Chapter Text
It was just your luck: getting placed under the same mechanic as JJ fuckin Maybank. God, how was this even happening? You were good. You worked hard all year despite the persistent displeasure of being in his class brought you to your wits end. He had been insufferable! And just when you thought you could get away?
"I'll just find a different person to apprentice under," you decide, thinking out loud as your cousin, and only friend, listens to you rant.
"C'mon, he can't be all that bad."
You turn towards Jamie, rolling your eyes with an exasperated sigh; "you're right. He's just loud, and obnoxious, and has, quite possibly, one of THE most irritating personalities on planet earth."
"Give him a chance, kiddo."
You slump into the leather couch—the only piece of furniture Jamie's living room seems to have. "Ugh, I hate my life," you exclaim, stressing each syllable as if you were singing a song. "Why can't I be a kook with a trust fund?"
"Where's the thrill in that?"
"Oh shut up, Jamie." You hear him chuckling to himself as you turn to stare off into space, too wound up to feel anything but jealousy towards those who live on figure eight. "I have spent my life living in that shitty apartment, Jamie, with no money to fucking spare. We live next to the damn ocean and yet I haven't had time to go anywhere near it in almost a month. I've worked two jobs while completing this stupid college course, because the only thing I'm good at doing is fixing things and there's no chance in hell I'd pay—or even be able to pay—for something like a business degree."
"Well, I've heard the market's shit right now. Maybe you can break your lease and find a different place to live," Jamie suggests. You know Jamie has absolutely no idea about the housing market, nor did he believe you could actually afford anything else. But that was the only way he knew how to comfort you. "Hey," Jamie says, reaching out to pat your shoulder. "You're an apprentice now, which means you're close to getting an actual job. That's still a step forward—remember it."
"You're right," you sigh, your anger melting away as you turn to look at him. "I was just so relieved to have gotten through this course and then this whole thing with Maybank just felt like a kick to the stomach. It's just hard; feeling as though every good moment is inevitably dulled by something."
"Yea well, think of it as building character." You shove Jamie as hard as you can, which of course causes him to pull just as hard at your hair.
"Fuck," you yelp, shimmying away from him—getting ready to defend yourself. "You bitch."
"Oh come on, kiddo," Jamie chuckles, throwing his hands up in defence. "Let's just order-in to celebrate. I'll pay."
You let yourself grin then as he shows his wallet to prove he'll stay true to his word, and that feeling that had you on the verge of frustrated tears moments ago dulls to something much more manageable. "You had me at 'you paying,'" you sigh happily, leaning back into the sofa and let yourself relax. The bad were only moments after all, however all consuming they were; the type of moments that had you wishing you could just curl up into a ball and let your life spiral out of control. Moments that made you wonder why you even try at all when everything you do only introduces more you have to worry about. It was hard, especially now after loosing your dad. You weren't ready to be exposed to such a cruel world, to pay rent, to feel real resentment for those who just get to continue living their lives; as if they somehow owed it to you to feel that same struggle.
You fought every day to keep these types of things from controlling you; from leading you to become some bum on the side of the road.
Jamie was always better at it then you were, though he did have a good five years on you to practice. You had grown up with him; he was who would babysit you when you were younger, he had taught you how to drive. Now that you were 21, he still called you kiddo—though you had secretly grown fond of the name. He worked as a manager at the local bar, and his apartment had a gym inside of it, which he let you use when you wanted. As one one of the only girls in your program you found yourself at a bit of a physical disadvantage when it came to manual labour, but you refused to be that person who has to ask for help.
You were probably still weaker in terms of physical strength than most of the boys in your class, but you didn't care about that; all you needed was to prove them wrong—to do it yourself.
Jamie passes you a beer, as he's against keeping anything that might be considered 'girly' in his fridge. His stubbornness had you grow used to the taste; though you still couldn't help but crack jokes about his unreasonable fear of seltzer's.
Just as he goes to sit down again the doorbell sounds, earning a muted noise of excitement from you through the glass bottle on your lips, and you're already feeling better as the scent of shawarma fills the room when Jamie gets the door to pay. You take your food with great willingness, the first few bites barely registering to your tastebuds as you hastily shove more into your mouth.
