Skinny Love

Chapter Six

I was washing the beer off of my tray when the bar door swung open. I looked up to see Samuel, chatting away with another man as they strolled in. When they sat down at the bar I smiled at them in greeting, scanning the bar for William who was the tender tonight.

“Don’t judge me, Rose.” Samuel sighed, leaning back on his stool, the man beside him grinning. “I know it’s sad that I come in here on my days off, but being without the Willows for too long is just heartbreaking.”

“You’re so gay...” I muttered back and he snorted. “I have no idea where William is. He went out the back for a minute and that was like, twenty minutes ago.”

“He does that a lot.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a psycho half the time.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s not that bad.” I started to dry my tray with my cloth and I swear to God I could hear the excitement build up in his body.

“I heard you two are going on a date.” He said to my back and I must have stiffened because he giggled like a teenage girl. “I knew it would happen! I just knew it!”

“A date, already? I thought you and Browny really had a chance.” The man beside him sniffed sarcastically and I cocked my head, a little red in the face from Sam’s comment. I turned to face him and I squinted as to recognise where I had heard that voice from. I then noticed that messy strawberry blond hair and that cheeky grin that I had met that morning in the city. I stared at the room-mate with the same face I must have had that morning. The red in my face doubled and even spread to my ears.

“High five!” Sam chimed, earning a hand slap from his counterpart. I grimaced and shrugged, brushing my fringe onto my forehead to hide some of the blush. “This is Morrissey. His name’s actually Brendon but we call him Morrissey because he’s an emotionally charged man-flower and painfully beautiful poet.”

“Fuck off.” He twisted his hand in clearance. “I sell my poetry to the cities hipster magazine.” He elaborated for me and I smiled. I read that magazine even though I wasn’t a ‘hipster’. So, Morrissey was a cute mid-twenties man with a triangle face and grey eyes, his jaw dotted with a five o’clock shadow. His flannel shirt made him fit in with his little indie genre, but I didn’t mind. He was cute, sure, but not as cute as Will. “I’m straight as a fucking ruler; don’t let this fag tell you otherwise.”

“I didn’t doubt it one bit.” I smiled at him as William suddenly emerged from the backroom, looking stressed out. His hair was sticking up on end and he was wringing his hands. “Is everything okay?” I whispered as he passed. He suddenly stopped the hand twitches and looked at me, thinking for a second then breaking out in a smile.

“Yeah.” He grinned, flattening his hair. “Hey Sam, hey Brendon.”

“’Sup, Little Willy?” Samuel greeted. “A pint please. Morrissey’ll have a cocktail with extra man-sweat, please.”

“Oh mother fucker.” Morrissey punched Sam in the arm and they both erupted into snorts of laughter; the type of laughter that came from best friends. “Bourbon and coke, mate.”

“No problem. Want to use your discount, Sam?”

“Do I ever!” He grinned back, running his hand through his longish black hair, his happiness gleaming in those black eyes of his. Sam was such a short and skinny man, his dark features popping against his pale skin. Most everyone in Ireland had pale skin so it was really okay, but people like Samuel tended to stick out.

William thought for a moment, probably doing sums in his heads and then gave Sam the price. He waited for Samuel to dig out his wallet, worn and black, taking out a small note and handing it to Will. He, in turn, tucked it in the till and gave him the change. He then started raiding the liquor shelf for some bourbon.