A/N: Hey everyone! First fanfic in awhile, I had an idea and thought I'd go with it.. it takes place after Bo's senior year of high school. Let me know what you think and if you want to see more!

Chapter 1

A heavy-lidded glare followed by the words "I said no sugar. This has sugar. Make a new one." and Bo knew immediately who it was.

She stared dully at a thin, wrinkled figure harboring a bob of brownish hair in a typical Soccer Mom cut, with red lipstick that she'd likely just purchased. The tag might as well be dangling from her lips. She'd probably been excited to wear it too, as if putting it on suddenly made her a new person, somehow more sophisticated. Make-up caked on, but a clear line between the light-tan of her face and her pale neck (evidently she hadn't read Cosmo—or maybe she thought her neck was naturally that tan). Acne bumps shone through the cover of her foundation, their red-ness concealed, but the swells still there, like landmarks on the frontiers of her cheeks.

Bo only judged her because she had nothing better to do, and also because she was forced to paste on a smile, call her ma'am, and pretend she hadn't been blatantly rude. The customer was always right, after all. She wasn't even a person to Bo—she was merely a type- one of the many types of people who she dealt with at The Dal, the coffee shop she'd been working at for a month.

There was also the bum type: the guys with a tangled wire of a grey beard and breath that smelt like a mixture of tobacco and marijuana, red eyes, glazed over as they mumbled their orders in monotone, stumbling between words, barely able to pronounce "cappuccino" - they often hit on Bo too, some of them slipped her a number and gave her a wink, and she'd be forced to smile as if she weren't suppressing a gag.

Bo had a name in her small town, upon finishing her senior year of high school, she was known – or about as known as an 18 year old could be. She was never super popular, not one of those girls who attracted a crowd of friends, or fans, that shadowed them throughout the halls, but she always did well with the opposite sex - and the same-sex for that matter.

Junior year she'd spent her fair share of time at bars, partaking in one sexual act after the other, the atmosphere somehow providing her with an ever-present sex-drive. But she lost interest in people as quickly as she gained it, breaking hearts without trying, as she forgot their names and didn't answer their calls – no one could keep her attention. That was her trademark.

"Ma'am, my sincerest apologies, your new one will be right up," Bo said to the lady, her smile saying anything but. Her co-worker, Dyson, a man who showed more tattoos than skin, gave her a knowing-glance, the kind of glance that said both I'm sorry you have to deal with this and I'm so glad it's not me. Day after day, she dealt with the same difficult customers, the smells of stale coffee thick on their breaths as they complained, and Bo had to cater to their every need. The only small retribution being the ability to laugh about it with her co-workers, to mumble under her breath about the audacity of them… but this is what it had come to. A minimum-wage summer job to fund her college tuition (the college she hadn't yet applied for, as she was nowhere close to gathering enough money), or she'd be stuck paying loans for the rest of her life.

Interrupting her thoughts, a blonde approached Bo waggling her eyebrows. "So, what are we doing after work? Bar? Strip club?"

"No and uh, definitely not," Bo grimaced. When her boss, Trick, gave her this job, Bo had vowed to do away with her old ways and begin developing a new, more responsible persona that she'd carry on to college. That, of course, meant no more bars.

The question had been a product of another one of her co-workers, Tamsin - the only one wearing the hideous green apron that they were supposed to wear, but Bo had sworn against it, claiming it choked her neck. But Tamsin could pull it off. She also modeled tight, ass-hugging jeans and a noose of grey pearls.

"Did someone say strip club? Count me in," Dyson yelled over the drone of the coffee-maker, without bothering to glance their way. Bo was fairly certain he'd hear the phrase "strip-club" from fifty feet away, over loud coffee makers, screaming customers, and maybe a blow horn or two.

"Come on BoBo, drinks on me," Tamsin begged, ignoring Dyson and tugging at the arm of her friend who was punching numbers into the cash register. "Well, drinks are on these babies," she added, gesturing toward her chest.

"No way," Bo laughed. "You know I don't do that anymore."

"Oh my god, you are so boring these days." As if Tamsin had even known her before her 'these days.' "What are you going to do, then? Besides suck every ounce of fun from everyone around you."

"Hmm," Bo tapped her chin in mock-contemplation. "I was thinking I'd have a hot date with me, the bed, and a tub of chocolate cookie dough ice cream. Ooh, and maybe I'll spice it up with some Chardonnay."

"That's pathetic, although," Tamsin paused. "The Chardonnay's not a bad idea." She mused.

"If insulting is your tactic to convince me, it's not going to work... yes, ma'am, that'll be 3.95.. thank you, have a nice day."

"Are you really, honestly going to leave me with Dyson as a wing-man?" her tone laced with mock-horror as Dyson offered a wide grin on cue, Tamsin glaring at him as if to say remember what happened last time, and the time before that, and the time before that...

