Unlimited Blue
A/N: For Pitbullsrok because she expressed interest. I actually had an amazing start to this and then my hard drive decided to crap out so…I'm starting over, hopefully I can get the same tone and playfulness I originally had…and hopefully the dialogue is the same calibre, I pride myself on dialogue telling my stories!
Here's how Connor and my OC Pam meet – Pam was first introduced in 'Caught in the Furze' where readers also met Murphy's little bird, Wren Abernathy. I own nothing save my own characters and plot. It's rated M (obviously!), but the first few chapters garner a 'T' rating, mostly for the gratuitous use of 'feck'. I'll let you know when we get to the juicy parts!
*Unlimited Blue is the name of a second hand jeans store on the strip a few blocks from my place.
Connor MacManus stood at the kitchen table, looking from one ratty pair of jeans to the other. The pair on the left was scuffed through at the knees, not a big deal, but had taken on a mysterious greenish stain at the back of one knee. And it wasn't a green that would make someone say 'oh, that's green paint (how obvious, you're Irish)'. It was more of a green that would make one recoil and wonder how fecal matter was expelled through the back of the leg. Connor balled the first pair of jeans up and tossed them near the door. Those, he decided, would be work jeans.
He turned his attention to the second pair. These ones were actually his favourite; perfectly broken in at the thighs (he was blessed with rather muscular thighs, unlike his string-bean of a twin brother Murphy), perfectly faded at the pockets, a little frayed on the cuffs…but totally worn through at the crotch. He believed the term was 'crotch rot', and he knew that there was no way he'd pick up a proper lass with his junk barely hidden by threadbare denim. He folded that pair of jeans up and set them aside – they were still wearable, maybe down to McGinty's when he was drinking with Murph. With a quick shake of his head, he unfolded them again and shook them out before stepping into them. He needed something to wear to go shopping.
Murphy MacManus was dragging his feet, lamenting over the skipped last cup of coffee at the diner down from the flat he shared with his brother Connor. The prick had woken him up early (and on a day off, too!) and announced that it was time to go shopping. Murphy had groaned and grumbled and whined, but Connor wouldn't have it. If Murphy didn't know better, he'd bet that Conn was a little light in the loafers, he enjoyed clothes shopping so much. Secretly, however, Murphy was a maybe, just a little, looking forward to the excursion. He was running dangerously low on black t-shirts. And he really wanted to look for a coat. His black sweater from the army surplus store was cozy in the fall, but the weather would turn any day now.
After an artery-clogging breakfast of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, pancakes (for Conn) and cinnamon buns (for Murph), they paid the bill and left the diner, heading west for the handful of second hand shops that crowded one block. They passed Second Hand New and Used before stopping in front of the latest addition to thrift stores in Southie: Unltd Blue. He and Conn had passed it a few times in the past month, marvelling at the array of denim it boasted, and Conn had spoken often of checking out, but had never had the chance. No better day than a Saturday off. Conn pitched his cigarette to the curb and elbowed his brother, motioning for him to follow inside.
Pamela Leary leaned back on her stool and balanced one heel of her worn cowboy boots on the counter in front of her and pushed back until her head rested on the wall behind her. She'd been at the shop since ten – they didn't open until eleven, but her co-worker (and the owner) Tim had decided that they needed to change displays. That translated into Tim taking over and being his regular control freak self while Pam busied herself with random, non work-related tasks such as painting her nails. Currently, her right hand was sporting a dark purplish blue aptly named 'Bruise', while she balanced the bottle between her knees and attempted to paint her left hand. She could hear Tim wrestling with the mannequin in the window, swearing under his breath as he did so.
Her tongue was between her teeth as she cautiously stroked lacquer down the nail of her pinky finger when Tim cursed and there was a loud thud.
"For Chrissake, Pam, think you could give me a hand?" he whined.
She looked up from her work to see Tim pouting from the window stage, an expectant look on his face. "Sorry," she shrugged, holding up her freshly painted nails. "Need at least half an hour to dry."
Tim cursed again and huffed, dropping the mannequin to the floor. "Bitch," he called out playfully.
"Fag," Pam called back with a laugh.
"Oooh, I'll get you for that," Tim threatened. He picked up the mannequin again and began to wrestle with pulling jeans onto it. "C'mon, fatty, these are a size eight. Shouldn't have had that extra brownie, am I right?"
