Burn The Dead: Riot: Book Three

Chapter 4

4

My funds are practically dried up. We’ve drunk way too much already, and we’ve missed any hope of catching the bus to the game. Hopefully, Jonny will pay for a taxi. He’s a d**k, but he’s not short of a quid or two. He gets sixty quid a gram, and I know damn-well that he only pays about twenty for each one. And that’s just the coke. God knows what he gets for all the other s**t he sells.

The Farmers Arms is getting busy. I can’t seem to get the barman’s attention. I’d shout something to him, tell him to move his fat a*s, but I ain’t got any fake I.D.

Roll on, eighteen. I’ll be homeless, but at least I’ll get served everywhere.

To my left there’s a girl, also trying to get served. She’s around my age, but could be a little older. I’ve been watching her since she came in fifteen minutes ago. She’s caught me looking at her a couple of times. I don’t usually go for blondes; I’m more of a brunette kind of guy—but I’m sure I can make an exception. Maybe it’s the four pints of beer, but those white curves are really doing it for me. She’s still slim, but that a*s in those tight black jeans; and t**s—f*****g hell. Pert. I wouldn’t kick her out of bed.

Luckily, none of the guys have spotted her yet. Not that they pose much of a threat to me. All they’re good at is shouting, Nice a*s, love! or Get your t**s out! They’re not classy like me.

I take in a lungful of beer-smelling air, and I go in for the kill.

“Haven’t seen you in here before,” I say. Smooth, Alfie. Really f*****g smooth. George Clooney is shitting his pants.

She turns to me; her eyes like blue sapphires, her cheeks puffy. Really cute. “Sorry? What did you say?” she asks, leaning in to hear over the background noise.

Awesome—a second stab at a first impression. “I said the service here is terrible. Don’t you think?”

She smiles and nods. “I know. I’ve been waiting here for five minutes. I think the barman is blind.”

“I take it you’re not watching the game then?” I ask, moving a little closer to her.

“Damn right I am,” she replies, her tone filled with excitement.

“Oh, right. I just thought—”

“You just thought that a football stadium is no place for a girl, right?”

Great start, Alf. I squirm, but then I spot the smirk on her thick red lips. “Hey, I’m all for women watching football. As long as they’re home in time to clean the kitchen.”

She playfully nudges me. “Very funny. So how are you getting to the game?”

“God knows. We’ve missed any hope of catching the bus. And walking’s out of the question.”

“Well, we’ve got a minibus booked,” she says, “but there might be room for one more.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I reply, “but I’m with four other mates.”

“Okay, no problem.”

“I’m Alfie, by the way,” I offer my hand. “Alfie Button.”

“Natalie.” She shakes my hand. Her grip is loose, as if she’s more used to getting a kiss on the cheek. “Cool name, Alfie.”

“Thanks.”

The barman finally comes over and serves her. I almost offer to pay for her drink, but I don’t want to come across too strong. Plus, I can’t afford it. Once he hands her over two vodkas and lemonades, the barman turns to me and takes my order.

“So who’ve you come with?” I ask, as two beers are set down in front of me.

“With my friend, Mari-Emma. My brother, Curtis, and a few of his friends are on their way, too.”

My drink is nearly overflowing with froth, so I sip the top. “Well, maybe we could all meet up after the game or something. Go for a few drinks in Swansea.”

Natalie snorts. “Doubtful.”

“Why?”

She stares at my jersey and smiles. “Because I’m Cardiff all the way, Alfie.”

I laugh. “Cardiff? Okay, fair enough. I won’t hold it against you.”

Jonny might, though.

“I’m sure you won’t.” She picks up her drinks, ready to leave. “Right, well, maybe I’ll see you at the game then.”

If the guys find out I’m willing to sleep with the enemy, they’ll rip me a new asshole.

But what the hell!

“Can I have your number, Natalie?” I ask her, surprised that I didn’t get the words in the wrong order.

She looks at me up and down, as if inspecting the goods, and then puts her drinks on the bar. “Yeah, why not?” She pulls out her mobile phone from her handbag. She pushes a few buttons, and within a couple of seconds I hear a beep coming from my phone. I pull it out and see a f*******: friend request from her.

“That was quick, Natalie.”

“Well, there weren’t exactly a lot of Alfie Buttons to choose from.”

“Thanks. I’ll message you some time; maybe to help you through the painful defeat today.”

“Ha! In your dreams.” She starts to walk away, but stops when she sees a group of about twenty boys enter the pub. “There’s my brother now,” she says, pointing to the blond boy in the front. He’s around my age, dressed in light blue shorts and a Cardiff jersey.

Before I can even open my mouth, I watch Jonny ram his fist into her brother’s jaw. Then Hoppy throws his pint glass in their direction. It misses them completely, smashing onto the door behind them.

“s**t,” I mutter.

This is the guy Jonny’s been waiting for.