Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

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of lube into his hand, then tossed away the tube. Eyes dropping down, he reached out with wet fingers

to carefully coat lube down Ginger’s cock, massaging gently as he went. A shaky groan escaped

Ginger’s mouth. His eyes closed halfway, his lips were parted, lush and tempting. Ryan couldn’t

resist; keeping his hand moving over Ginger’s cock, he leaned in, claiming another kiss. Ginger kissed

him back, a moan passing his lips. “If you keep that up, I’m gonna come.”

Ryan bit back groan at the thought. He gave Ginger’s cock a final squeeze, at the same time placing

a kiss on the man’s lips. “Come inside me.” He sat up, and carefully swung one leg over Ginger’s hips,

positioning himself.

All the time he’d spent fantasising about this moment, yet he still couldn’t quite believe it was

happening. His pulse raced, heating his body. Ginger shifted under him, resting his hands on Ryan’s

hips. Ryan sat up on his knees, and took hold of Ginger’s cock. This is it. They’d already crossed the

line of friends, nothing would be the same after this.

And God, how he wanted it.

Ryan spread his knees wide, stretching himself over Ginger’s cock. He guided the tip to his hole,

closing his eyes briefly to savour the feel of that first contact. Carefully, he moved his hands to

Ginger’s arms, holding on as he centred himself on Ginger’s cock, then slowly, slowly sank down.

Ragged breaths escaped his mouth, but he didn’t stop. He adjusted his hips, knowing the best possible

angle to make the slide smoother, to get as much of Ginger inside him as possible.

Beneath him, Ginger’s hands clutched Ryan’s hips. His breath hissed, and Ryan knew he was trying

his hardest to stay still. He wouldn’t have to for long. Shifting his knees, Ryan thrust down to slide

that last little bit, fully seating himself on Ginger’s cock. He groaned, breathing hard. “Oh, God,” he

whispered. “Fuck.”

“You okay?” Ginger asked, his voice shaky.

Ryan groaned in response. “Oh, God, yes.” Leaning back slightly, he placed one hand on the bed for

balance, arched his back, and gave in to the urge to rock his hips, sliding up and down that gloriously

slick cock. Ginger gasped and moaned, and began to thrust in time to Ryan’s movement. He pulled out

and slammed back in hard enough to make Ryan cry out. Ryan’s orgasm was already building, the fire

licking at the insides of his balls. “Oh...fuck, I’m close.”

His legs burned with the effort of being on top, and he lost his rhythm. Ginger growled lightly,

moving to sit up. Ryan found himself lifted and flipped onto his back in one fluid movement. He

gasped in surprise, then groaned at the feel of Ginger’s cock pressing into him again. Ginger gripped

Ryan’s legs behind the knees, pushing them up. Ryan gave in willingly. His heart melted at the sight

of Ginger between his legs, his slim body all beautiful and taut. Ginger gazed down to where their

bodies joined as he worked his hips, fucking Ryan with deep, steady thrusts. Ryan groaned, watching

the curve of Ginger’s hip, the angel wings on his pelvis moving in time with his thrusts, like they

wanted to fly.

It was too much; lust crested inside him. Ryan reached down his body, hands slipping over his cock

in a tight grip. “Daniel,” he whispered, a mere second before he came. His balls drew up, his body

tensed, and his cock spilled out his release as the orgasm rocked through his body. “Ohhh, yes. Fuck!”

Ginger shuddered against him, groaning in reply. He thrust hard once more, then slowed almost to a

stop. Ryan opened his eyes to watch the gorgeous man between his legs coming inside him. Hazel eyes

locked on his, and Ryan fell in love all over again as he watched Ginger’s face through his release.

Ryan wanted to see that look many more times, for the rest of his life if he could.

Panting, he dropped his legs, reaching out to drag Ginger against him. Ginger collapsed into him,

breathless. He shifted his hips as he settled against Ryan, his cock sliding out of his body as he did so.

Ryan regretted the loss, but he needed full body contact right now, needed to be close. He wrapped

himself around Ginger, arms and legs. He pushed red hair from the man’s face, and brushed his lips

over Ginger’s mouth.