"You're talking to the mannequin," Pam pointed. Frustrated with her attempt to paint the left hand, she capped the nail polish and stashed it under the counter.
"At least it doesn't talk back," Tim pointed out sharply.
"Uh huh," Pam droned, leaning back against the wall once more.
"Remind me why I hired you?"
"So the straight boys would keep coming in," Pam answered flatly.
Tim paused for a moment to contemplate her answer. "Oh, yeah," he admitted with a grin. "Speaking of which…"
The chime over the door jangled, signalling their first customers of the day.
Pam didn't even look up and instead reached back under the counter and grabbed the latest issue of Ad Busters and began to read.
Connor grinned at the wall to wall racks of jeans laid out before him. Scanning the store, he saw that they carried other items as well, and Murphy was already stepping around him, heading for the wall shelves where stacks of shirts were folded neatly. Connor took a moment to survey his surroundings, making note of the dark haired fellow standing in the window display gaping at Murphy's backside. Connor chuckled to himself and Murphy's oblivious nature and glanced to the other side of the shop, taking in the display cases of jewellery, belt buckles, and the leggy brunette propped up on a stool.
The leggy brunette…he let his eyes wander a little more closely, taking in the worn dark wash jeans that skimmed her impossibly long legs. Her tank top was red, faded from the wash, and her tawny hair was pulled up in a messy bun, showing off amazing shoulders, a delicate collarbone, and killer cheekbones. She was, in Connor's humble opinion, a goddess.
That thought made him look to Murphy once more. While they had different taste in women, they weren't opposed to flirting with attractive females when given the chance. Murphy was busy with t-shirts, unfolding what appeared to be a painstakingly folded pile, while the male sales assistant kept a close watch, no doubt hoping to jump in and lend a hand in more ways than one. Conn breathed easily. Murph hadn't seen the girl behind the counter and so Connor began rifling his way through the racks, casting a glance in her direction every so often. Whatever she was reading must have been extremely interesting – she hadn't moved a muscle in the last five minutes, save to blink or turn the page.
Connor started picking up a few pairs of jeans to try on. When he had assembled a fair sized pile, he stealthily approached the counter and stood in front of the occupied girl, waiting for her to look up. She merely turned another page in her magazine and continued reading. A bottle of nail polish was clamped between her knees and she absently chewed on her flush bottom lip as she read. Connor shifted in place a bit, hoping the movement would catch her eye, but she just continued reading. He cleared his throat. Nothing.
"Ah, excuse me?" he asked, dropping his pile of jeans on the counter.
The girl looked up suddenly with a gasp, obviously startled out of whatever world she had drifted off to. Her green and gold eyes widened as she stared into his blue ones and then she moved all of her limbs at once, trying to dislodge the nail polish bottle, ditch the magazine, and right herself on the stool.
She failed, epically. With a yelp she slid off her stool and Connor watched, both amazed and amused, as this not so seemingly graceful (but still gorgeous) creature landed with a thud on the service mat behind the counter.
She squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment as soon as she landed on the floor. Oh, please, oh please, she did not just fall off of her stool in front of the best looking guy she'd seen in a very long time. Biting her lip she took a deep breath and dared to take a peek.
Sure as shit, there he was, the guy that had very politely interrupted her. He was tall, well muscled beneath his jeans and sweater combination, and his sandy blond hair was unruly. His eyes, bluer than they should have been, were full of laughter as he leaned over the counter and looked down her looking up at him.
"M'sorry, lass," he chuckled, the smile coming easily to his mouth. "I didna mean to startle ye."
Great, Pam thought, hot and foreign. What was that accent? Scottish? No…no, it was Irish. "It's fine," she said, maybe a little too chipper for someone who had crash landed on her ass seconds earlier. She ambled up with more grace than she had fallen with and wiped her hands off on her thighs before looking down at the pile of jeans he had dumped on the counter top. "Did you want to try these on?"
"Aye," he said smoothly, glancing across the shop to where a dark haired guy was flinging t-shirts left and right. "Ye may want ta help me brother, there, before he tears apart the whole store."
Pam caught movement from the corner of her eye and watched as Tim circled closer to the guy in question, the blond's brother, apparently. "I think Tim's got it handled." She looked back to the blond. "Uh…let's get you a room started, shall we?" She scooped up the pile of jeans and motioned with her head. "Right this way."