"I'm supposed to train that new girl, remember. That'll be enough to drain me for a week," Bo yawned. "4:30... shouldn't she be here soon?"

"Hey," Tamsin nudged Dyson. "This is the most excitement Bo's had in weeks, huh? Newbie coming in… more thrills than her future wedding day."

Bo made a face, glancing again at her watch as if expecting it to have moved in the span of five seconds. Then, she remembered the saying, a watched pot never boils… or something relatable like that... and shoved the piece of metal under her sleeve. Tamsin and Dyson had been here for over a year, so this kind of thing was second-nature to them… but truthfully, it was Bo's first time assigned to the duty of training, and she was slightly nervous… although, she made sure no one could tell from her actions as she easily rang each customer up, thankful business was slow today, a smile painted on her lips.

Always smile. It makes people feel welcome, Trick had taught her.

"Don't you know Bo will never change her mind?" She overheard Dyson tell Tamsin, a few feet away from her now. "She's more stubborn than anyone."

"Hey, I'm right here," Bo seethed.

"It's okay, we'll have fun without her," Tamsin assured him, clearly resigned to the fact that Bo's mind wasn't changing.

"When do you think she'll be here?" Bo wondered out-loud. Anticipation was enough to have her ignoring talk of bars and strip clubs, and creating scenarios in her mind of what she may have to deal with. Unfortunately, she had to try not to sound too eager, or worried, not wanting her co-workers to know that she harbored any anxiety on the matter.

Tamsin shrugged, obviously lacking interest and Dyson mumbled something inaudibly and turned the coffee grinder back on, the buzz bouncing off the walls of the shop and mixing with the old-school music to create a sense of havoc. Rain cracked like bullets outside, through the fingerprint-smudged windows of the shop, the dark sky hovering overhead like a crater. This was totally a Netflix, soft blanket, jar of peanut-butter sort of night… while Tamsin and Dyson were getting soaked waiting in line for a bar or strip club, she'd be snuggled up in bed, having fun – the new Bo's idea of fun.

A bell installed to the door announced whenever a customer came in. Trick had put it in recently, evidently to force Bo and friends to look up from whatever they were gossiping about, but Bo saw it as a canyon that went off constantly to disturb her. Whenever she heard it, she dragged her chin up and rolled her eyes, guessing each person's order... a cup of coffee, black, a sugar-free scone.. er, not black, add a bit of cream, and uh, nevermind on the scone, I'm trying to lose a few pounds... she'd then proceed to lazily wash the counter.

The bell hadn't went off for a good 20 minutes which was a positive omen. It told Bo it'd be a slow day, and she could listen to Tamsin and Dyson prattle on about their plans for the night – not exactly her choice activity, but it beat ringing up expressos.

4:45. Bo had stolen a glance at her watch despite telling herself not to – she couldn't help herself. As much as she told herself she liked it slow, lack of speed meant lack of things to do, which meant more time to stare at the clock. The new girl would be here any minute, and training would commence. Not a monumental event in life, but it'd give Bo something to do for the next few hours. She could only stand gossip in small increments.

The new girl. It was like one of those movies – there'd be something peculiar about her. She'd be bat-crazy or evil or secretly run a drug-business on the side … but likely, none of that would be true. Real life was not that exciting. Likely, she'd get fired within a few weeks because Trick was very attentive to details and conservative with who he hired, not many people lasted, and then Bo would feel responsible. But still, out of lack of excitement in her life, all the possible scenarios continued to escalate through her mind.

She stood in a daze, appreciating the near-empty Dal in that moment. The lighting was a soothing contrast to the weather outside, a feint, almost romantic glow of colored bulbs, the kind that crooned the faces under them, giving even the ugliest of complexions a heavenly glow. The red couches were nestled together as if protecting each other, the whole group surrounding a coffee-table and creating a homey atmosphere – if she didn't work here, Bo wouldn't mind sitting down on one of the couches and relaxing.

She flinched when the door rang. Her sweet 20 minutes had so quickly ceased, the fragile silence broken like thin glass, with something as simple as the chime of a bell. She glanced at the door, carrying her same painted-smile with eyes that harvested the depths of her weariness.

The figure who entered the shop had blonde hair, longer and more honey-colored than Tamsin's, mixed with subtle streaks of brown, framing her head in graceful, portrait-like waves. Dry, despite the rain. She had pink lips stripped of any façade of dark lipstick and skin that didn't need lighting to emanate a natural glow. Deep, chocolate eyes twinkled under the lamps. It took Bo a moment to look away from her face, but when she continued her exploration downwards, her mouth dried. That body. The woman slowly neared, and Bo watched the model-like movement of her long legs. Ass-hugging jeans covering their perfectly toned structure and, Bo glanced up... a The Dal shirt covered the swell of her breasts.

Lauren. Her new trainee.