Smiling, Ginger pressed a kiss to his lips, then shifted them on the bed, so they could lie side by

side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, breathless. “Definitely.” He leaned in for a kiss, head still swimming from lustfilled

pleasure. Ginger kissed him languidly, tongue melting against Ryan’s. Closing his eyes, Ryan

hummed into the kiss. He could have kissed until he fell asleep, but Ginger pulled away.

“Just a sec.” He shifted on the bed, reaching down to take off the condom.

“There’s a bin just there.” Ryan gestured to Ginger’s side of the bed. Ginger nodded, and once he

tied off the condom, he pitched it at the bin with perfect aim. Ryan wanted to say, good shot, but bit

his lip. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by making some lame joke.

Ginger lay back on the bed, facing Ryan. When he held out his arm on the pillow, wriggling his

fingers, Ryan gratefully took it as invitation to snuggle into his chest. He buried his face in soft, sweet

smelling skin. Ginger’s arm curled around his back, holding him close. Ryan realised they were both a

little sticky, and wet. His own come was drying on his stomach.

Oh well. Everything else was too good to care about that. Ginger’s other hand came to rest on

Ryan’s hip, thumb brushing over the stickiness on his skin. Ryan shivered, the embers of his orgasm

still licking through him.

“Daniel? I– I’d really like to do that again.”

“Yeah?” Ginger dragged his fingers over Ryan’s skin, nails lightly scratching.

“Mmm. Like, soon.” In turn, Ryan traced his fingers over the tattoo on Ginger’s chest, the one of

intertwining white skulls and red roses.

“Soon?”

“Yeah.” Ryan’s fingers trailed lower, brushing against one silver ring through a dusky pink nipple.

The touch stirred a reaction; Ginger’s skin flinched, at the same time a small whimper escaped. Ryan

lifted his head, watching Ginger’s face. “You like that?” His thumb pressed into Ginger’s nipple, then

circled the nub gently. Ryan could feel the metal moving through soft flesh. A rush of sordid thoughts

filled Ryan’s mind, but Ginger’s hand gently closed around his, stilling his fingers.

“Mm.” His eyes fluttered closed. “I do like it, but maybe not right now. It’s usually better before

I...er, you know...come.” A slight blush coloured his cheeks.

Ryan shifted up to lean on his elbow, looking down at Ginger. He spread his palm on Ginger’s

chest, feeling his heart thumping away. It struck Ryan how shy Ginger seemed, which only made Ryan

want him more.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Ginger’s eyes darted up to him, then away. “Hey.”

Ryan slid his hand to Ginger’s shoulder, his index finger making tiny circles on tattooed skin. He

wanted to touch Ginger’s face, too, and stroke his fingers through his long red hair, but he made a

conscious effort not to cling too hard. One step at a time, he told himself.

“We can...do things later,” he said, then quickly added, “I mean, if you want to.” Ryan felt his own

cheeks heating.

“Later?” Ginger looked up at him now, eyes locking with his.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I thought you said you wanted to do this again soon?”

“Um, yeah...I did.” Ryan’s face felt like it was turning crimson pink. Smooth move, Ry.

“Aren’t we both working later?” Ginger asked.

“Er, yes. We are.”

A hint of a smile was on Ginger’s lips. “Then wouldn’t sooner be better?”

“Oh.” Relief washed over Ryan, and he grinned. “Yes. Sooner would be great.”

“Just great?”

“I mean, amazing, of course.” Ryan leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ginger’s lips. “Better than

amazing. All the amazing words, and then some.”

“Oh, really?” Ginger smiled at him. “Sounds pretty good.”

“Sure is.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“Matt?” Pete opened the kitchen door. “Y’alright?”

Looking up from peeling his potatoes, Matt nodded. “Yeah, all right. How you feeling?”

Pete stepped into the room, nodding absently. “Yeah, fine, I suppose. Slept like a log.”

All right for some, Matt thought. “Er, that’s good.” He kept peeling the spuds.

“Yeah.” Pete watched him peeling for a few moments. “So...guess this means you’re ready to run

the kitchen today?”

“Yep. All set. Just doing some extra ‘tats now.”

