Amelia hauled down her uber short dress over her butt for the third time as she tried to haul ass out of her rickety old blue mini. Maybe a short dress and super high boots had not been the best idea for a Sunday afternoon in her local dive but she had wanted to dress up. It had been a gruelling weekend, working at the florist, overtime, and had not even seen a sniff of a night out since last week. This new dress was demanding attention, and hanging in her wardrobe it'd been going unappreciated, it was not often she indulged the girly side of her psyche and this clingy little number had practically molested her on sight. Not that she wanted her drinking buddy to appreciate it though, Tris' was her best friend in the whole world and despite his undying, unrequited love for her since nursery, she had zero romantic interest in him. He was Tristan, the boy who had helped her hide worms in her neighbour's bed aged five, the guy who had climbed fences of the old paper mill and stolen boxes of recycled art paper at the age of nine, when she wanted to be the next Van Gogh. He was the guy who was with her when she magnificently got her first period, wearing white jeans in the centre of town during a heatwave and told her that it was 'natural' at age thirteen. Tris was that overly protective, brother type, friend that every girl has, whose completely besotted with you but just far too nice to fancy. yeah, Tris was her boy in the friend zone.
Hauling ass into the gloomy pub during a busy ' students happy hour' was probably not the best idea. This was the closest and cheapest hang out near the university and always heaving, close to unbearably crowded on weekends. Amelia who was usually one for jeans, t-shirts and converse felt dramatically over dressed. She was around the same age as most of the regulars in here, late teens, early twenties but with a face like a child and blonde hair with a mind of it's own and zero hairdressing skills she always managed to pull off the aura of a kid. Maybe that was the sudden urge to dress up and slap on enough smoky eyeshadow to get a job in the red light district. For weeks now the new bartender had asked her for ID every time she ordered a pint. Ughhh. She was nineteen. Had been for almost a year now and you would have thought after the fifth or sixth time he would remember her face at least. This was a common issue with Amelia, guys saw her as the quirky, slightly dorky but cute girl who drunk pints, played a mean game of pool and could have a laugh with. She wasn't the sexy, boobs hanging out, memorable, girl with long lashes, full lips and enough cleavage to hold her own drink. She was pretty boy shaped with a decent handful of boobs and a pretty pair of legs. Today however, the mirror had informed her she could scrub up pretty well on a Sunday afternoon when she actually took the time to get ready.
'You got any ID princess?' The tall overly good looking blonde bartender gave her the once over and Amelia sighed dramatically.
'Really? Every time? Not once... Not once are you actually going to remember you ID me at least three times every weekend.' She huffed at him and was only met with a frown that translated to 'Have I even served you before?' Yup, this was Amelia's life.
'Here' She thrust the bright shiny license at him and watched him scrutinise the picture, she had a ponytail in the picture, a weird gawky expression and looked about twelve despite only being a year ago. He planked it down on the bar in front of her and then poured the two pints she had asked for, snatching the note with an unconvinced eyebrow raise when she paid. He was wondering if the license was a good fake. Amelia rolled her eyes. Every god damn time! She even knew his name. Tony! The hunky , muscular dude behind the bar was called 'Tony' and she knew that because the ass put her through this every time he served her in the last four months.
'Meels! Meels, over here' Tris' voice echoed through the crowds of sweaty bodies and choke worthy perfume scents, she followed obediently, trying not to spill the booze as she was elbowed, nudged and knocked by overzealous students. Concentrating on not tripping over her own shoes and eating floor again, like she had last weekend. She got a strong whiff of cannabis as she squeezed further back into the adjoining pool room.
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Completely Random (NA - work in progress)ChickLit
Amelia is a nineteen-year-old recovering tomboy with a fetish for tripping over her own feet. With the best boy mate you could ever ask for and the face of a twelve-year-old kid she is destined to always be that misunderstood weirdo standing in the...