this was requested by/dedicated to
rock-n-roII-souI
sorry this took so long, i rewrote it like 300000000 times.
Warnings:poorly written smut
Women to the left, women to the right
"You know you're going to regret that in the morning, right?" A deep voice with a thick accent says to me.
"Excuse me?"
I look up from my newly placed drink and over to the left of me, to see a blonde man sitting next to me, calling over the bartender.
"I said you're gonna regret that in the morning." His deep voice sending chills down my spine. His blue eyes, barely noticeable under the blue light, piercing into my green orbs.
"It's only my second drink?"
"Yeah, but we both know it will lead to more."
"Like you've got room to talk."
"I do actually, this drink isn't for me," he says holding the drink, given to him by the bartender.
A boy around the age of eighteen walks up to the blonde haired man and grabs the drink from him.
"Thanks Steve."
"Yeah yeah don't sweat it, Rick."
The boy, named Rick, walks away, leaving the man, named Steve, and I alone again.
"You know that's illegal, right."
"What? Buying drinks for your friends?"
"No, buying drinks for minors."
"Are you a cop?"
"No, but-"
"Then I see no problem."
I scoff.
"Besides, he's legally allowed to drink in London, just not here in America. It's not like I'm causing him harm. He's been able to drink legally for the past year, just not here. Trying to help a friend out 's all I'm doing."
"London? What are two boys from London doing here in America?"
"Well Sheffield actually."
"Okay, what are two boys from Sheffield doing here in America?"
"We're on tour."
"Funny, I didn't realise the circus was in town."
He smiles and let's out a mild chuckle.
"That's a good one, haven't heard that one yet. No but really, we're in a band. Touring the world with Ozzy Osbourne."
"Shit, really."
"Yeah."
"That's pretty cool."
"I guess so."
"So what do you play in this band?"
He leans back a bit and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He offers one to me and I gladly accept. Once he lights both of our cigarettes he answers my question.
"I play guitar."
"Woah really?"
"Yeah."
"That's amazing. I bet you're good."
"Uh, yeah sure. You could say that."
"Aw c'mon, Steve isn't it?"
He nods, and we both exhale smoke together.
"Okay Steve, don't be so hard on yourself."
"You can't really say anything. You've never heard me play."
"Don't need too. You look like a good guitar player."
He puffs out smoke once again and looks away from me. He laughs.
"And what makes you say that..."
"Frankie."
"Right, what makes you say that, Frankie?"
"You've got the hair. And the soothing guitar player voice. And the weird, yet mysterious guitar player vibe. You radiate guitar player energy."
Another puff of smoke and another chuckle from him. He turns towards me.
"You call this little mullet of mine 'guitar player hair'?" He runs his hand through his locks of hair. It's quite nice hair if I say so myself. A dirty blonde color, likely to turn a lighter blonde over time. I wonder what it feels lik-