The first pause you take is to take another swig of beer, grinning into the drink as you catch Jamie's eye. "Feeling better?" Jamie asks, earning a nod from you. "See? This should be a good day for you," he says, "you've defied the odds of being left to fend for yourself. You got through school, and you're now on your way to getting a job. This is the light at the end of a very dark and long tunnel." He pauses for a moment, a small smile of his own on his lips; "I'm really proud of you."
You grin; "are you being nice to me?"
"Oh fuck off and take the compliment." You watch as he takes a few more bites of his food before sitting back to rest his back on the cushions of the couch, taking a few moments to think to himself. "Is Maybank really so bad?" He finally asks as he takes a sip of beer and turns to you.
"He's unbearable," you tell him, a familiar annoyance pricking your skin. "Just has to be the centre of attention at all times, I mean, the guy really never shuts the fuck up." You can picture him now, floating around the work room to make conversation with anyone who'd listen, always ready for some sly quip whenever the teacher would slip up, or better yet, whenever he'd be graced with the opportunity to work with you. "He's just always ready to laugh at you, no matter what comes out of your mouth."
"Does he pull your hair too?"
"Oh God, yes. He'll tug on it just to get my attention and make some stupid joke before turning back to whatever he was working on." You're so wound up that you don't understand why Jamie is laughing until he asks if you have a crush. "Seriously? I just told you he was unbearable."
"Oh come on, is he unbearably cute too?"
"Fuck off."
You feel heat rise to your cheeks, anger flaring in your chest as you hurl a pillow at Jamie when he puckers his lips. Frustration burns the back of your neck, as it's a reminder that it wasn't just JJ's inflated ego that provoked you. Because the damage had been done and the thought was there again—right at the front of your mind: how he really was so unbearably attractive. You'd curse yourself whenever you'd notice it; the feeling that seeps into your core whenever his arms would strain from physical labour, or when he'd show up a few minutes late with his hair still damp from the shower; dripping down to wet the crook of neck. His skin, so golden from the sun, tempting you to sink your nails into the small of his shoulder, to trace the swell of his muscles all the way down to the lines of his pelvis. Maybe then he'd shut his mouth, and you wouldn't have to sit there trying to stutter out a response when he'd tease you in front of the class.
Because if it were anyone else, you could fire back something smart and not spend the rest of the day thinking about what you could've said.
But with him, you're too busy pushing the image of how you'd picture him to moan your name away to respond, unable to meet his eyes as you can't admit to yourself how often you'd try to imagine it when you touch yourself—how good he'd be with his hands as you spent a year watching him fiddle with different bolts and screws; secretly admiring how he'd coax them into place.
It sends shivers down your spine and floods your body with shame as you worry he somehow knows how he helps you unwind, not wanting to give him the satisfaction with the knowledge of how he gets under your skin.
Last winter he had started to collect tattoos as well, and would come to class to show off whatever ink he had gotten done that month and you'd be tempted to trace each one, as he had done to the one you had on the back of your neck when you had it done. Since then, part of you always hoped he'd notice the few others you had in your skin, scattered here and there, so that you could ask to study his.
You thought about that a lot, even though he didn't have very many, because it gave you a reason to look at his thigh, or his bicep, or his chest...
Even now, it takes a good few minutes for you to stop thinking about him, presently caught on the thought of him pinning you from behind after a long day at work and bending you over without a single word of explanation, stripping you out of those god awful coveralls you're forced to wear that get unbearably hot in the height of summer. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you'd imagine how good the air would feel on your skin after being trapped in your uniform for so long, how he'd pull you by your hair so he could hear the noises you'd be letting out as he pounded into your hot, soaking—
"—I should probably head home," you squeak out, the first words you've spoken aloud in a few minutes. You look up to realize Jamie was now on the phone with his girlfriend, and let out a sigh of relief before signalling a silent goodbye, happy he had no ammunition to prod any further on the topic of JJ Maybank. He gives you a nod of understanding, and your rushing down the steps and on your bike before you can think twice.
The dinner and few beers slosh in your stomach as you ride home, biking back to your 750$ a month apartment that was far from paradise on earth.
It wasn't as if you hadn't considered other options: living in a van, living with Jamie, tracking down your mom to get her to pay up for the years your father had gone without child support. But vans were too unpredictable, and Jamie has been in a pretty long term relationship for just over two years now; your mother applied to both of the concerns listed above.