Ah, Christ, but she was even better standing up! Connor followed the brunette obediently, watching the way her hips swayed, the heavy belt wrapped there drawing his eyes towards her backside. There was a chain running from the wallet in her worn back pocket to the belt loop on the front, and her tank top stopped about four inches from the low slung waist of her jeans. He saw part of a tattoo on the left side of her body, some sort of vine with leaves that coiled and curled, and when he glanced up, he saw the same type of ink just licking out from under the shoulder of her tank top. Hail Mary, full of grace, she was inked up good and Connor suddenly wanted to see just how far that tattoo went and if she had any others.
"Here we go," she announced, drawing back a heavy red velvet curtain to reveal a fair sized change room. She deposited the jeans on the bench inside and turned to Connor. "Was there something I could help you find? Or did you want to start with these for now?"
He heard her voice, but his eyes had been drawn first to the vintage rodeo belt buckle and then up to the silver ring in her belly button. He added wanting to see all of her piercings to finding out just how far her tattoo stretched. "Ah…no, I'll start with these, thank ye," he said in a rather husky tone before flicking his gaze to hers.
Her gaze, however, was busy wandering over him, his shoulders, torso and hips, and they lingered on his thighs and his crotch maybe a little too long – he felt the blood stirring there already and as she stepped out of the change room he ducked in, his hand brushing the bare skin of her waist. That made another tiny gasp escape her lips and she looked up, blushing, into his eyes.
"My name's Pam," she droned softly, almost in a trance. "Call me if want me."
Connor's eyebrow went up at her instructions and he grinned wickedly.
Pam's eyes widened and Connor could see her mentally smack herself. "Call me if you want another size. Cuz I can get that for you. Um…" she pointed back to the counter where she had been seated. "I'll just be…yeah…" and then she sauntered off, muttering to herself under her breath.
"Get it together, Pam," she mumbled to herself as she turned on her heel and left the Irish hunk at the change rooms. Part of her hoped that he was like most guys and was in and out in under five minutes, and part of her hoped that he either: a) took his time and modelled each pair for her, or b) took his time and modelled each pair for her and asked her if they fit okay in the waist while lifting the hem of his shirt to show off more of that golden skin.
Shit, she was hard up. Sighing, she looked across the store to see how Tim was doing. She almost laughed out loud – the two dark haired men were victims of their own oblivion. Tim was using all of his best flirting material and not taking the hint that the other guy was barely batting an eyelash at the fact that he was being openly hit on by another man.
The phone rang shrilly, pulling her out of her musing. "Unlimited Blue, you've got Pam," she answered coolly, wandering out to where the Irish guy's brother had destroyed her t-shirt display. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she began re-folding shirts and stacking them according to size.
The person on the other end asked for Tim – not Mr. Richells or Timothy Richells – so that meant that the call was probably of a personal nature. "Hold on," she answered, pressing the mic end to her shoulder.
"Hey, Tim!" she shouted.
Tim jumped and spun, blushing as he had been openly staring at Irish guy's brother's amazing shoulders. "What?" he hissed through clenched teeth.
Pam held out the phone. "They asked for 'Tim'."
Tim mumbled something and stalked towards her, snatching the phone. Pam continued folding t-shirts, watching the darker of the two brothers begin to rifle through the rack of coats. He'd pull one off the hanger, inspect it, then sling it over the rack, something that drove Pam nuts. She often wondered what customers did at home with their own closets. Finishing with the t-shirts, she made her way to the jackets.
"Can I help you find something?"
The dark haired guy shrugged. "Nah, lass, m'fine. Waitin' for me brother." He looked up and smiled at her.
Pam smiled back. "I can see that. But you managed to destroy my pile of t-shirts in under five minutes and now you've turned your attack to the jackets. You're obviously looking for something in particular else you wouldn't be casting things aside so readily."
The dark brother fixed her with a curious gaze as he pulled another jacket off its hanger. "Aye," he answered slowly. "I am in the market for a new coat."
Pam gave him a once over. He was dressed almost identical to his brother – worn jeans, black sweater, scuffed boots… "I think I may have something for you. It's not out yet because we haven't done our seasonal changeover. It arrived in the spring. Hold on." She moved to the back of the store and ducked into storage. She knew exactly what she was looking for.