"Bitch-boots," the female clerk repeated with an air of doubt. She caught herself in the act of tonguing her gum into position to crack it and folded it into a pocket of her cheek.
"Yes," the slim silver-haired young man replied, exuding confidence. "One of my friends told me this would be a good place."
The girl giggled nervously, eyeing the store's newest customer up and down, appraising. You're kidding, right? was the first thing that came to her lips, but this was a summer part-time job that she needed, and self-censorship was her new best friend. "Umm, I don't know if we have anything in your size," she hedged.
"Oh!" the young man's hand flew up, rubbing at the back of his head. He laughed, but seemed amused rather than embarrassed. "They're not for me."
The clerk plastered on her professional smile, now firmly back in familiar territory. For a girlfriend. Thank God. "Great! Oh, great. Right this way...for clubbing, or just for, um..."
"General sexiness," the handsome young man clarified with a lazy smile.
"Neat. Haha," the clerk grinned, heading towards one of the far aisles. "What size?"
The bell over the door jangled exuberantly and another young man poked his head through the door, all bright blue eyes and fresh-faced crowned with spiked-up brown hair. "Hey, Riku, they're outta the sea salt ice cream but they have--"
"Sora, great timing," the silver-haired young man cut him off. "What's your shoe size?"
The clerk swallowed her gum.