“Okay.” Pete wandered over to the window, glancing down to the beer garden below. “Ginger must

have gone out. You seen him?”

Matt stopped peeling. “I thought he’d slept in the living room?”

Pete shrugged. “Not there now. Maybe he popped out. Ryan must still be asleep, too, as I can’t find

him. Fizz is about though, and said he’ll help out if we need him.”

A shudder wanted to run over Matt’s skin, but he tried to suppress it. “Hm. Right. So, who’s

supposed to be on shift today?”

“Ryan and Ginger.”

“Oh.”

“It’s all right though, I’m sure Ginger will be back...wherever he’s gone. I might work today as

well. Doesn’t really matter if we’re late opening, Dom said to take it easy today. Hah.”

“Well, yeah, you probably should.”

Pete waved his concerns away. “Honestly, I feel fine. If everyone didn’t keep telling me about what

happened, I wouldn’t have known any different. Apart from I can’t remember Saturday at all.”

“Yeah...well.” Matt wasn’t sure what to say. He resumed peeling the potatoes.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna head downstairs.” Pete headed for the door. “See what shape the bar’s in.”

Matt frowned to himself. He was about to say, he’d seen Ryan earlier, making coffee in the kitchen.

But he paused. Maybe Ryan had gone back to bed. Oh well.

“I’m picking Sammy up from the hospital about four,” Pete added, as he left.

“Right,” Matt called back. He peeled the potatoes extra fast.

* * *

Sammy felt sore. He had a new cast on his left arm, reaching from his hand to half way up his

bicep. They’d had to take off the old one, re-set his dislocated shoulder, then re-set his arm, all while

he was awake, for God’s sake. After that, he’d had the joy of having a new cast put on. Whatever pain

killers they dished out weren’t nearly strong enough, and Sammy had made sure to inform the doctor

as such. Not that he seemed to care.

“Everything’s pretty much back to normal,” Pete said, as he manoeuvred the car out of the hospital

car park. “Obviously you can’t work for a while...but we’ll sort something out.”

Rolling his eyes to himself, Sammy tried not to huff. Obviously he couldn’t work. How would he

pull pints with only one working arm? Not only that, his whole body was sore. There was a huge

purple bruise all over his shoulder and back, which really wasn’t attractive. The worst thing about all

this was that no one could tell him how it’d happened.

Apparently he’d fallen over in Fizz’s room and hit the wall. Sammy didn’t even recall going into

Fizz’s room. Why would he want to go in there? None of it made sense. Well, from now on, he was

going to be treating everyone and everything in the pub with a fair amount of suspicion.

Pete drove them back to The Queen Anne. The sun was out, which added insult to injury, as far as

Sammy was concerned. The sky should have been as miserable as he felt. When Pete pulled the car

into the front courtyard and cut the engine, he asked Sammy what he wanted to do next.

Sammy huffed again. He could see people sitting in the beer garden, mostly regulars. They were all

gazing his way. “I just want to go upstairs and chill out.”

“Sure.” Pete unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car. He came around to Sammy’s side, to

assist him in getting out of the car, much to Sammy’s annoyance. He felt a little woozy, and a lot

tired. Maybe those painkillers were pretty strong after all. Ushering him through the pub’s side door,

Pete escorted Sammy up the stairs.

Sammy ignored the sounds filtering in from the bar; music, chatter, laughter. It sounded like a busy

afternoon, relatively normal. Irritation flowed through Sammy. This wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t. First

the dumb waiter’d had it in for him, now he’d been the victim of some random...accident.

Sammy looked at Pete. “I don’t suppose Matt was anywhere near me when I fell over, or whatever

it was I’m supposed to have done?”

Pete shrugged, his face blank. “Wish I knew. Apparently, I was in the room, along with two

paramedics, who were also out cold. Ryan was there too, but Matt was out in the hall. No one seems to

know more than that.”

“Ugh.” Sammy glared down at the stairs as he trudged up them. “That’s just...stupid.”

“Hmm...”

Sammy wasn’t sure if Pete agreed or not, but he didn’t seem to have much more to say on the

matter.

