Chapter 36: Not Your Kind Of Bar, Huh?

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wowwwwwoooooo y'all I've done it I've written this out today !! Because of my mistake before about publishing and unpublishing :( thank you for putting up with that! <3 Anyway, here's another chapter from BEFORE that. If you've already read the chapter it might be helpful to reread the last one lol idk

Anyway this chapter has a Trigger Warning: Homophobia. Please let me know what you think of the characters so far and where the story is going :-) y'all mean the world to me! Happy reading!

    "Are you all right, love?" Louise Harrison asked me, looking at me with motherly concern as I knelt, scanning the cabinet for my coveted form of entertainment.

    I sat up and knocked my head against the wood. "I'm all right... well, I was a moment ago," I continued as I rubbed my head. She laughed. "Sorry about that. I see you were just getting a game." She turned back towards clearing a plate from the living room before asking, "How are you liking it here?"

    "It's all good. Everything's fantastic," I said quickly. "This family is the sweetest. I'm so sorry that I've stayed for so long, but—"   

    "Not listening!" she called as she walked back to the kitchen. "Stay as long as you like! I can't hear you!"

    A grin spread across my face as I resumed my search for Scrabble. My fumbling fingers finally located it. George had mentioned it was in either in this cabinet or in Harry's room and I hoped it was here; I wasn't in the mood to go nosing into other people's personal rooms.

    George himself emerged from the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk, wearing an unbuttoned flannel and jeans. I walked over to him, Scrabble in my hands, and prodded his bare chest. "Go put on a shirt, beanpole. It's December."

    "I'm a polar bear," he explained as he took a long sip of milk.

    "Play scrabble with me," I complained. "There's nothing to do tonight."

    "Job searching," George automatically responded as he finished the rest of his milk.

    "Harrison, it's ten at night."

    "Bet there was a lot of job searching at certain clubs back in Hamburg," he grinned. I groaned. I knew I could never be a stripper, although I admired them for their confidence. I got attached too quickly.

    "Anyway, I can't play scrabble, I have a job application to fill out," he said. "Da's finally gotten around to making me fill out the form."

    "Electrical engineering, huh," I said, putting the game back on the shelf. "Very different than... guitar... bargaining." I pointed George's new Gretsch, sitting in the corner, his pride and joy.

    "I'm short seventy-five quid, but it was worth it," he smiled. "Hey, you know who likes to play Scrabble? Lennon." George ignored my heavy glare at his name. "Too bad he's not here. Could call him up," he suggested. "Bet he's just having the time of his life at home with Mimi right about now." George turned around and exited the room, not before I made a retorting comment about his lingering milk mustache.


    I wound up calling not John, God forbid, but instead Martin, the quiet library camera boy. My mind went down people I knew—let's be real, who did I know?—in Liverpool, and he was second on the list. The phone rang three times before he picked up and I recognized his clear accent, Scouse free, at the end of the line.

    "Hey, Martin, it's me, remember me?"

    "How could I forget. My first encounter with you was certainly very different than my second encounter," Martin laughed. I could picture his face scrunched up in laughter, which made me smile. Martin had a very delicate character at first, but I sense much wit inside his intellectual sentences which made me want to know more.

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