Drunk

Two.

                                                             Two.

   Oliver Jackson walked into his uncle’s pub. 

   Instantly, the smell of beer and cigarette smoke drifted towards his sharp nose. His angular face slightly scrunched as his eyes scanned the dimly lit interior of the pub. 

   Uncle Milo stood behind the bar, pouring a pint from the beer tap. His dark hair swung into his face as he tilted his head down. He blew a stream of air from his mouth to remove the brown locks from his eyes. 

   Oliver shoved his hands into his jeans as he walked up to his uncle. Oliver took off the jacket from around his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He mentally patted himself on the back for wearing a thin black t-shirt. The air in the pub was warm and almost suffocating. Oliver hated coming here, much less taking over his uncle’s shift. It happened rarely, but Oliver couldn’t say no to his uncle.

   Milo looked up from the beer tap, taking a double-take upon seeing his nephew. “There you are. For a moment, I didn’t think you were gonna show.”

   Oliver shrugged, placing his jacket behind the wooden counter of the bar. “Definitely thought about not showin’.”

   Milo smiled, saying he was going to deliver the last pint to the table filled with loud, obnoxious blokes. Oliver walked around to stand behind the bar, sighing as he did so.

   When Milo returned, he grabbed his jacket and flung it on. Milo went over how much beer to put in the glasses and told him sure to lock up the pub when everyone leaves. Oliver nodded his head, pretending to listen to the same set of rules Milo always went over when he left his nephew in charge of the pub.

   Milo clapped Oliver on the back and left.

   Oliver watched him leave.

   And he sighed again.

Oliver managed to lose track of time, the pub becoming insanely filled with people who just got off of work. He had arseholes shouting at him from left to right, demanding a pint being in front of them within the next three seconds. 

   Oliver was close to tell them to piss off and storm out the pub. But he didn’t. Milo would be beyond angry. 

   Only when midnight came closer and the business filtered out, Oliver had a chance to sit down and rest his aching feet. He plopped himself down in one of the empty booths, weaving his fingers through his blond hair.

   He pinched a lock of golden hair between his fingers, his face turning up in disgust. He should’ve never dyed the damn thing. He should’ve left it its natural dark brown, but no. She said she liked blonds better, so he became one. 

   At the thought of her, Oliver looked to his left hand. His dark blue eyes scanning over the slightly paler skin around the base of his ring finger. He had tried everything to get rid of the barely noticeable tan line. Nothing helped.

   A slight movement in front of Oliver made his eyes snap away from his finger. Sitting at the bar was a beautiful blonde. Her hair color was natural, the roots matching the ends of her slightly messy--but still sexy--hair. It framed her slim face, her cheekbones seemed to cast deep shadows on her tan face. 

   Tan skin, Oliver thought to himself, she mustn’t be from around here.

   She sat with her shoulders curled in, the black leather jacket looked like its seem better days. She didn’t exude confidence, which shocked Oliver. Some as beautiful as her must some sort of self-confidence.