The Boyfriend Rivalry by Milana Spencer

10

Liam: Perfect Skin

After sailing, everyone agreed to spend the rest of the day at the house, since we were all so exhausted. In the late afternoon, after everyone studied, Erin baked cookies. We ate them while lounging in the living room, scrolling through our phones while watching old Disney movies from our childhood.

Or, in Curtis's case, reading his book. He's started a new one about the property market in Australia, and he's read almost half of it in a couple of hours. I almost want to whip out the current fan fiction I'm reading — which totals 250,000 words — to prove I can read just as much.

That evening, Curtis announces he's going to read in his bedroom and presses a kiss on Kennedy's head before heading up the stairs to the attic.

"Is everything okay with him?" Kennedy asks me in the kitchen after Erin and Bonnie leave. We stand at the sink, and I rinse the dishes from dinner while she loads the dishwasher machine.

I know she's talking about Curtis. Even though he's put on a brave face, he's been distracted all day. Sometimes I'll catch him staring at me, eyes unfocused, and I wonder if he's going to start an argument. I hope not. After everything that happened on the boat, I don't want to fight with him, not anymore.

"I think so," I answer. Does Kennedy know about Curtis's fear of the ocean? I won't tell her if he didn't. "You should talk to him."

"I've tried to," Kennedy says. "He hasn't said much. You've also been quiet."

"Just tired," I say.

"That's what he said too," Kennedy says, raising a brow. She can always see through me.

"We talked on the boat," I admit. "About… that party."

Kennedy inhales sharply.

"We didn't fight," I say before she interrupts. "Much."

"Liam…" Instead of putting a plate into the dishwasher, she sets it on the bench and crosses her arm.

I continue rinsing the dishes. "We were sorting out our differences, and he talked about that night and how he was sorry."

"And?" Kennedy asks.

"And…" I hesitate. "I believe him. I don't think he'll hurt you, and if I didn't see what happened that night, I would have thought he was perfect." I force a laugh. "Shit, I must have been so annoying."

She surprises me with a hug. "You were. But you were also looking out for me," she says against my chest. "I'm happy you guys talked."

I can't hug her back without soaking her with dishwater, so I rest my chin on her head. "He's pissed at me now, though."

Kennedy pulls away to look at me. "Because you asked him about that girl?"

"That, and also I capsized the boat on purpose, which he hated." I rinse a cup. "There goes all these days of trying to be nice."

"It's not wasted," Kennedy says, loading the dishwasher again. "I bet you two will be friends in the future."

I laugh as I pass her a handful of forks.

"Really," she insists. "I bet a hundred dollars."

"I think we're too different."

"Nah. I think Curtis liked you before that day you two talked and you were super hostile."

It was the final week of the summer holidays when I hung out with Kennedy and her official boyfriend for the first time. I'd occasionally spoken to Curtis at school, but it was different, sitting in Kennedy's bedroom with him. Kennedy forced us all to make polite conversation. It didn't end well.

"I was not… okay, I admit I was a little hostile. But it wasn't long until Curtis was just as bad. Besides, he never liked me. I could tell that I annoyed him during the classes we had together."

"A hundred dollars," Kennedy says with a twitch of her lips.

Before I have the chance to protest, Kennedy changes the topic to whether Erin would freak out if we went out drinking one night. Kennedy and I are both keen on the idea and are certain that Bonnie and Curtis would also be interested.

After a while, Kennedy leaves for the living room to join the cousins. I tell her not to wait up for me — I'm super tired, so I'll watch anime on my laptop or go on my phone. Before I head up the stairs, though, I look through the fridge because sometimes I'm hungry out of boredom, even though I finished dinner less than half an hour ago.

I snack on a handful of grapes while looking through the window above the sink that showcases the front yard. On the lawn are rectangles of yellow light from the windows on the ground floor. Above the rectangle is a stretch of darkness — all the lights on the second floor are off — and then a sliver of light: the light from the attic bedroom, peeking through the curtains.

I can't help thinking of Curtis again. Even though it's easier to hate him, I believed when he said he wouldn't hurt Kennedy. I felt like I could trust him.

And then, I remember with a wince, the way he shivered, crouched over after we'd capsized. He'd looked like a terrified little boy. I was lecturing him on the boat, and yet I was the asshole that capsized the boat and scared him.

I grab a mug, a green tea bag, and turn on the kettle. Once the tea is brewed, I head up to the attic.

Curtis sits in bed wearing pyjamas, a book propped open on his lap. He looks up as I enter the room. "Hi."

"I come bearing a gift," I say, concentrating on the hot mug so I don't spill it. When I'm close enough, I set it on the bedside table, but Curtis puts his book down and reaches for it.

"You don't have to do this," he says.

"Well, I still feel guilty for capsizing the boat," I say, sticking my hands into my pockets.

His brows jump. "Oh. It's fine." He takes a sip and winces at how hot it is.