Maybe in a year or so when you start making a livable salary instead of earning your wages as a part time cart girl, part time bartender, you'll be able to move closer to the beach—maybe spend your weekends surfing as you used to do when you were younger, you think to yourself. But, you know it's not a possible reality for you right now; you know that caving to Jamie's suggestion and searching for local real estate will only hurt your feelings.
But, you open your computer anyways.
It was pretty much just as you'd expect: only the million dollar homes listed as 'deals' whereas the base models continue to only go up in price. You sigh, alrighty feeling defeated after 2 minutes on the internet, cursing Jamie for making you look into it again.
But you stop dead when you're forced to do a double take on one of the listings—some surf house/fisherman's shack located just out of the cut, just before figure eight, was listed for $500 a month. You click the listing, and try to remind yourself the likely hood of this being a scam as you begin to read through it.
—Looking for a roommate. Price negotiable. 2 bed 2 bathrooms + den. Contact for more details.—
You've never typed faster, reading over the deal again as you wait for a response. The lister was a 24 year old male, graduated from chapel hill. You consider for a moment how it might be a bad idea to agree to move into a strange mans house (especially considering the price point), but for some reason it isn't enough for you to be turned away from the place.
It was probably already taken anyways, who else would pass up on a deal like this?
You send the link to Jamie with a question mark attached, knowing he had an eye for pointing out anything you might've missed. He responds almost instantly:
>Are you dumb?
You quickly respond to him.
>Is it really that bad of an idea?
You're distracted as you notice the lister had responded, asking to meet you in person before signing the contract. You couldn't believe your eyes, and despite Jamie's obvious apprehension to it, you tell the guy that you'll meet him before your first shift at work. You're covering your mouth to try and stop yourself from grinning like a maniac, knowing that so much could still go wrong and that you shouldn't get your hopes up. But you can't help it, and let out a little noise when the guy confirms the time.
You finally look over at Jamies text, which only says one thing: read the name.
You're confused for a moment, but then realize that the lister does have his name right at the bottom of the page.
>Rafe Cameron?
You recognized the last name, Ward Cameron was known to be one of the biggest developers in the OBX, but you knew nothing about his son.
>Haven't you heard of him? Big coke head growing up, dad sent him to WILDERNESS therapy and he had like this big public breakdown when he got back. Really fucked up guy.
The coke did flag the arrangements a bit, but you weren't entirely convinced it was the worst idea in the world. Who's to say they weren't all just wild stories about the guy?
>Idk, maybe he's clean now? If I end up taking it then I wont break the lease with my current place and pay for another month to feel it out. If shit hits the fan I'll just move out.
Jamie just tells you that he'll leave it for you to decide, but he knows better than to think a rocky past would stop you from getting a sick room with an ocean view. So he tells you to just stay in touch, and wishes you luck on your first day of work tomorrow.
You thank him, and head to bed, knowing you'll need a good nights rest to face the world tomorrow.
You don't think about JJ before going to sleep, rather, some faceless man telling you to relax as you find your climax.
**^**
The next day you find yourself biking just past the bridge, down some dirt road that leads out to a group of 5 or 6 properties; all evenly spread out along the shoreline. Each one was separated by greenery, and connected by a sandbar that continued down for some ways before dipping out of sight. You find the number that had been indicated in the listing, recognizing the distinct green siding from the photos online.
There was a boat already parked on the dock, but as you go to investigate your eyes land on the guy heading out to meet you from the sun room.
You first notice how tall he is as he approaches you, and as he extends his hand for you to take you take in the lean muscle that runs up his arms with a shallow breath. "I'm Rafe Cameron," he tells you, and he shakes your hand like he'd been taught how to in class or something, pulling away after a moment to run his hand through his hair. It was dirty blond, and he had it parted down the middle so that the front pieces would fall in front of his eyes if he didn't push it back every so often. You smile and tell him your name, confirming that it is, in fact, you who he was talking to over email.
You don't know why you've started to inhale so weirdly, your throat making a strange wheezing sound whenever you try to take a breath. Something about his composure made him more attractive than he already was, making you wish you could find another reason to shake your hand; to have him hold his gaze.
