So maybe your life is in shambles and you run away to London to get your head straight. Sure, you don't really have a plan but the Universe does, and before you know it, some kid from Kingston has completely turned your world upside and your body i...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Tedn't fair! She's always nagging me to git a hobby. 'Twas her doin'!" the fishmonger slurred, punctuating his rant with a belch. Evidently, his old lady threw him out, claiming he spent his last four paychecks on gambling. You walked around the bar and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Alright, Clive, I think that's it for you tonight." You slid the half drunk pint away from him and steered him off of the bar stool and towards the door.
He stumbled ahead of you, sobbing, "I don't deserve her!"
Probably not, but 15 minutes past closing time, you didn't deserve to have him as your problem any longer. Have fun with that mess, Mrs. Fishmonger. You raised your hand to wave a goodbye to Clive as he finally managed to figure out the door and passed through on the other side you saw Tom looking in and he raised his hand in return.
"Shit." You dropped your hand quickly. I'm supposed to meet him for drinks, you remembered. I look like a fucking mess. Why is he here?
"You can head out. I'm just finishing the count," Bill said from a nearby booth. He licked his thumb and peeled the notes delicately as he counted. He gave you a knowing look and went back to counting with a slight purse to his lips, "Anyway, it's probably past his beddy bye."
You wrinkled your nose, "You're a riot, Bill." You grabbed your jacket and purse from behind the bar and left him to his money.
Tom was fiddling on his phone and looked up, smiling when you came out. "Hi! How was your night?" He genuinely seemed interested. It was an odd thing for you, that kind of sincerity.
"It was...work. What are you doing here?" you asked, sliding your jacket on.
"Well, I realized I didn't have your number and you didn't have mine and I don't know where you live but I do know..." he gestured to the tavern, " So I figured I'd wait for you to get off."
"Wait for me? How long have you been here?" you raised your eyebrows. Was this kid for real? Shit, no more kid stuff, you reminded yourself. Dude. Guy. Was this guy for real?
Tom crossed his arms and looked around as if the moonlight or something was going to give him an idea of time
"Uhh.. I don't know. Like an hour?" he shrugged. You gave a small smile. He looked damn good in his button down and jeans and you looked like what's left after they empty the dumpster.
"Well, my hair's a mess, I spilt beer on my jeans and I smell like fry oil, so maybe a rain check?" you started to back away and head home. He moved towards you, reaching out.
"Don't be like that," he said placing his hand on your arm, "You look beautiful and you smell...," he sniffed, "ok you do smell like chips but I love chips! Who doesn't love chips? And you know what goes great with chips? Beer. So, we should go get one, eh?" He started pulling you towards him, nodding and smiling a bit maniacally. He was so animated and enthusiastic, you had a hard time resisting.
Finally you relented. You had to. He had pulled you so close to him there was nowhere else to go. You were only inches apart and could hear him breathing. A bit labored? Yours surely seemed to have quickened.
"One beer," you said stepping back, "and you're buying."
Tom punched the air in victory, "Yes! Score!"
"Oh you haven't scored yet, Tiger," you strutted past him, pulling your hair out of its ponytail and flipped it provocatively.
He sprinted to catch up, falling in step with you.
"But you did say 'yet'," he elbowed you playfully and you burst out laughing.
Dear Lord, you thought, don't make me do anything I'm going to regret.