Arriving on the first floor, Sammy glared once in the direction of Matt’s kitchen. It wasn’t as noisy

as it usually was, but he could still hear music playing. He rolled his eyes again, and let Pete lead him

through the staff door, and up to the second floor.

“There’s plenty of hot water – for once – if you want a shower?” Pete asked.

The thought of wrapping up his cast and faffing around to have a shower seemed like far too much

effort. Sammy shook his head. “Think I’m gonna watch TV for a bit.”

“Okay. Want me to do anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Cheers.”

“Okay,” Pete said, about to leave. “Oh, almost forgot.” He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket.

“One of the policemen found this. I think it’s yours.”

His mobile phone. Sammy accepted it with his good hand. “Awesome. Where was it?”

“No idea. Somewhere in the bar, they said. One of them handed it in.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

Pete smiled at him. “Call me if you need anything. Rachel’s come in to see us, so I’ll be downstairs

with the others.”

“Thanks, Pete.”

As Pete left the kitchen, Sammy switched on his phone. The screen flashed to life. He had only two

bars of reception, the norm for up here in the kitchen. Sammy waited, watching the messages appear

on his screen. He flicked through them, a cursory glance. The messages dated from Friday or Saturday

night, when his phone had gone missing. They were from various mates, asking if he was coming out

clubbing. None of them were close friends, more clubbing buddies. No other messages. Sammy felt

more than a little peeved at that.

Didn’t anyone know he was injured?

He left his phone on the kitchen table, and went to inspect the fridge. He was starving. He needed to

eat something now, but he wasn’t holding out much hope for there to be any food worth eating.

But when Sammy wrenched open the fridge door, he was greeted with a surprise. On the middle

self, right in his eye line, was a plate of food covered tight with cling-film. A yellow post-it note was

stuck on top, with the scrawl Sammy.

Intrigued, Sammy picked up the plate with his good hand, nudging the fridge closed with his hip.

Through the film, he could see that it was a massive slice of homity pie – his favourite! – along with

coleslaw, slices of ham, shredded beetroot, and a small, dainty pork pie.

Wow.

Sammy wasn’t sure if this had been Matt’s idea, or he’d been coerced into it by Pete, but he wasn’t

about to turn it down. Grabbing a fork, he sat down at the kitchen table and unwrapped his lunch. The

TV was on, tuned into some boring day-time programme. Sammy didn’t pay it much attention to it as

he hungrily devoured his food. After being fed hospital crap for two days, he certainly appreciated the

freshness of home cooked food. This was heaven.

It didn’t take him long to eat. When he was done, Sammy left his plate on the counter, and swiped

the bottle of lemonade from the fridge. He shuffled along the hall to the living room. He was so tired,

and just wanted to veg. He couldn’t even be bothered to choose something to watch. Maybe he’d have

a doze. He’d only just switched the TV on and sat down, when a figure appeared in the doorway.

Sammy jumped slightly, surprised, but it was only Matt.

“Christ, Matt, don’t creep about like that. You trying to give me a heart attack?”

The big oaf shifted nervously on the spot. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Sammy’s eyes noticed what he was carrying. A plate, with what looked suspiciously like a slice of

cake on it. Even though he was full, Sammy’s stomach took immediate interest.

“What’s that?”

“Hm? Oh, I, um, made you banoffie pie.”

Sammy’s jaw dropped. It was a good thing he was already sitting down, or he may have fallen over

in shock. “I’m sorry, Matthew, I think I just hallucinated. What did you say?”

Matt shifted again, and a slight frown appeared on his face. Either he was concentrating really hard,

or he was getting annoyed. “I said, I made you banoffie pie. I thought...you liked it?”

Sammy was speechless, and that didn’t happen often.

Matt waited for a moment, then huffed in annoyance, and strode into the living room. He placed the

plate, with a fork, on the coffee table in front of Sammy. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t –”

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on.” Sammy sat up, eyeing Matt carefully. “Who says I don’t want it? I’m just

wondering if, y’know, you’ve laced it with arsenic, or something.”

Matt straightened in surprise, shock written over his face. “Why would I do that?”

Sammy rolled his eyes. “Oh, chill out, Matt. I’m only teasing.” He reached out with his good hand

to grab the plate, before Matt could take it away. “I do like banoffie.”

