#markotag

He was looking for excitement, and she screamed it. 

“See something you like?” David’s smooth voice came from beside Marko as he watched the woman step down and head back into the store. 

“You ever seen her before?” Marko asked, curiosity spiking. Was she new in town? Just spending the summer here? Or had she somehow flown under his radar?

David shrugged a shoulder. “Who’d remember?”

The snub grated on him for a second, but he knew better than to take David’s remarks personally.

Paul shook Marko by the shoulders, grinning like a cheshire cat. “The woman is wild. Go play with fire.”

Marko fidgeted, gloved hand coming to his mouth, watching with curiosity as she gave a lone customer a soft smile and quickly busied herself with a circular rack of shirts that already looked pretty organized. She must’ve felt him staring—her eyes flicked up once, down, then up again, as if to make sure she hadn’t been mistaken.

He made sure there was no mistaking it. He held her gaze, expecting her to smirk, maybe cock her head to invite him in. Instead he watched her breath catch and the color rush to her cheeks before she looked back down at the rack, finally turning away altogether.

“Hmm,” Dwayne hummed a little in clear amusement. “Woman’s not so wild after all.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like what she sees,” David teased, pushing off of the candy machine he’d been resting lazily against. “Let’s go now.”

Marko barely registered what either of them said. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

David let out a quiet laugh that was half amusement, half annoyance. “Fine. Go play.”

“Try not to scare her too bad, huh?” Paul playfully pushed Marko’s head as he passed by, the three boys heading back into the crowd of the boardwalk.

Marko headed casually into the little store, feigning nonchalance, letting his eyes travel over the merchandise as if he wasn’t looking for one thing in particular. He pretended to not be bored by the typical touristy shirts and hoodies, occupying himself so that he didn’t give in and walk right over to her the way he wanted to. 

Still, he couldn’t help stealing glances, watching from the corner of his eye. As he neared the rack she was at, she turned and busied herself with the sunglasses display near the checkout counter, long hair falling in front of her face. She was tall, but held herself in a way that made it look like she was trying to shrink—ironic, considering the studded boots on her feet that were giving her at least an extra two inches. 

He took the opportunity to look her over, his eyes trailing down, studying. Long limbs, hard angles, short little silky slip dress, sheer, sparkly tights. Black cloth against cool, pale skin. Fingernails bare, but not chewed—clearly an unshared vice. Endless waves of soft, dark hair. A soft, musky perfume he could smell from where he stood, something unassuming and unintentionally—probably even accidentally—sensual. 

She must’ve felt his gaze again, because she turned, peeking out from behind that curtain of hair to meet his eyes. Hers were surrounded by black shadow, smoked out behind heavy mascara, her irises almost as dark as the makeup. “Um, can I help you find something?”

Her voice was so soft, so small, that he couldn’t help the little smile that bloomed on his face. “I dunno. Is there anything worth finding?”

She turned back to the display, her face already going a little pink again—he hadn’t even come onto her yet, and she was already blushing. Cute, he thought, very cute.

“Well… I guess… It depends what you like. If you’re visiting, we have—” She stopped short as he came closer, leaning on the counter beside her so he could actually see her face. She met his eyes again for only a second before dropping her gaze back to the glasses, hands fumbling with a cheap plastic pair. He watched with fascination as her chest rose quickly with a nervous breath. “We have, um, a lot of… Santa Carla… stuff. Souvenirs.” Her volume decreased with every word, and he leaned in closer, leather jacket creaking.

“You always this quiet?” 

“Oh– I– Sorry,” she murmured. He hated that he put shame in her expression. 

“What for? Didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

She nodded but said nothing, eyes downcast in embarrassment. 

“I’m not visiting. At this point, souvenirs make me a little nauseous.” That earned him a little upturn of her lips, so small he might’ve missed it if he wasn’t staring. “Same with all those same shirt decals year after year.” 

“Maybe some jewelry, then,” she suggested, eyes flicking to his earring for just a second.

“Maybe. You visiting?”

She shook her head. “No, I… I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Ah, let me guess—you’re on summer break, wanted to get away for a few months, earn some money before college is back in?” It wasn’t unusual for the boardwalk shops to be staffed with out of town college kids looking for somewhere fun to work for the summer. 

The little smile returned, just barely bigger this time. A little exhale of amusement. “No.”

“What?” he prodded, tilting his head. “I say something funny?”

“I’m, uh… I’m just a little older than the college kids. That’s all.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Of course, no one would ever know just how much.

He dared to scooch a little closer, wanting inside the cloud of perfume that was driving him to madness. Bad idea—her eyes widened a little, and whatever ounce of relaxation he’d coaxed out of her was gone in an instant. She stiffened, stepping back.

“Um, the jewelry,” she pointed behind him, “it’s just down there by the register.”

He thought about dropping any kind of facade and just telling her he’d only come in because he’d seen her in the window, not anything else. But instead he strolled over to the little earring racks, poking around. 

“It always this dead in here?” he asked, wishing she’d come over.

She shrugged. “Well, I only just started, but… I think we’re a bit too far from the rides to get as much traffic as some of the other stores.”

“Must get a little boring.”

She said something so softly he couldn’t catch it.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, I just— I just said it’s alright. I mean, I like when it’s quiet.”

He smirked, running the back of his nails over the earrings, making them jingle just loud enough to be heard over the music. “That your way of telling me I’m disturbing your peace?”

The worried little face she made was the highlight of his night. “Wh– No! That’s not— I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I should head out anyway,” he said, coming back around to where she was standing at the counter, facing her and leaning against the glass. “Saw something I liked and ditched my friends to come in here.”

Given that he didn’t have anything in his hands to purchase, the insinuation was pretty clear, even if it was hard for her to believe. Her face went red again, hands fiddling with the rings on her fingers. 

“You got a name, Mouse?”

She blinked at him, a beat passing. “Mouse?”

He nodded simply, holding her gaze. “Mouse. That’s what you remind me of.” He could see it in her eyes that she knew he didn’t mean it as anything even close to negative.

“Caitie,” she answered softly.

“Caitie.” he repeated, testing the sound of her name, the weight of it on his tongue. “That suits you, you know. Real well.”

Her cheeks tinged deeper as she asked, “What’s yours?”

He grinned, wide and real and boyish, knocking his knuckles once against the counter. “Marko.”

He didn’t add anything, didn’t try to flourish it. Just let the exchange sit there between them like something important—he hoped it would be. He’d try his damnedest to make sure it was. 

“You work nights a lot?” he asked, hoping this wasn’t a rare shift. 

She nodded. “Pretty much always.”

“Well I’m pretty much always around, so… maybe you’ll have to deal with me coming in to disturb your peace again.”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile—it didn’t work. A soft one graced her face, and though he barely got to see it before she turned and let her hair hide her away, it tugged at something in him. It was a feeling either so old he’d forgotten it, or a feeling that was completely brand new. 

“Okay,” was all she said, but it was enough.

“You know…” Marko backed slowly towards the open doors, pausing just under the threshold. She glanced up when the sound of his footsteps stopped, and he paused just to look at her. Then he smiled, and it wasn’t playful or loud. His lips curled up into something sweet and tender. Something unfamiliar. “You’re trouble, Mouse. Quiet kind. Worst kind there is.”

The look on her face told him no one had ever seen her as something dangerous before, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it—or with the fact that she liked it.