Get Down on Your Knees & Tell Me You Love Me [Alex Gaskarth|All Time Low]

Alexander Gaskarth, well, Nathan Holiday in this town, walks into the small, dimly lit bar and straight up to the pool table. He’s a loose-lip drunk so alcohol is out of the question. La Pointe has been good to Alex—Nathan—and he’s not about to fuck it up now. A group of girls who look to either still be in high school or barely out of it approach him, tugging at their bright pink tank tops to give him a show.

“Hi, you’re cute,” the flaxen one offers.

“We’ve never seen you around here,” the brunette says with an overly flirtatious smile.

“Ahh, so the saying is true,” the man muses, “girls are like wolves.”

“How?” the obviously non-natural ginger asks.

“You flock together in packs, then attack your prey at once,” the man states as he shoots a ball into the pocket. This ensues a fit of giggles and the recently dyed dark brunette man resists the urge to roll his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, it still damp from the rain outside. The brown—slightly skunked-out—and pink locks were for the last town, just outside of Las Vegas. It felt more appropriate there. Most of the length to his hair is gone as well, the shorter cut ages him in just the right way; but there’s a section of his hair still long enough to fall in his eyes that makes him daringly sexy.

“What’s your name?” the fourth girl with wispy colorful hair asks. Oddly enough, her hair is purple, a lavender color, with sky blue tips. She almost seems out of place with this group until the man scans her face. All five girls are beautiful, some strikingly so, others understatedly so.

“Nathan,” he replies slowly. Not slow enough that he sounds unsure, but just enough that he too gets the ring of it. Nathan. He looks like a Nathan, or a Nathaniel, or even a Nate.

“We like Nate!” the curly haired girl adds, Nathan hadn’t noticed her until just now. Her short, curly hair is jet black and bounces animatedly with her every word.

“Seriously, Anna?” a male voice yells from a far off place, “You and your fucking Barbies need to back off the customers.”

A man appears from around a corner with near-black hair, muscles bursting through his shirt and tattoos coloring both of his arms. He tosses a dishrag onto the counter and eyes the girls seriously.

“Derek,” the busty, flaxen girl pouts, running over to the guy, threading her arms around his well-built torso, “he’s so cute! Besides, I thought having a best friend who worked in a bar would be fun.”

“Stop trying to fuck all the guys who come in here,” the guy says, almost emotionless to her, “You’re gonna end up pregnant before you’re eighteen.”

Nathan stifles a laugh and resumes his game of pool, thankful for his tall, tattooed rescuer. The girls carry on a meaningless drabble with the guy before they all exit the bar, disappearing into the dark summer night.

“Sorry about my sister and friends,” the guy grunts, approaching Nathan. Not exactly friendly but not exactly standoffish—exactly how Nathan likes his friends.

“Don’t sweat it,” the elder of the two muses, “You got a name? I’d love to know who saved me from the hounds.”

“Well, consider me a dog catcher,” the younger replies with a wry grin, “Derek.”

“Nathan,” the elder says, extending a hand for a handshake. Alex doesn’t do handshakes, so Nathan does. The younger returns the gesture, obviously baffled by it. It then dawns on Nathan that maybe this isn’t the setting to start establishing the handshake policy.

“So, uhh, Nathan, you new to town?” Derek asks, leaning on the table to watch the elder play. This kid doesn’t fit the image of a fugitive, he thinks to himself, while waiting for a response.