"We both know that it's not fine. Anyway, you should exploit my guilt. Boss me around. What do you want me to do? I'll do anything you tell me to."

His face changes. "That's okay," he says, putting the mug on the bedside table and picking his book up again.

"Your loss," I say, turning away and grabbing my pyjamas from under my pillow. I strip down to my boxer briefs and pull off my sweatpants. I get on my hands and knees to pull my trunk from under the bed — on one side, I have all my clean clothes, and I dump my dirty clothes on the other side. Tomorrow I'll do a load of laundry.

Only when I stand up do I realise I changed in front of Curtis. I look at him, but his eyes are determinedly on his book, so I doubt he even noticed. It's not as if I'm worried about him judging my body anymore.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and wash my face. I notice a blemish forming on my cheek, and wonder if I'm stressed, and apply some pimple cream to it. When Kennedy and I were both going through puberty, and our skin was being ruined by acne and excess oil, Kennedy introduced me to the world of skincare. I've never gone back. Guys might think it's too girly, but I have better skin than all of those guys.

Except for Curtis. His skin is pretty much perfect, which is the most annoying thing in the world, but I guess it's a side effect from his super healthy diet.

"How's your book?" I ask when I leave the bathroom, more out of guilt rather than a genuine interest in Australian property. I sit on the edge of my bed, expecting a short answer out of politeness.

Instead, Curtis ends up talking for fifteen minutes about how real estate prices in Australia are ridiculously high, especially for our generation, and that it will be difficult when we're adults to buy houses. His entire face lights up as he talks. I don't think I've ever seen him so expressive.

"Sorry, I'm boring you," he says when he finishes. As he was talking, he moved around in his bed, so now he faces me.

"No!" I protest. "It was interesting. And I understood financial stuff for once."

He smiles. "People rarely want to hear about it," he says, then squints. "What's that on your face?"

I stiffen. I thought given everything that happened today, Curtis and I might get along better, but of course, we're going to fight. Again. I should have seen it coming. "Um, my face," I answer, expecting him to insult my features.

"No, I mean…" Curtis touches his cheek.

I mirror the action on my face. "Oh. It's pimple cream."

"You have pimple cream?"

"Yeah," I say. Here it comes, the insult that guys who use skincare are g —

"That's useful. I didn't bring any," he says.

"Well, your skin is perfect," I blurt out before cringing.

Curtis doesn't notice, too busy touching his skin. "I think I'm going to break out on my chin. All the sugar I've been eating."

"Oh," I say. Is he going to insult me for my eating habits?

"Do you think you could…" he begins, scratching the back of his head.

"Stop buying junk food all the time?" I finish.

"Let me borrow some?" Curtis says at the same time.

I stare at him and my shoulders drop when I realise he's not saying something rude.

"Forget it," he says.

"No," I say. "'Course you can use some. Come on." I jump off the bed and lead him to the bathroom. Curtis arrives at the sink beside me and takes the tube I hand him, applying some to his chin. I swear he's just being a drama queen because there's nothing there. Then again, I'm right against the shower glass door as to not invade his personal space, so maybe I don't have the best view.

"Thanks," Curtis says, handing the tube back to me. "You going to sleep now?"

"It's still pretty early," I say, following him out of the bathroom. "I'll go on my phone until I fall asleep."

I turn off the main bedroom light and turn my bedside table lamp on, so the only light in the room comes from our bedside table lamps.

"Read your fanfiction?" Curtis asks.

I look at him, but he's not smirking.

"Yeah," I answer, getting into bed and pulling up my phone.

We read for two hours, and I get immersed in my fanfiction. It's one of those excellent ones with all of my favourite tropes — enemies to lovers, slow burn, forced proximity.

Once my eyes start to droop, I lean over and turn my lamp off.

A minute later, Curtis puts his book on the bedside table and turns his lamp off too. In the darkness, he shifts, his blankets sliding and scratching. Sometimes his bed frame groans because of Curtis's weight. I may be taller, but Curtis is heavier with all that muscle. His body would crush mine.

"Are you ever going to tell me the name of the fanfiction that you're reading?" Curtis asks.

I look over at his bed, even though I can't see anything. "Why are you so obsessed with that fanfiction?"

"What if I want to read it?"

"I assure you, it's not the type of thing you'll want to read."

"You don't know that."

"It's a romance," I say. "A lot of fanfiction is romance."

"I can read romance."

"It's explicit."

"Oh?" Curtis says, and I can hear the tease in his voice. "I can read explicit content."

"Good for you," I say.

"Does it include some weird kink, and you don't want to expose yourself —"

"It's not that," I say.

"Is it full of feet? Do you have a foot fetish —"

"Piss off, Curtis," I grumble, but there's no venom in my words.

He laughs softly, as if he's covering his mouth with a blanket. "One day I'll figure it out."

I bring the blankets up to my chin. My pillow is cool under my cheek. "I'd like to see you try," I murmur.