The Boyfriend Rivalry by Milana Spencer
16
Liam: On Your Knees
When Kennedy and Curtis return from their date, they find Erin, Bonnie and me in the lounge room.
Kennedy's jaw drops. "Are my eyes deceiving me?"
Curtis looks over her shoulder, surveying the room. Erin is lying out on the couch, whereas Bonnie and I are on the floor, with a scrap piece of newspaper under our hands. I'm lying on my stomach and Bonnie's sitting cross-legged, painting my fingernails. Even though she painted them weeks ago, Bonnie wanted to practice, so now the blue polish is being replaced with matte black. When deciding the colour, we shared a look that said: this will look nice for tonight.
I raise my free hand to block out Kennedy and Curtis from view. "Please, don't rub it in," I say.
"Keep still," Bonnie orders, holding the hand she's painting against the newspaper. "And admit it to them."
"Did you commit a crime or something?" Curtis says. His voice, a little monotonous, makes me look at him carefully. He looks well-groomed as ever, but there's a grimness around his mouth. Did something bad happen on his date?
"Worse," Erin laughs, pointing to the TV where the trash reality show I slandered plays. Right now, a group of men and women with ridiculously perfect bodies talk in the pool, deciding who's going to couple up. "Liam refused to watch it when Bonnie put it on."
"He kept his eyes closed and everything," Bonnie explains. "But after five minutes he couldn't help himself, and then he was hooked. He begged to watch the next episode."
"I did not beg." I definitely begged. There's something about watching hot people's relationship drama that is relentlessly entertaining.
"Ha!" Kennedy says, pointing a finger at me. "Not so smug now, are you?"
"I will say that I have complaints about the ethics of the show…" I protest. "But… those abs…" My eyes flick back to the TV screen, where skin is everywhere.
"Alright, contain your horniness," Kennedy teases as she walks over to sit on the couch. Curtis remains at the door, staring at me. When I catch him, he appears to get out of his weird mood and joins Kennedy and Erin on the couch.
"How many episodes have you watched?" Kennedy asks.
"Only two, but not much has happened," Erin says, giving Kennedy a quick rundown of the major events of the story — which girls backstabbed each other, the girl and guy who are flirting, and the two guys that fought over a girl who likes neither of them. When summarised like that, it makes two hours of reality TV sound boring, but it was thrilling in the moment.
Since there are only ten minutes left of the episode, we watch the rest all together, and Bonnie finishes painting my nails. I glance at Curtis, who's watching the screen, but he doesn't look as if he's paying attention — instead, there's a little line between his brows, as if he's thinking hard about something else. I glance at Kennedy, but she looks relaxed and smiles at the TV.
Drop it. If something happened on the date, it's not my business.
We finish the show and decide to play a card game. When Erin leaves to fetch the cards left on the kitchen table, Bonnie wiggles her brows at us.
"Excited for tonight?"
Kennedy and I whoop in excitement — it's a quiet whoop, though, as to not let Erin hear — and even Curtis allows himself to smile. It's genuine, and that relieves me.
*
That night, Bonnie, Kennedy, Curtis and I insist that we're tired and go back to our bedrooms early. Erin doesn't mind spending the night by herself in the living room, talking to her boyfriend on the phone. Bonnie believes her to have fallen asleep in the master by 10:30, and messages the rest of us in our new group chat with the four of us.
Curtis and I, who have been waiting in the attic, go downstairs to meet the girls.
"You two look hot," I whisper when I see Bonnie and Kennedy, both wearing long-sleeved dresses with tights. Curtis and I also changed into somewhat nicer clothes and have done our hair. Curtis, of course, looks as polished as usual.
"Thanks!" Bonnie says as the four of us creak through the front door. "I've already ordered an Uber, so the car should be here soon."
Soon, the car arrives on the road in front of the house, its lights illuminating the dark street. I glance back at the house, but the lights remain turned off.
Everyone piles into the car, and I sit up in the front. It's a short drive until we arrive at a street in the centre of the town, the one street of the town that's awake. There are groups of friends talking on the street, and the windows of bars and clubs glow. I feel the thud of bass under my feet.