"Nice to meet you," he says, a polite smile spreading across his expression for a moment before he turns away, making you wish he'd look back so you might catch another glimpse of his face. "I'll show you around."
The place itself was beautiful, natural sunlight illuminating the living room, hardwood floors, new appliances, and well, basically everything you wouldn't have expected to see in a traditional 'surf house.' But you weren't going to complain about living in a little luxury, your only real concern is that there was literally no furniture—like, it actually put Jamies lack of communal sitting to shame.
"Did you just move in or something," you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood as he had pretty much kept his eyes straight ahead of himself the whole time.
"No, I'm just bad at picking out that sort of stuff," he tells you. "You can get furniture if you'd like."
You nod, not willing to tell him that you weren't currently in a financial position to order a whole living room off of west elm. "Do you surf?" You ask, when you see the quiver lined up along the wall; another opportunity to have him stop to pay attention to you, to talk about something that might actually interest him.
"A little bit, when I have time," he tells you, his gaze lingering on the boards for a moment before abruptly turning and showing you to another bedroom. "So this would be your room," he explains. "Your bathroom connects from your room to the living room, and the laundry room is just that little section in between the bathroom and the living room. My room is on the other side, and as you can probably see the porch looks out onto the water and the sunroom looks out to our neighbours bedroom."
You stifle a small giggle, even though you weren't entirely sure if Rafe was trying to be funny with his comment as his expression stays somewhat neutral. There was a good possibility that he just wasn't used to having acres and acres of land to himself, because to you, the neighbours seemed like miles away. "All this land is ours, though," Rafe tells you, gesturing outside. "And I'm having a landscaper come into fix up the yard and plants some stuff in the greenhouse."
"Greenhouse?"
He points to an overgrown part of the yard, and you see it peaking out from under a pile of vines. "Like I said, all this is part of the property."
"And... you bought it?"
"It was an asset to my families name, I bought it from my father and now just have to finish paying off the loan he gave me for what I didn't have." He turns to look at you, "that's where you come in. The $400 a month—"
"—The listing said $500," you say, cutting him off.
"Yes, well, I looked into your credit score. $400 is adequate."
You blush, trying to figure out how you're meant to respond to that, but he doesn't notice your discomfort and only hands you the contract. "If you have first months rent available, you can sign today."
You had come prepared, so as you're reading the contract over you find the cash you had set aside, but hand him the full $500, which you had taken out, in hopes he would notice how awkward it was for you to have the rent changed because he felt like you couldn't afford it. "My credit score is normal for anyone who didn't grow up on figure eight," you tell him. "I can pay you 500."
"I don't want you to," Rafe insists, and gives you the $100 in change. The firmness in his voice has you taken aback to the point where you're too flustered to do much else than take the cash.
Though he doesn't look you in the eye, he watches closely as you sign; lingering close behind you with his hand right next to yours as he leans on the counter for support.
"Okay, well. I signed on the dotted line," you tell him, pushing the previous topic away. "Do I call you roomie now?"
It was surreal, your hearts racing as you can't quite believe that this is where you'll be living from now on, and you're biting the corner of your cheek so that you don't look too overjoyed about it all; especially since his mouth doesn't even twitch upwards as you hand the papers back, plus he ignored your horrible attempt at getting him to smile.
"I'll be at work till 5 or 6 most nights. Here's a key for the place, and like I said; expect to see those landscapers lingering around the property over the next few days." Rafe pauses to hand you the key, glancing around the place for a moment before turning to you—something you've been trying to get him to do again all morning. They linger on you for a moment before he nods twice to himself, his eyes flickering away to your disappointment moments later as he leads you back to your bike. "I'll leave my card on the counter," he tells you as you swing your leg over the seat of the bike. "To buy furniture."
"Like, your credit card?"
He gives you a weird look, "as opposed to..."
"Oh! I just didn't realize that you wanted me to buy things with your..." you trail off, realizing how absurd it sounds as it leaves your mouth. "You really trust me to do that?"
Rafe only shrugs; "I'd rather not handle it. Let me know if you need any help moving in."