Matt watched him take the plate, and the fork. He nodded, somewhat furiously. “That’s what I

thought.”

“Yeah.” Sammy ignored Matt, focussing on the big slice of cake. It looked delicious, a work of

food art. Fluffy and creamy, with chocolate curls on top. Mmm. Sammy’s fork dived in. He raised a

forkful of cake to his mouth. Just as he was about to eat, he noticed Matt was still watching him.

“What?” Sammy demanded.

Matt looked away. “Nothing.”

Sammy pulled a face, looking at Matt in confusion. What was up with him?

“Um...” Matt fiddled with the edge of his t-shirt. Sammy noticed he wasn’t wearing his greasespattered

clothes for a change, he was actually wearing something clean.

Sammy’s eyebrow crept up higher. “What, Matt?”

“I just wondered, what did you want for dinner?” Matt asked quietly. “I’ve closed the pub kitchen

now. Having the night off. I’ll make you dinner, if you want.”

While Sammy was surprised – again – his stomach cheered at the idea. Truthfully, he hated

cooking. Loathed it. Now Matt was offering to cook him dinner? Even though his instincts screamed

that this was suspicious, Sammy wasn’t about to turn it down.

“Well...I wouldn’t say no.”

Matt met his eyes, clearly relieved. A smile made it onto his face. “What do you want?”

Sammy went to shrug, then winced at the pain in his shoulder. “Ow. Um, I don’t know. Let me

think for a minute.”

“Okay.” Matt shifted from foot to foot.

His nervousness seemed strange, Sammy thought. Was Matt feeling guilty? Was he the one to

blame for the accident? But that was nuts, surely; why would everyone else cover up something like

that? Maybe Matt still felt guilty over dumb waiter incident. Whatever it was, if Matt wanted to cook

to ease his guilt, Sammy was all for it. He took his first mouthful of cake, and ate thoughtfully.

Matt waited.

Was he going to stand there forever, like a butler? Sammy sighed, trying to think. “I guess...I

haven’t had bangers and mash in a while.”

“Bangers and mash? That all?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, I feel like something stodgy, but not icky stodgy, I want nice stodgy.”

“Right.” Matt smiled, not meeting his eyes. “Bangers and mash. When did you fancy eating?”

“Oh, not right now, I just ate that homity pie.”

“Good.”

“Did you make that for me?”

Matt glanced at him, then away. “Yeah.”

Well, he hadn’t been poisoned so far, Sammy thought. And this cake was amazing. “Um...thanks,

for the food. I think...maybe a couple of hours, like six? I didn’t eat much in the hospital. Their food

was rank.”

“Yeah, I bet. Okay, I’ll go start the prep, then. Six is fine.” Matt went to turn away, mumbling

quietly, “Maybe we could watch a movie...or something?”

What the fuck? Sammy put down his fork. “Matt, what gives? Why are you being so nice?”

Matt froze on the spot. He didn’t turn around. “Um...”

“Are you feeling guilty for something? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll never turn down good food,

but don’t feel like you have to nanny me.” Sammy’s eyes narrowed. “Unless you have something to

actually feel guilty about?”

That did it. Matt turned to face him, blinking in surprise. “No,” he said, with feeling. “It’s not like

that, I just...well, it’s just...”

“Mm?” Sammy urged. “What?”

“Well, look, I...” Matt ran a hand through his short hair. “I think we got off to a bad start, and...and

I want to...start again? Be friends, I mean. I feel sorry that you’re...that it always seems to be you who

takes the brunt of stuff here. What with the dumb waiter, and now breaking your arm and that.”

Sammy snorted, half in surprise, half in sheer amusement. “Yeah, you can say that again.” He let

out a sigh, giving in. He didn’t know what to think any more, and he didn’t have the energy to care.

“Okay, whatever. I’m too tired to argue, luckily for you, Matthew.”

“So...does this mean we’re watching a movie?”

“If you want.” Sammy glanced at him. “I’m choosing, though. I’m not watching any of your boring

Kung Fu movies.”

Matt was clearly trying not to smile. “How about we both choose one? You watch one of mine, I

watch one of yours?”