Bonnie leads us to a tall building named The Poseidon and we show the bouncer our IDs — embarrassingly, Kennedy, Bonnie and I wave L permits while Curtis shows him his P permit — and then we're inside. The ground floor of The Poseidon is a bar. The floor is dark wood and anchors and ropes decorate the walls. The second floor is the club, and while there are hints of music, it's quiet enough on this floor for the four of us to talk and hear each other.
We order a drink each from the bar then sit down at a booth, before complaining about not being smart enough to buy pre-drinks. Then again, Erin might have caught us. We drink quickly to get tipsy — it works better for Kennedy and Bonnie, but not so much for Curtis and me. We all have another shot for good luck anyway before Bonnie leads us to the second level.
As soon as I move from the stairwell into the room, a shock of noise crashes into my ears. At the front of the room, a DJ plays, and music thuds through the speaker, and if I thought the first floor was busy, it's nothing compared to the sea of bodies here. Bonnie grabs my hands and drags me into the wave of sweaty dancers, Kennedy and Curtis close behind us, and after a song, I don't even notice how loud the music is anymore.
The four of us shout at each other as we dance. Time seems to go by both quickly and slowly. Now and then we go to the bar to get another drink. At one point, Bonnie takes out her phone, angles the screen and tells us to say cheese. Her phone flashes for the first photo and we get several annoyed looks from those around us who we blinded with white light. Afterwards, though, Bonnie turns the flash off and we take several photos, our faces half covered by shadows. I always push into the middle of the photo, and Kennedy calls me an attention whore. I stick my tongue out at her.
Two hours have passed by the time we return to the other room to sit down. It's weird how time distorts within these four walls.
"Another drink!" I announce.
Bonnie whoops in glee and Curtis asks us how many we're going to have.
"Oh, don't be an Erin," Bonnie says, swinging an arm over my neck. Since I'm so much taller, I have to duck down. "We're barely tipsy."
"Come on, Bonnie," I say. "Let's get a cocktail."
We order an expensive cocktail each, and I cover the bill, telling Bonnie it's the least I can do since I'm staying at her family's home. And also for organising the night. In fact, I list several great things about Bonnie. Kennedy gets a gin and tonic and Curtis gets a beer.
"You should get a cocktail next," I tell Curtis when we return to a booth. I sit at the end, with Bonnie beside me, then Kennedy, then Curtis across from me.
"They're delicious, way more delicious than that," I continue, pointing at his amber-coloured drink.
Curtis raises a brow. "Do you even know what this tastes like?"
"I can guess," I say. "Anyway, look — my tongue is turning pink." I stick my tongue out at everyone at the table.
Kennedy laughs and closes my jaw with a hand. "You're funny."
"I'm always funny," I say. I look at Curtis. "Come on, have a taste." I push my cocktail glass across the table. "It's yummy, and no one's going to judge you."
"You don't have to share," Curtis says.
"Drink it!" I demand.
"Maybe he doesn't want to catch your germs," Bonnie laughs, before taking another sip of her drink. She's drinking her milky-pink cocktail through a black straw without her hands.
"He already has my germs," I say with a roll of my eyes. "We've shared drinks before. Come on." I tap the table for emphasis.
Curtis glances at Kennedy before taking a sip from my straw.
"Nice," he says once he's done.
"You barely had any!" I say. "And it's not just nice. It was delish."
"Now it's time for you to taste Curtis's beer," Kennedy says, grabbing the tall glass from him and passes it across the table.
I shake my head so fast, I almost crick my neck. "Nah. Nah-uh-uh. That's disgusting."
"You've never had any!" Kennedy says.
"My first kiss tasted of beer, and that was enough for me. And it was disgusting, by the way. The taste of beer, that is. Well — that and the kiss."
"I didn't know you had your first kiss," Bonnie says.
"Oh, yeah," I say, nodding excessively. "I've had a kiss or two."