And just like that, he's walking back to the house without any further goodbye, his strange character all you can think about as you bike to work. It was about a 20 minute ride, giving you plenty of time to ponder what you had just witnessed, and what was to come. There was no doubt in your mind that Rafe was an odd sort of person, his stoic nature a little unsettling as every action he preforms feels rehearsed; ridiculously formal.
He was also incredibly weird with money. Maybe it was just because you've never even come close to having the type of money he has, maybe it boils right down to different upbringings, but either way you found it strange how he had been so persistent with changing the rent; or how he had just left you his card to use without a second thought.
But it felt like he was constantly fighting the urge to just loose all of his composure.
You let out a sigh, deciding to put your thoughts aside when you realize you're close to your destination. It wasn't as if you were going to see Rafe a ton anyways, only really at night depending on what your hours will be like. And even though he was completely unapproachable, at least he wasn't obnoxious; you could probably even pretend he wasn't there if it weren't for his tall frame being so easy to spot.
Or the cologne you caught scent of when he leaned into watch you sign the contract.
You shake your head, wishing you were a bit more focused for your first day as an apprentice as you pull up to Cal's Repair Shop and Marina. Your hands are shaking a bit as you lock your bike up on the side of the building, nearly jumping out of your skin when you realize that you were too preoccupied by your thoughts to notice someone smoking a joint a few feet away from you.
"Shh," JJ teases, as you let out a yelp of surprise. "I'd rather not get caught smoking on the first day."
"Then why are you," you ask him.
He gives you a lopsided grin; "cause I want to. Wanna join me, Cinderella?"
"Cinderella?"
"It's early, keep talking and I'll give you some better ones," JJ assures, making you roll your eyes. It was his thing, you guess; calling you literally anything but your name. At first you thought he was just being sexist, not willing to address the girl in the trade school, but now you were pretty sure it was just to get a rile out of you. He had been like that since day one, as you remembered showing up to your first class and sitting down at the only seat left available; which of course, happened to be right next to him. He had looked you dead in the eyes and told you that the beauty school was in the next building over, the whole class bursting out into laughter and forcing you to just sit there in shock.
He had apologized after class, saying something about not always thinking before he spoke, but you had just shoved passed him and called him a dick.
You guess it made an impression, as the next day he found you eating carrots for lunch and spent the rest of the week calling you bugs bunny. After that, it was butterfingers when you accidentally dropped a tin of screw and had to spend the next 10 minutes trying to find them. Some of them had stories behind it, some of them he just said to piss you off.
"It's 10 in the morning, and Cinderella was the best you could come up with? The weekends made you slow hasn't it," you grumble as you decide to take the joint JJ is offering you. "If we get caught I'm blaming you."
He laughs; "wasn't Cinderella the chick who had to do all the chores while all the other girls went to balls and shit?"
"Oh that's where you were going?" You ask, passing the joint back to him.
"Yea, execution was a little off though."
You hum, nodding your head before nervously glancing down at your watch, letting your breath slow when you realize you still have time to spare. "Yea, you look like you need another hit," JJ tells you, passing it back and moving so that you can sit down next to him. "You aren't even glaring at me or anything."
"I just don't want to fuck up," you admit.
"Well, smoking weed with JJ Maybank might not be the best way to go about that," JJ chuckles, turning to look at you. "Oh! See there's that glare I'm talking about; our girl is back."
"Ha." You take another hit before passing it back to him; "I'm telling them you shoved it in my mouth if they ask."
"I should buy you dinner first."
It takes a second for you to realize what he's on about before you turn to see tears in his eyes from trying not to laugh. "You're so perverted," you groan, scoffing when he can no longer help himself and doubles over in a fit of giggles.
"Yea, my bad," he sighs, flicking the last of the joint into the woods after extinguishing it with his finger. "Still, you should stop trying to hate me so much now that we are partners."
"We aren't partners," you respond stiffly; "you're..."
"I'm what, exactly?" JJ asks in a low voice.
"Annoying."
He gives you a look, and try your best not to smile when he bursts out into laughter, a sort of sense of accomplishment filling you as he was the one notoriously known for being funny.
It felt good to be the one to make him laugh.
"Ah, we should probably head inside now," JJ sighs after his laughter dies down, glancing down at his phone to check the time. "Feeling better?"
You wouldn't want to admit that you were, so just shrugged him off and followed a few paces behind.