Drunk

Five.

                                                             Five.

   Oliver looked up through his black-rimmed glasses, staring into the hazel eyes of a beautiful women. 

   Dark circles underlined her eyes, her hair cascaded around her face and down her chest; still slightly damp. No makeup was painted on her face, her long, dark eyelashes were amazing natural. She wore a simple, worn band Tee, a band Oliver had heard a few songs of. She stood behind the counter, her doe-like eyes wide with surprise.

   Deep within Oliver’s chest, his heart worked into overdrive. His stomach felt hallow with nerves. Don’t fuck up, Oliver told himself as he walked up to the counter. 

   Shy looked down at the cash register, clearly remembering her drunken night. Oliver felt his heart soften as her slim, freckled cheeks were tinted with a faint blush. She looked so short compared to Oliver’s tall stature. So fragile, so petite.

   “What can I help you with,” her voice shook, “uh, sir?”

   A smile twitched at twenty-four-year-old man’s lips. His hand reached up, sliding the hood off his hair and pushing the glasses further up the bridge of his straight nose. “Uh, a black tea cuppa and a blueberry scone, p-please,” Oliver stumbled over his words. Internally, he cursed at himself. 

   He watched the natural blonde type in his order, the total ringing up and she read it to him. 

   “Four doll--pounds. Four pounds.”

   A small chuckle escaped between Oliver’s lips, making the blush on Shy’s cheeks deepen. He dug into the pockets of his trousers and pulled out the leather wallet. Picking out the right amount of bills out for her, he handed the money. 

   Shy’s eyes flashed up, peering into Oliver’s through the glasses. She could faintly see her reflection. She watched as a smile broke across her face, making the older man’s stomach churn with nerves. 

   “Thanks for not makin’ me count out the change,” Shy said. Oliver drunk in her accent, seeming to give her a certain charming characteristic.

   “Yeah,” he said, placing the wallet back into his pocket, “I’ve figured you haven’t gotten use to usin’ pounds.”

   “You guessed right.” She laughed.

   Any awkwardness seemed to drift away from the two adults. Oliver counldn’t help but think there was some sort of connection between the two. He had only known her for half a day, but he wanted to know her more. What made her move to England? What did she want to do with her life? But most of all, did she have someone waiting for her back home in America? A boyfriend? Some sort of lover? 

   Oliver’s dark blue eyes watched Shy turn and start making his order. Unconsciously, his testosterone hormones took over his sight as the gaze traveled down her body. Curves like a winding road wrapped around her, her hair stopping between her shoulder blades. The jeans she wore hugged her legs, Oliver’s eyes enjoying the view of her voluptuous backside. Then guilt washed over him. He shouldn’t look at her like a piece of meat. His mum had taught him better than that. 

   Oliver fixed his stare onto the faded book on the counter. He had never read the book, never even heard of it. But by the yellowed pages and cracked spine, it looked like it was enjoyed by many people. 

   Shy came back to the counter, handing Oliver his order. He gave her his thanks, and turned to sit at one of the numerous tables. He didn’t want to stop the flowing conversation with her. More than anything he wanted to stay and get to know every single detail about the eighteen-year-old. 

   Swallowing his nerves and gaining enough courage, he turned back around. Shy looked at him, a small smile playing at her full lips. 

   He opened his mouth to ask her something, but a loud grumbling cut off the sentence that was on the tip of his tongue. Shy’s cheeks flamed red, she ducked her head in embarrassment. Only then did Oliver realize that her stomach had growled, showing her hunger. Instantly, his caring instincts he had learned as an older brother took over and we walked up to the counter, gently placing his mug of tea and scone down. 

   Oliver smiled, Shy continued to blush. 

   “How ‘bout I buy you something, yeah?” he asked her, pulling out his wallet again.

   Shy looked up, her eyes wide. “No, it’s fine--”

   Oliver shook his head, sending a single lock of blond hair into his eyes and his glasses slightly sliding down his nose. Shy’s hand twitched at her side, wanting to tuck the hair back into its place. 

   “I’m not gonna let you starve, love,” Oliver said. “What ya want?”

   Shy wanted to protest more, but her stomach clenched and groaned again. She smiled sheepishly. “Well, the custard sliced pastry is pretty good . . .”

   Oliver smiled brightly. “Then I’ll take one of those.”

   Shy mirrored his smile, typing in the order and using her employee discount. As she turned to grab herself a slice and place it on a plate, Oliver grabbed them a table. 

   She sat across from him, his knees knocking against hers. She didn’t pull her legs away, even if her brain screamed for her to. Instantly, she dug into her slice. Oliver tore a piece off his scone, plopping it into his mouth, his tea still steaming with heat. 

   Oliver couldn't help the way his eyes watched Shy. The way her nimble finger held the plastic fork in her hand, sliding it through the tip of the pastry. He drank in her movements, seeming to be simply hypnotized.

   But when she glanced up, his cheeks grew red in embarrassment at being caught.

   “What?” she asked, a slight amusement twinged in her accent.

   “Nothin’,” Oliver said, and was about to stop his sentence more. But something told him to continue, to say what he was really thinking about her. He cleared his throat. “I just think you’re really beautiful.”