"Or three or four or five," Kennedy says. "I've had to hear all about them."
"You love discussing them with me." I waggle a finger at her before turning to Bonnie. "Did you think I was a kiss virgin?"
"There's nothing wrong with never being kissed," Curtis says.
I give him a look. He's one to talk when he probably has the most prolific sex lives of all of us. "Obviously. I didn't have my first kiss for the longest time. Because, in the beginning, there were only girls who'd —"
"And that's enough talking for you," Kennedy says, poking a finger into my side and giving me a meaningful look. "You don't want to go saying things you'll later regret."
I do have an unfortunate history of spilling my secrets when drunk. But now, even though I know that I've had a fair amount to drink, I don't feel that drunk. I thought I could control my mouth. Maybe not.
We sip on our drinks, now drinking more slowly, and talk about people in the bar, and the holidays, and nothing in particular.
Bonnie and Kennedy stand up to go to the bathroom, leaving their empty glasses.
"I'm coming over," I say, standing up and squeezing around the table to Curtis. "We look like strangers, sitting like this —"
My foot catches on the leg of the table and I trip, my hands shooting out to stop myself from falling face-first onto the table. Something catches me by the forearm and my face gets buried in something warm and soft, yet kind of hard at the same time.
I smell something nice, and when I realise it's Curtis's cologne, I rip myself away from Curtis.
"Shit, sorry —" I begin, and look at Curtis, his face close to mine. His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue.
"Are you okay?" he asks. It's too dark to read his expression, but he sounds concerned.
"Yeah. Sorry. Thanks." I move away from Curtis so he's not holding my arm anymore.
"Must be the alcohol," Curtis says.
"Must be," I echo. I sit and then move away. Then a bit more. I don't want to get too close.
The girls take a while to return, so Curtis and I people watch and make up stories about their lives. Curtis singles out a pink-haired girl from a group of people our age. "She keeps looking at you," he says.
I don't spare her a glance. "Okay."
Curtis lets out a laugh, deep and soft like honey. "Do you even know?"
Now I'm confused. "Know what?"
He shakes his head. "She's interested. You should go talk to her."
I stare at him, then slump back in the booth seat. "Oh, Curtis. Do you even know?"
"What?"
"I thought you figured it out already."
"Figured out what?"
"Why I'm not going to chat her up."
He stares at me. I stare at him.
"You know what?" I say after a moment, smashing the awkward silence. "I think it's time for another drink."
*
I buy a drink, and then another, and then another, and I know that tomorrow when I check my bank balance, I'm going to curse myself for spending as much as I am on alcohol. But right now, I don't care. I want to distract myself from thinking about that conversation I had with Curtis. In fact, I want to distract myself from thinking about him in general.
Curtis drinks a lot too. I wonder why.
I dance so much my shirt gets soaked with sweat, which is disgusting, but I don't care how I look. I love the pound of the music and I love the darkness, where the only thing I can see are flickers of light and hints of people's white teeth.
We take more and more photos and I check my phone several times, but I never know what time is it. Midnight? No, later than that. One. Two. Three. Four.
*
In the Uber, Kennedy says I have to be quiet once we get to the beach house, otherwise Erin will skin us alive.
Bonnie's giggling. "I don't think he'll make it upstairs." Her voice is raspy — all of our voices are softer after spending hours shouting in the club. My throat hurts. I've told everyone at least three times.
"Someone will have to help him," says Curtis. He's almost as intoxicated as me.
Kennedy sighs. She must be the most sober if she got the Uber. I remember her making me drink water at the club. I remember Curtis's voice in the background, talking about the science of water and alcohol in the body. Kennedy had gotten frustrated and told him to shut up, and Curtis told her not to be rude, and Bonnie had laughed hysterically.
"I'm not even that drunk," I say, too loudly. I know I'm loud because in the review mirror, the Uber driver looks at me. It's impossible to tell whether he's amused or annoyed. Probably annoyed.
"Maybe not," Bonnie says. "But you're the loudest."
"How did you get so drunk?" Kennedy grumbles.
