Like most teenagers living in the small village of Fairfield, Eric's Saturday was dominated by a part-time job and the overwhelming sentiment that, well, things in life just weren't free. Lakeview Café, a popular little place a couple of miles from the village, overlooked a huge body of water known as Markham Lake, and was where Eric traded his free time for some hard-earned cash. It was hidden along a country road and was the last whisper of civilisation for a good hour or so, until the woodland subsided and revealed a large town known locally as the Beverly Hills of the English countryside – littered with large houses, wealthy families and expensive boutiques. Eric had never been there, but he didn't want to anyway. The air that way reeked of pretentiousness.

That Saturday morning was bitterly cold – the wind had blown next-door's panel fencing across the street – but despite the goosebumps prickling his pale British skin, Eric was pretty damn happy to get out of the house. The weird phone call from the night before had lingered at the back of his mind all night and any attempt to get some shut-eye had resulted in nothing but frustrated groans. When his phone started blaring Fall Out Boy at 5:30AM he was genuinely glad for once that he had a reason to roll out of bed so early.

His job began at 8AM, but he always liked squeezing in a run beforehand. Running was his thing, and his route was always the same – through the village to the narrow country path and down to Markham Lake, where, on warm days, he'd swim a few laps. Today, however, Pneumonia wasn't on his agenda.

It took Eric just over half an hour to reach the lake, and his destination was always the wooden pier, which doubled as a diving board when the water wasn't quite as hostile. He stood with his arms spread wide, brown eyes looking out over the water. It was quiet – peaceful, even with the wind whipping at his shorts and threatening to shove him into the water.

"Careful, Part-Timer," a voice called out from behind, "wouldn't want you falling in. The lifeguards don't get here 'til May."

Eric turned to see an older male approaching, a bright grin plastered across his familiar face. Vince.

"I c-can swim, F-Full-Timer," he stammered. Christ, he sounded like an idiot. He hadn't realised he was so cold. His teeth wouldn't stop chattering.

The older male tilted his head, giving Eric the once-over with raised eyebrows. "Any reason you're dressed for California?"

Eric shrugged, dumbly. Perhaps tight running shorts and a thin vest weren't the smartest of choices for cold, October morning. His companion, however, was wrapped in a scarf, hat, and long black coat, which soon found itself draped around Eric's shoulders.

"Don't die, Part-Timer," he heard, shuffling his arms into the sleeves, "don't make me do all the hard work today, yeah?"

"Y-yeah."

He felt hands grip his shoulders from behind as Vince began to manoeuver him towards the café, "No slacking today, Eric, I'm sure we'll be busier than ever, you know – with all the business we get during Winter and that."

Eric laughed at the sarcasm. Business was slow. He wrestled from his colleague's grip and jogged towards the café, threatening to lock Vince outside if he didn't keep up.

Vince had worked full-time at Lakeview since the age of 17 – he was 24 now, had been friends with Eric since forever on account of him being Jay's older brother. The two bore no family resemblance though. In fact, if Vince looked like anyone, it was Eric. They shared the same dark eyes and auburn hair which they both wore in a messy fashion, and even the complexion of their skin behaved similarly; nicely tanned in the summer, pale as porcelain in the winter. He was only a few inches taller than Eric, but their age difference was apparent by a simple glance; Vince held himself with the demeanour of a sophisticated young man. Eric radiated pubescent awkwardness.

"You can call me Dad if you want to," Vince had smirked once upon a time.

"Ah, yes," Eric had replied, dumping a few coffee cups into the sink, "My father, popular with the ladies at the age of 7."

After Eric had showered, switched into work clothes and wolfed down a bacon sandwich for breakfast, it was time to open the café and unleash the enticing aroma of cheap coffee upon willing customers – though no one showed up until 11am; a teenage girl and older dude, probably father and daughter, not from the village. Probably just passing through. Vince got the jump on them first, leaving Eric groaning at the lack of things to do.

"It's so pointless me being here," he puffed, wiping down a table for the fifth time.

"I can't leave them," said Vince, "so you can't leave me."

"I'm sure you're capable of managing on your own, Vinnie."

"Got some other business to attend to?" grinned Vince, leaning close and lowering his voice to a sly whisper, "some kinky business?"

Eric cringed. "Jay told you about the profile, didn't he?"

"You know," came the reply, coupled with a cheeky smirk, "if you're really dying to be someone's bitch, I could pay ya handsomely."

"I did not write that."

"I know, I know," laughed Vince, finding Eric's elbow in his side, "a prank. I'm kidding, man." His attention turned to the two customers attempting to summon him over, "I'll be back."

--

The clock caught Eric's eye – it'd be time to close in half an hour. They only stayed open later than 4PM when it was busy.

"You know," said Vince, "I think that girl fancies you. Keeps asking about you and that."

"She's interested in me?" Eric tried to catch a glimpse of the girl who, alas, was obscured from view by her partner's head.

Vince rolled his eyes at the not-so-subtle glances of his colleague, "She's been here for almost five hours. I think that qualifies as interested."

Eric's spirits lifted at the thought of somebody actually being attracted to him – there'd been limited female attention since beginning high school at the age of eleven. He scrunched his face, trying to recall the last girl that'd seem interested in him...and his spirits dropped just as quickly as they'd escalated.

See you tomorrow, Eric.

