The pub is dark and crowded, and Lily grins.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Benjy stammers, touching her arm with his beefy fingers.
She shruggs him off. “Don’t be such a pissbaby, Benjamin.”
This place is fucking fantastic. The Weird Sisters are performing at ten. Three weeks she’d been crossing out days on her calendar. She isn’t about to let Benjy ruin her night.
The walls are papered with band posters and beer ads, broken glass crunches under her trainers and she can barely hear the lame American singer over the drunken laughter. Most of the bunch wear TWS shirts. Just one pint and Lily will fit right in.
She smirks and maneuvers her way to the bar. “The cheapest lager you’ve got.”
The barkeeper nods and glances at her tits while he pours. Grinning to herself, she rattles a few pounds out and slides them over the counter.
Lily takes a sip and it tastes like shit. Not really surprising since it’s beer, but she’ll survive. After all, she came here for the whole expirience.
“Listen up, Black. I won’t be stood up like some cheap prom date. If you’re not here in five minutes, I’m leav- I don’t care if you’re balls deep in the bloody Queen of England! I’m not watching these ninny men screech about in fucking skirts by myself, alright?!”
The bloke hangs up and knocks his phone onto the bar.
“Not a big Weird Sisters fan, huh?” Lily asks, simpering.
He looks up over the rim of his RayBans. His eyes are dark like whiskey.
“Not really,” he says after giving her a once-over. “My best mate talked me into it, and now he’s not showing.”
“To his defense, he’s balls deep in the Queen. That’s practically serving the country, isn’t it?” Lily debates and licks the froth from her upperlip.
The bloke laughs. “He’s balls deep in his boyfriend, actually. So the only person he’s serving is his egoistic ass.” He reaches between them to shake her hand. “I’m James, by the way.”
“Lily,” she introduces. His hand is cool from the beer he’s holding. It feels nice.
James reads her shirt. “So, Lily, I take it you’re a diehard TWS fan?”
She shruggs. “My bedroom looks like a Fanshop.”
“That is,” he messes up his afro, “very scary.”
Lily tilts her chin in and scrutinizes him under her brows. A joker-smile tugs up her lips. “You should see my torture chamber,” she snarls.
He crunches up his nose and his glasses slide down a little. His index-finger pushes them up and he smirks suggestively. “Is that like a sex dungeon?”
She chokes, mid-gulp and beer shoots out of her nose. Hands flinging to cup her face, Lily coughs. Her cheeks are burning from embarrassment.
James on the other hand is bobbing with laughter on his stool. His nose tip pressing against the counter, his smile eating up half on his face. What a git.
When her fit ends, she wipes the nose-beer from her face with one hand, whilst the other whacks the black-skinned boy on the shoulder.
“You’re such a git.”
He eventually calms down. “Oh come on, Lily-Flower, don’t be mad.”
She crosses her arms and he peeks at her cleavage. Lily grunts. “I hate you.”
“You don’t even know me yet!” James protests. “Here. Let me buy you a proper drink.”
He fishes out his portmonnaie. “So, what do you want? A sex on the beach, perhaps?”
Lily’s red all-stars kick against his shin.
“A long-island it is.”
…
When the long-island became a short-island. A dark handsome bloke, wearing a leather-jacket and blue eyeshadow, taps on James’ shoulder. He must be Sirius, because boy he’s seriously hot. And she is possibly tipsy.
James turns his stool, straw hanging from his lips. “Padfoot!” he hollers and pulls him in a back-slapping hug.
“Prongs,” Sirius smirks into his mate’s plaid shirt. His pale silver eyes catch Lily’s and spark with interest. She wonders if he’s wearing contact lenses.
“You smell like sex,” James grumbles.
“ ‘least I’m getting some,” he says, distangling himself from the drunk. “Who’s your friend?”
“That, mate, is the woman I am going to marry!”
Her cheeks pinken. “I’m Lily,” she droned, a bit panicky.
Sirius clasps her hand in his. His nails are black and he kisses her knuckles. “Enchanté.”
“Um,” she teehees. “Hi.”
“Get your cock-germs off the Lady, Black,” James interrupts. “Jesus knows where this mouth has been.”
“Oi, that’s homophobic!”
“So you weren’t licking Remus’ arsehole half an hour ago?” He asks, lips tugged into a one-sided smirk.
“That’s rich coming from a bloke who’s only licked popsicles in the last five months,” Sirius counters and sits into the stool at Lily’s right.
“You’re an arse,” James mutters.
“Well, you are what you eat.” Sirius wiggles his tongue, winking at her.
Lily titters around her straw and sucks her short-island empty.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN WITH A BIT OF A DELAY, WE FINALLY HAVE HERE FOR YOU: THE WEIRD SISTERS!”
…
A week later Lily has searched through the infinite amount of social media sides for a bloke named James. Every friendship request on facebook was followed by a short-lived moment of euphoria. Until she realized it’s Cosimo from Biology or Dorcas, that girl with the lilac dreadlocks she sat next to in the bus home.
On sunday she finally wiggles into her fuck-you-flip-flops and damns James and his stupid hair to hell. May he suck on popsicles for all eternity! She doesn’t care anymore.
Monday, 09:22 am and Lily is late for band practice. She overslept, overate and overdressed, and now she is late. Being late isn’t necessarily the problem, being late to Mister Amstadt’s class is the great fuck me. Everyone knows Swiss people are stuck up and unforgiving cheese experts.
Lily jumps into her baby blue mini-cooper, throws her violin in the backseat and undoes the fly of her trousers. So she’s gained a few pounds, sue her!
The motor rattles to life and she drives backwards out of the parkinglot. Carefully.
A loud honk blares at her. Lily stares at the Range Rover roaring towards the mini-cooper. Her hand fumbles with the shifter, but a loud bang shakes the whole car. Eyes agape, legs shaking, she checks her body for injuries.
When her senses haltingly return, she acknoweledges loud cursing. What the bloody fuck is he cursing for?
Lily pushes the car door open and steps out on wobbly feet. “You fucking tiny-cocked toff! Have you ever heard of brakes, you pretentious douchebaggy little f-uck.”
She stares at the Range Rover driver and his glasses are a bit slanted on his nose.
“Lily?” he asks, his fingers racking through the black afro.
It is James, utterly gobsmacked. She shakily laughs into her palm. “James.”
“Blimey, Lily, are you alright?”
“Fucking hunky-dory,” Lily sputters.
He fills the steps between them, places a hand on each shoulder and hunches down to be on her eye-level. She gazes through his glasses into his brown eyes. He blinks.
“I think you’re in shock,” he concludes, and she decides she likes his voice.
“Your voice is pretty,” she mumbles and feels the adrenaline drain.
James chuckles and his dimples show. “You’re definitely in shock. Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No,” she says, rubbing her eyes before remembering the eyeliner. “Fuck! I-I’ll just go home.” She points her thumb to the house.
“Okay. You do that. I’ll call the police, I guess.” He glances down at his trembling hands.
“James?” Lily calls from the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Do you want a cuppa? We could call the police later, if you want.” There’s warmth in her cheeks again, but she doesn’t hide behind her hair.
“Alright,” James agrees, his voice strained.
…
As two cups of earl grey steam between them and Lily takes a tiny sip, James talks again.
“So, tiny-cocked toff, huh?”
Needless to say, nose-tea is a thing now too.