"It's Curtis's fault," I say, pointing to him, sitting in the passenger seat.
I don't think anyone believes me, because no one responds to that. "I'll help him," Curtis says a couple of minutes later.
We arrive at the beach house and Bonnie covers her mouth with a hand, so I do the same. As quietly as possible, we sneak through the front door. The others whisper stuff to each other, and then Curtis helps lead me up the stairs, the lights off, so we move up the steps in the darkness.
"I'm fine!" I say, pushing myself out of his grip.
Once in the attic bedroom, Curtis closes the door and turns on my bedside table lamp, which is the closest light. We avoid turning on the main light because that much light will blind us.
Curtis goes over to close the open curtains, and I fall onto my bed with a muffled thud.
"Can you get into your pyjamas?" Curtis asks, appearing over me.
I smirk. "Will you wear your striped pyjamas?"
He doesn't answer as he moves around me, and I don't understand what he's doing until he finds what he's looking for and passes me a pair of black sweatpants.
He walks over to his bed, his movements slower than when he's sober. He strips off his shoes and pants with his back to me. He pulls up his pyjama bottoms.
"Your pyjamas are adorable," I stage-whisper.
"Get changed," he says, tying up the drawstring of the pants.
I look down. "I still have my shoes on."
Curtis finishes pulling his shirt on and turns to raise a brow at me. "Then take them off."
"I can't."
Curtis sighs as if he's in physical pain.
"I can take my shirt off, though. That's easy." I demonstrate.
Huffing, Curtis walks over and kneels on the floor. He unties my shoelaces. "Don't pretend you're not just being lazy."
"I'm not," I protest. Leaning over and dealing with those laces is too much effort. I want to flop back in bed and sleep. "I like this," I say after a moment.
"Me acting like your servant?"
"You on your knees," I answer, biting back a smile. "I like looking down at you."
His eyes jerk up to meet mine. My heart thuds, though I'm not sure why.
"Remember when I said that? The first night here?"
Curtis pulls off my shoes and stands up. "Get changed. We need to go to sleep."
I do as he says while he goes to the bathroom. Even though I know I should brush my teeth, I still argue with myself for a solid minute about whether I can be stuffed.
In the end, I drag myself to the bathroom, because Curtis is there. I join him in the sink and do a sloppy job of brushing my teeth.
"My throat hurts," I moan, after rinsing my mouth.
"You've said," Curtis says, then pauses. "I have throat lozenges."
I blink. "You do?"
"In the bedside table," he says.
I'm already out the door. "I hope you have nice tasting ones," I say, walking over to his bed and flicking on the lamp so I can see. "Something honey flavoured, or lemon —"
I open the organised bedside table drawer. There are two books stacked on each other, and a packet of tissues, and a packet of throat lozenges. But that's not what has gotten my attention.
I reach out and touch the small box, with a tasteful picture of a woman and man in bed on the front. It's unopened.
Before I felt like I was floating, my body light, my thoughts trivial. Now, everything has sharpened, and that makes my head hurt. It makes my heart hurt.
"Did you find it?" Curtis asks, and I hear his footsteps approaching.
"Yep!" I say, grabbing the packet of lozenges. I turn around and see him right there. I hold up the packet and pull a smile.
Curtis isn't a fool, because he reads my expression in a second. Then he looks around me, at the drawer. I nudge it closed with my leg, but I'm too late. Curtis has seen what I've seen.
Why do I feel so surprised? Of course, they're going to have sex. Maybe they already have, and this is the second packet.
I pop a yellow lozenge out of the foil and stick it into my mouth.
"Liam —"
"Thanks for this," I say, pressing the packet into his chest and walking past him. There is no way in hell I'm talking about this. I get into bed as quickly as possible, turn off my lamp, avoiding his gaze the whole time. I can't let him see my face, because then he'll know.
He'll know and he won't be my friend anymore.
He'll know and he'll tell Kennedy and she will hate me.
Even though I hate the claustrophobia of facing the wall, I do it anyway, and will myself to fall asleep.