Huffing, Sammy picked up his fork again. “I’ll think about it. Now and go make my dinner.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Matt said, smiling. Before Sammy could reply, he retreated from the room.

Sammy watched him leave, utterly stunned.

Why was Matt grinning like that? So bizarre. Sammy had seen Matt joking with friends before,

usually those morons Dee and Glen, but never with him. Sammy had always assumed Matt didn’t like

him much.

Hm.

He stared down at his cake, thinking things through. Matt was willing to watch a movie of his

choice? For real? Mentally, Sammy went through his DVD collection. What would appeal to a big,

grumbly man, yet still sneak in a little camp? A comedy? Something with cheerleaders in, perhaps?

Yes, definitely cheerleaders. It would be fun to watch Matt squirm.

Smirking to himself, Sammy put down his cake. He could finish it later. Standing up carefully, he

checked the hall, making sure Matt wasn’t around, then headed for his room. Maybe he would have

that shower, after all.

* * *

Having been closed for three nights, the reopening of the pub proved to be busy. Likely thanks to

the hype caused by that daft newspaper article. Fizz had glanced at the newspaper, but he didn’t want

to read. He’d heard more than enough speculation from the doctors and police. No one could give him

answers and, quite frankly, it all made his head swim.

Better to concentrate on something else.

Fizz hadn’t planned to be sneaky, he really hadn’t. He’d helped out in the bar all afternoon, and

would have continued to help in the evening if he’d had nothing better to do. A grin broke over his

face when he thought of Ash. It just so happened that Fizz did have something better to do.

He had a date.

The bar was busy but with Pete, Ryan, and Ginger behind the bar, they were sure to be fine. Fizz’s

usual panic over doing the right thing, and feeling guilty, just couldn’t permeate his excitement. Was

he being selfish? Maybe a touch. Maybe not at all.

He slipped out from the bar and, making sure no one was around, picked up his hooded sweater that

he’d already placed over the bannisters. Quietly, Fizz opened the side door to the street, and slipped

through without anyone noticing. He wouldn’t be able to get back in this way, not without a key. He’d

have to make sure he was back before closing tonight.

It was dusk, though still light enough for cars not to have their headlights on as they thundered

through the Old Steine. Cradling his hoody under one arm, Fizz hurried away, feeling incredibly

naughty, reckless, and relieved. He got out his phone, texting as he walked. He sent a message to

Ginger, to tell him not to worry, he’d just gone for a walk.

That was partly true, anyway.

Fizz turned off his phone after the message had sent. Hopefully Ginger would understand. As he

reached the end of the footpath, Fizz grinned. Up ahead, across the single lane of traffic that sped up

Church Street, Ash waited for him. He wore skin-tight jeans, the ones Fizz knew had a patch on the

back pocket, and hugged Ash’s figure perfectly. Fizz loved those jeans on him. Ash’s leather jacket

and the skull-print scarf completed the adorable bad boy image, and Fizz’s heart beat double time in

response.

Other things were responding, too. A flush of heat flooded his groin, and Fizz was suddenly so

preoccupied with holding his hoody in front of him to hide his interest, that he almost walked straight

out onto the road. Ash’s frantic waving and wide eyes made Fizz pause. A car shot past, and Ash

looked relieved.

After glancing left and seeing a gap in traffic, Fizz bounded across the road, right up to Ash. He

didn’t quite have the nerve to embrace him, and maybe Ash didn’t either, but they stood close to each

other. Closer than friends would, Fizz thought.

“God, Fizz,” Ash said, breathing a sigh. “Have you never crossed a road before? Look for traffic

first.”

Fizz’s smile grew wider, even as he apologised. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

Ash snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right! Don’t make me hold your hand next time.”

The wink which followed had Fizz smiling so hard he thought his face might break. They walked

down the path together, chatting about nothing and everything. The Pavilion and its gardens were in

full view to their right. Fizz thought to himself that he wouldn’t mind looking inside one day, but right

now his entire focus was Ash.

“How’s your dad?” Fizz asked, broaching the delicate subject. Mr. Singh hadn’t been in a good

mood when Fizz had last seen him at the hospital.

