instant before shaking him off with a grunt and walking to the phone booth outside of the store.
“Good thing your sister is coming to rescue you, then,” he mocks, following after her and handing Yelena some coins to put on the machine. She doesn’t fight it, but she resents him. He won, and Yelena hates it. She can’t recall the last time she lost anything, goddamnit.
“Eat shit, Bob,” Yelena whispers, covering the mic in case her mom picks up on the first ring.
He smiles brightly and gets in her space, forcing her into a corner. Fuck, why is he so tall? Why is he inside the booth? And why does he smell like mustard?
“And why do you know my name?” he taunts, but before she can reply, she hears the line connect, and she settles for flipping him off. Bob doesn’t even see it; he’s already walking away.