The underground station let out right at the Goat House Pub. It was situated in an abandoned business district in the middle of town. Old cars stood in the front of the building in a nice and neat line. I couldn't keep the image of gross old men driving around out of my head. A cheap big sign with a goat was plastered above the door.
I checked myself in my compact. Don't drink too much, Pearl. You still need to work on that history paper. I darkened my makeup and let my hair down from a ponytail. I inhaled deeply and got out.
A guy in a leather jacket was bent over working under the hood of his truck. His red hair and beard stood out. He must have been a regular or something. He looked up at me and whistled, checking me up and down. I ignored him and kept on walking to the front. Guys were always trying to hit on me and it was best to just let it be.
“No need to go in there. I got all you need right here,” the dirty guy said, pointing to his crotch.
I almost gagged at the thought.
I kept on walking and opened the door to the bar.
A grand hall with floor-to-ceiling wood welcomed me. Pool tables stood in one corner and a large bar with a long row of beer taps. “London Calling” by The Clash played on an outdated boombox behind the bar. How fitting... What was this place? This wasn't like the other pubs I'd visited. Guys in smoking jackets sat on couches puffing on pipes. A few scantily-clad girls walked around wearing the shortest plaid skirts and tightest tops. How could they go out in public wearing that?
A man right by the door turned around and his eyes gazed up and down my body. Wearing a low-cut top was a bad choice. I steeled myself and wandered over to the bar and hopped onto a stool.
The bartender stood with his back to me, cleaning glass mugs. “Excuse me,” I said aloud. He didn't hear me the first time and I had to repeat myself.
Finally he turned around. I gulped. This guy was big and strong. His muscles were bigger than my waist—he could probably squeeze my neck until my head popped off. He ate girls like me for breakfast.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
My brain ran through the possible drinks I could order. Back in the “States” I would've ordered a tequila sunrise but beer looked like the only option at a place like this. “Can I get whatever brown ale you have on tap?”
The bartender turned his back to me again and continued cleaning mugs. “Hudson, get this lady a Newcastle.”
Hudson was in his mid-thirty's with a bald head and handle-bar mustache that looked way too silly. I wanted to giggle but his eyes told me that would be a bad idea. He handed me a small glass that was filled halfway. Hudson glanced down at my cleavage and I felt a little uncomfortable.
I hesitantly downed the liquid that quenched my thirst. I'd only had beer at a few parties before so I was no expert, but my best guess was that it wasn't the best brown ale of England.
The alcohol hit me hard. “Ahem...can I get a water?”
Hudson grunted again. He didn't say much.
I flushed with embarrassment. How could only one drink get me so tipsy? I walked over to the table, making sure to steady myself. My head was fuzzy but I felt amazing.
Everyone in the room was looking right at me, watching my every move. This place was so intimidating. I cursed Mr. Capshaw under my breath. This paper was going to be the death of me.
I took out my notepad and began recording possible people to do my report on. My notes were pretty sparse. Prince Harry or Queen Elizabeth were the only ones I could come up with. I tried to rack my brain for any other king or queen. The beer was doing its trick. Soon I didn't care about my paper.
I glanced around the room, focusing on the small details. Everyone seemed at ease—not a care in the world. Did anyone have a job? Did they just hang out here all day and drink?
The front door opened and in came another drunk My heart skipped a beat. This one was different: young, brown hair down to his shoulders, and a little scruff under the chin. He wore a tailored blue suit that definitely didn't belong in a pub like this.
This guy was hot as hell.
“Did I make it in time, guys?” he said with his arms outstretched in a v-shape. His British accent was to die for.
“What took you so long?” the guy who helped me outside asked him. “Mum and Dad are going to be waiting for us all at the house.”
“Well Charlie, you know how it is when the cops are chasing you.” They clasped hands and flexed their forearms. They could be barbarians if we lived in a different time.
“Bullocks Alexander, you escaped them again?” Charlie asked.
Alexander nodded.
“One of these days they're going to bloody get you.”
“Not in this lifetime, mate” They both heartily laughed and slapped each other on the back.
Alexander sat at the bar. “How's it going, Hudson? Get me a drink. Mum and Dad can wait.”
Hudson pulled out the same bottle of whiskey and poured him a shot. Alexander knocked it back and slammed the glass upside down on the bar.
Alexander threw a glance at me with his dark blue eyes, piercing my soul. My heart stopped and the blood in my veins froze. He was walking towards me!