Ash rolled his eyes. “Dad is Dad. I think he’s calmed down, but he doesn’t want me going in the

pub again. I wish I could tell him what happened but...I just don’t remember anything, you know?”

Fizz nodded. “Me, too. I mean, it’s really weird, isn’t it?”

“That report said it could’ve been a gas leak.”

They stopped at a pedestrian crossing, then raced to the other side as the green man symbol beeped,

and impatient cars waited. On the promenade, cyclists and teenagers on rollerblades and skateboards

whizzed by. Stalls selling colourful items like wind-catchers and sweets were just closing up for the

day. The sea glistened as the last of the sun disappeared below the horizon. Fizz stared at the water,

feeling strangely emotional, not in a bad way, but in a thankful-to-be-alive way that he couldn’t

explain. A chill brushed his bare arms, making him shiver.

“Hey.” Ash touched his shoulder. “Are you cold?”

Fizz met his eyes, smiling again. “Not really.” He shook out his hoody and pulled it on, mostly to

appease the concerned look on Ash’s face. “I’m fine. Honest.”

“Okay,” Ash said. “C’mon, then. I’m dying for some donuts.” Leading the way, they approached the

entrance to the pier. Lights were turning on, illuminating the different food huts that surrounded the

entrance. In the distance, Fizz could see the colourful rides at the very end of the pier, lit up and

flashing, humming quietly. A tremor of excitement ran over his body.

“Are we going on the rides?” he asked.

Ash, who was busy gazing at a menu, nodded absently. “Course we are. Can’t go on the pier without

going on a crap ride or two.”

“Crap?”

“I’m kidding. They’re amazing.” Ash cleared his throat, then took out his wallet and placed an

order with the attendant. Soon, he was handed a white paper bag of freshly sugared, steaming hot

donuts. He burnt his mouth on the first bite, swearing under his breath.

Fizz tried not to laugh. Once the donuts had cooled a little, they shared the bag between them as

they walked the boards. Gazing down, Fizz could see the sparkle of water underneath their feet.

It was windy here; great gusts seemed to come from nowhere, buffeting them as they walked. Ash

suggested they walked on the other side of the stalls, which provided some protection against the

wind. Fizz could have put his hood up, but he found he enjoyed the feel of the wind in his hair. It was

just like being on a boat, he thought, which was strange, as Fizz knew he’d never been on a boat in his

life. As he gazed out to sea – as Ash pointed out the newly installed Brighton eye, like a big white

ferris wheel, and the marina in the distance – he felt so incredibly happy he thought he might burst.

“Ash?” he said, cutting Ash off from describing yet another point of interest.

“Yeah?”

Fizz held the last sugary donut in his fingers, offering it to Ash. “Thank you for bringing me here.

It’s...really cool.”

Ash smiled in response. Even on his dark skin, Fizz noticed the blush stain his cheeks. “No

worries.” He tore the donut in half, sugar spilling everywhere, and handed half back to Fizz. “You, um,

wanna go to the arcade?”

“Arcade?” Fizz blinked at him, unable to picture what Ash meant.

“C’mon. It’s this way.” Stuffing the donut in his mouth, Ash carried on walking. As they reached

the middle section, a large tent-like structure came into view, blazing with different lights and noises.

From just one glance, Fizz knew it wasn’t for him. He shook his head. “Er, I don’t think I want to go

in there.”

Ash shrugged. “Let’s go to the quieter bit. There’s a milkshake bar, and they do iced lattes, too.”

They bypassed the arcade, getting nearing the end of the pier and its rides. As they approached the

milkshake bar Ash headed for, something else caught Fizz’s eye. A brightly coloured stall set out like

a camp version of an old style Texas shoot out. Tin Can Alley had neatly stacked tin cans along the

back of the stall, with gaudy prizes hanging from every available inch. The counter was waist high,

with a bored-looking man standing in the corner.

When he saw the replica rifles lined up on the counter, Fizz’s feet carried him there. He couldn’t

explain why, but he had to try one.

Ash appeared a moment later at his side. “Oh yeah? You wanna have a go?”

Eyes on the rifles, then the tin cans ahead, Fizz nodded. “Definitely.”