Today was tomorrow, right? This girl could be his stalker, or whatever she was. And if the voice on the other end of the phone belonged to her, then who the hell was the man? A pervert? Angry father? Maybe he wanted a threesome. Maybe he wanted to watch.

"Crap..." he mumbled with a slight shudder before stuffing his work apron into Vince's hands. "I –uh, I have to go, Vinnie, sorry. You close soon anyway. I just – I just gotta go. Bye!"

"Wait!" Vince called out, but Eric had already gone.

He didn't want to run. Thought it might seem obvious he'd sussed out who they were. Oh god – if only the path home wasn't shaded by shedding trees. And it was already dark. He could die right here. Just die. Nobody would know. Nobody would think to look for his body until next Saturday. Okay, maybe his mum would. And his friends. And they'd find him, dead, dead, dead. It wouldn't be cool to die a virgin though, right? Or maybe they'd have their dirty way with him. If not he'd die innocent, right? Go to Heaven and party with the angels and all that?

Eric slowed to a stop and exhaled deeply, running both hands shakily through his windswept hair.

Christ. What the hell was he thinking? He was being stupid. They were just customers.

What was he going to do? Run away every time he saw a girl?

He needed to get back to the café and apologise to Vince for leaving him hanging like that. Say it was a false alarm or something.

As he turned to retrace his steps, his journey was immediately halted by the two figures standind in his path, eerily silhouetted. He felt his stomach drop – he hadn't even heard them approaching.

"Don't look so worried, Eric," called the same soft voice he'd heard the night before, "We're not going to hurt you, jeez. Pinky promise."

When Eric finally made out her features, his ghostly expression relaxed into a relieved grin. The girl couldn't have been taller than 5' 3 and her build was extremely slight. She looked about fifteen and was dressed in a pink babydoll dress and long, white coat. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold, and her grey eyes were flickering over Eric in amusement as they looked one another up and down.

"It's not really you I'm worried about," he replied, nodding towards the man who remained hidden in the shadows.

"Troy?" she questioned, sweeping a ringlet of dark hair from her face with an index finger, "Troy won't hurt you. Not unless he needs to."

"Reassuring."

"Of course."

"Look," breathed Eric, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're a pretty girl, but I'm not what you're looking for. I'm sure you can find plenty of guys to...fool around with."

The girl paused for a moment. "Are you gay?"

"What?" Eric spluttered, "I'm not gay!"

"You think I'm pretty but you won't sleep with me?"

"I – "

"Not even for money?"

"It's not about that. It's...it's the principle of it."

"You really are gay."

"Are you even old enough to be on those kind of websites?"

"I'm the same age as you," she shrugged nonchalantly, "but we can't all be six foot sexy."

Eric cursed Jay and Henry and the oh-so-colourful profile they'd compiled for him.

"I didn't write that, okay? They whole thing was a joke."

"Clearly. You're not even six foot."

"I'm 5'10," he sighed, "we're going off topic. I'm not going to sleep with you, not even for money. So quit stalking me. And get some help."

The girl waved a hand, taking a couple of steps towards Eric.

"Relax. I don't want to sleep with you."

He glanced over at Troy's silhouette. "Is it him? Does he want to sleep with me?"

The girl replied with a fit of giggles, shaking her head, "No, no. Nothing like that. I just need your help. And I'm willing to pay – handsomely."

"Yeah?" he replied, sceptically, "what kind of help?"

"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend. That's it."

"Why?"

The girl folded her fluffy sleeves across her chest. "Because if you don't, I'm going to have to marry someone I don't want to."

Eric blinked. "So don't?"

"I have to. My parents arranged it."

"They still do arranged marriages?"

She nodded. "In wealthy families like mine, yes. And they're trying to make me marry my best friend. Imagine marrying your best friend. I don't want to."

Eric bit his thumb, imaging walking down the aisle to greet Jay or Henry at the altar. He screwed his nose up. Why the hell was he imagining himself as the wife?

"I guess that would suck. But why me?"

"Your ad caught my attention. And you sort of look the part," she shrugged.

"I'm not from a wealthy background though. Doubt your parents would be pretty impressed with me."

She grinned, pearly white teeth on show, "You'll only be pretending to be rich, just until Demi – my intended husband – finds someone else to marry. And that won't take long, trust me. Then we'll part ways. You'll be a few thousand pounds richer and I won't have to marry someone I've known since I was five. Smart, don't you think?"

"I – wait. A few thousand pounds richer?"

"I am wealthy, remember? I do intend to pay you for your services...even if they aren't remotely sexual."

It seemed reasonable enough. He'd be helping out a damsel in distress, and that would make him a good citizen, right? And he'd be able to start saving up for university...

"Alright."

"Alright? So you'll do it?"

He shrugged, "I haven't really got anything to lose."

She clapped her hands together in delight before enveloping him in a tight bear hug "Thank you!"

"Uh...right."

The girl drew herself away from Eric and extended a hand. "I'm Celia. Although, boyfriend, you can call me whatever you like – honey, boo bear, snookums, sex goddess."

He rolled his eyes, shaking her hand once. "Celia it is."

She grinned before skipping back to Troy, calling out to him one last time, "We'll pick you up at 4pm on Tuesday, Eric! Make sure you're ready!"

"Wait – what? Tuesday?!" he called back, but the two of them were already shrouded by the darkness of the woodland.

"Tuesday," he muttered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his tight jeans and heading towards home. "This better be some damn good money."

---

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