Eyes on the rifles, then the tin cans ahead, Fizz nodded. "Definitely."
"Five quid for two rounds," barked the man. He stalked over, unlocked two of the rifles from the counter, then held out his hand.
"How much?" Ash muttered, digging in his pocket.
Fizz was quicker, and produced a fiver from his jeans pocket. "You got the donuts. I'll get this."
"But—"
Before Ash could protest, the man had snatched the fiver from Fizz and stalked away again. Ash chuckled in defeat. "Okay, let's do this. I got to warn you, though, these things are rigged. Neither of us will win." He picked up the rifle, clearly struggling with the awkward shape. Fizz watched him raise it, peep through the curious plastic circle on top of the rifle, aim, and fire.
A bang went off. Ash had missed, by miles, and Fizz laughed.
"Yeah, all right. Shut up." Ash laughed too. "Like to see you do better."
"These rifles are weird," Fizz said. Without another thought, he picked his up from the counter. The weight and shape was all wrong, but still, he would make do. He held the rifle, keeping it straight even though it hurt his arms. "Sight's off," he muttered, squinting one eye. Aiming at the bottom can of the stack right in front of him, Fizz glanced above the sight-helper, readjusted his aim, and pressed the trigger. The pellet left the rifle with hardly any backfire or noise, and the tin cans toppled down like a stack of cards. Their tumble knocked down the stack next to them.
The stall holder's eyebrows shot up, as Ash gaped.
"Fizz, how did you hit that?"
With a grin, Fizz lowered his rifle. "Care to make a wager? Bet I can hit more than you."
After a stunned moment, Ash smiled back. "Hah. What did you want to bet, exactly?"
"Er..." Fizz looked away, unsure. Fleetingly, the thought of money had crossed his mind, vague and distant. How strange, he thought. Why would he want to bet for money? He'd never gambled, and he had enough from working at the pub.
No, he certainly didn't want money.
Fighting the blush that rose in his cheeks, he shrugged. "Um, no bet. Let's just see who wins, yeah?"
"Okay," Ash agreed. "Well, how about the loser buys the next bag of donuts?"
"Deal." They raised their rifles together and aimed. The stall holder took a step back.
After a few more rounds, Ash conceded defeat, and Fizz took pity on the poor stall holder. By rights, Fizz's shots had earned them a whole heap of prizes, but Fizz didn't feel like being greedy. He picked out one prize, a large stuffed toy of a stripy zebra. Laughing, he'd given it to Ash, and now they walked back along the pier, Ash cradling the zebra under one arm, Fizz holding a new bag of donuts.
"That guy was ready to ban you from his stall," Ash said with a chuckle. "Have you ever played darts?"
"Darts?" Fizz laughed at the thought, passing a donut to Ash. "No, never."
"Target practise?"
"What? No."
"Then how come you're such a good shot?"
Fizz shrugged. "Don't know. It just felt... easy."
"Hm." Ash hefted the zebra, its head bobbing with the motion. "Maybe we should try pool. I'd love you to thrash Dee sometime. I've tried, but I'm crap."
"I'm sure you're not."
"No, honestly, I am. Ryan banned me from the pool table after I tore the material one night."
They stopped at the railing, leaning over the side to watch a boat in the distance. Ash stood next to him, resting his zebra on the railing with his arm over it. Fizz snickered at the sight.
"What?" Ash asked, in all seriousness. Fizz didn't miss the twinkle in his dark eyes. "Something funny?"
"Nope."
"Liar."
"Yep."
They laughed, then an excited kind of quiet fell over them just as quickly. To hide his nerves, Fizz looked away, at the water crashing away far below. He fought for something to say, and said the first thing that popped into his head. "If this were, like, a Bollywood movie or something, wouldn't this be a great place to do a song?"
When Ash didn't respond immediately, Fizz worried he'd said the wrong thing. He glanced up, seeing an amused smile on Ash's face. "I knew I'd convert you."
"Huh?"
"To Bollywood."
"Oh." Fizz was relieved. "Sure. Um, sorry, I just thought... it would be a cool place for a song."
"I agree." Ash lifted the zebra, thrusting it at Fizz. "The whole pier would be full of dancers!" He flung his arms out, gesturing at the board walk. "Lights, camera, action!"
Fizz laughed, holding the zebra as he followed Ash. "I liked those scenes with the coloured powder being thrown about. What was that?"
"Oh, that's for Holi," Ash said. "Festival of colour. Everyone chucks scented powder at each other. It's for the spring."
"Looks cool."
"Yeah."
They walked back along the pier, falling into companionable quiet.
"So..." Fizz bumped the zebra against Ash, returning it to him. "Guess I should head back."
"Yeah, probably should. I'll walk you back; I have to go past that way."
Fizz didn't want to leave Ash, but it couldn't be avoided. The sky was growing darker, and the street lights had come on. Ash said he had to get home for dinner, and do some studying. Fizz didn't want to keep him from that.
Cars hooted at each other as they thundered past on the road, their headlights moving fast. The Queen Anne's Revenge was lit up, a soft beacon of home, Fizz thought. His home.
Ash dropped him off at the side door. The distant hub of the beer garden was close, but hidden from view, they were mostly alone. Ash shifted on the spot, smiling nervously as he offered the zebra to Fizz. "Hey, look, why don't you keep this for me? I mean, you won it, after all."
"It was for you." Fizz teased, pushing the zebra back.
Ash chuckled. "Yeah, but I don't particularly want to get beaten up for carrying a soft toy down London Road. Look after it for me?"
Relenting, Fizz took the zebra. "Okay. I'll keep it safe."
"Yeah, you do that."
Fizz waited, wondering what would happen next. His heart beat anxiously. The moment was broken, however, by the front door of the pub opening with a slam, and Pete marching a rather drunk patron out onto the pavement.
"When I say you've had enough—" Pete barked at the drunk man, who flailed in response.
A couple more regulars followed through the door, to point and jeer, by the looks of it. Fizz sighed. Likely, Ginger wouldn't be far behind, and he'd rather not have to put Ash through a potentially awkward situation. Especially holding a giant toy zebra.
"I'd better go," he muttered, about to duck into the courtyard. He'd have to sneak through the beer garden, and hope Ginger didn't notice him.
"Hey, um, Jamie?" Ash caught his hand.
Fizz paused, looking back at Ash. "Yeah?"
"We're, um, I mean, my band is playing here on Sunday." Ash's fingers squeezed Fizz's hand as he babbled. "I haven't told my dad or anything; we're keeping it quiet. Which is just as well, 'cause we probably suck something rotten... but... um, are you around? Don't know if it's your sort of music, though?"
Fizz grinned, and squeezed Ash's hand before letting go. "I'll be there."
THE END
ABOUT MELANIE TUSHMORE
Melanie Tushmore is a British writer who loves live bands and loud music. She can’t hear as well as she used to and now champions ear plugs.
Before music, Melanie was a comic book nerd who rarely went out. Then at age fifteen she stumbled into the world of rock music, where the men had long hair and wore their guitars slung down low. More than fifteen years later, Melanie still loves that world even now and wanted to share her stories from it.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
br /> Melanie Tushmore, The Haunted Pub
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