Free Redemption by Jessica Ashe

glow of someone who had worked up a sweat and then showered, but was still hot and a little sweaty. He’d crammed himself into a suit to do a quick post-match interview, but had removed the tie and had a button undone to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his chest.    
    “So shall I go to your house and hang out with Shaun?” Maisie asked. She tried to sound more casual about it in front of Oliver, but she still came across as obvious. That girl did not know how to do subtle.
    “Yes,” Oliver said, “but it won’t be just the two of you.”
    “Thank God,” I muttered.    
    “I told Shaun to invite some friends of his round. He may be shy, but he does have a few close friends.”
    “Oh, okay, that’s fine,” Maisie said casually. “A party’s cool with me.”
    “It won’t be much of a party,” Oliver said. “Not if I know Shaun’s friends.”
    “Great,” Maisie said, less enthusiastically.
    I smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time with Shaun and his friends.”    
    I would have a much better time knowing Maisie was not on her own with a boy she liked. Shaun seemed perfectly nice, but I was responsible for Maisie this summer and I didn’t want to encourage her to have too much fun.
    With Maisie sorted, I was truly ready to let my hair down. “Come on then, let’s drop Maisie off at your place and head out. I’m in the mood for a cocktail.”
    -*-
    When we dropped Maisie off at Oliver’s, Shaun already had a few friends round, and they were just hanging out playing video games. With any luck, Maisie’s evening would be less exciting than she was hoping for.
    Oliver and I jumped in a cab and went to a pub not far from the stadium. There were a few fans in the pub drinking to celebrate the victory earlier today, but most of them left Oliver alone after a pat on the back and kind words for his performance.    
    Oliver ordered a huge plate of chicken, bacon, fries, and two fried eggs, and added a side of vegetables for good measure. I stuck to a baked potato—called a jacket potato here apparently—with a portion of beans and cheese. The combination sounded utterly bizarre, but Oliver insisted I would enjoy it, and he was right.    
    Once Oliver had satisfied his huge appetite, we grabbed a pint each and found a small corner table that afforded a degree of privacy. I took the bench and Oliver pulled up a chair.
    “I know you asked for a cocktail,” Oliver said, passing me a pint of dark, room temperature liquid, “but I want you to try a pint of bitter. It’s a bit of an acquired taste, but it grows on you.”    
    I gingerly took a small sip and then a slightly longer one. The taste was… inoffensive, I suppose. Bland would probably be a better word, although the lack of fizz meant it slipped down a lot easier than the heavily carbonated American lagers I had to serve back home.
    “What do you think?” Oliver asked, eagerly eyeing my reaction.
    “I think… I’m looking forward to my cocktail.”
    Oliver rolled his eyes, but didn’t seem overly surprised. It’s not like everyone in the bar was drinking the stuff. Most of the women had wine, and the men were more often than not drinking a lager, albeit not usually an American brand.
    “Do you like the pub at least?”    
    “Yes. I could definitely get used to this place.” The pub was busy enough that most of the tables were taken, but it didn’t feel loud and rowdy like the ones I’d worked in back home. “The bar staff look a lot less stressed than I usually am at work,” I remarked. They poured pints at what appeared to be a glacial pace, but no-one seemed to mind.
    “You’re stressed most of the time,” Oliver said. “You need to let your hair down.”
    “That’s what I’m doing now,” I said. As if to prove a point, I picked up my beer and drank as much as I could in one go. I put the glass down expecting it to be nearly empty, but saw that I’d barely drunk an