Jumble
On a Friday, I received email notification from my boss, Alison, that my requested time off had been approved in August. That was just the news I needed to brighten my mood and carry me through the day. Fitz's birthday wasn't for another three weeks, but at least I had a mini vacation to look forward to.
"You're fucking shitting me!" Vic cried at the end of our lunch break. I was cleaning up the table and preparing to head back to my desk, but her exclamation made me pause.
"What is it?"
She was staring at her mobile with a scowl. "I swear to Lucifer, we've been planning this for weeks," she complained, slamming her mobile on the table. "My girlfriends and I have a horror movie marathon every summer. We buy a box of wine and a horrendous amount of salty food and get the shit scared out of us. It's tradition."
"Sounds sexy."
"Well, one of the girls cancelled yesterday because her boyfriend surprised her with a weekend away." Vic sighed. "Today, I've just learned that another is bailing. The reason? A boy. Boys are so stupid."
I shrugged apologetically. "We don't mean to be."
"My evening suddenly turned into a lonely date with a box of wine. Is this what it's like to be forty and single with all your friends hitched? Kill me, Harry. Kill me now before I have to live it."
I burst into laughter. "Perhaps you're being slightly dramatic."
"Easy for you to say, with your girlfriend and your social life," she grumbled. "What are you up to tonight? Romantic date? Dinner for two? Ride through the park on horse-drawn carriage?"
I snorted at the mental image. "Not quite. Actually, Niall's throwing a stupid party, so I have to hang around and make sure he and his tosser friends don't destroy the flat. More or less the antithesis of a romantic date."
"At least you'll be with other people," Vic said with a shrug. "My only chance of coming into contact with another life form is if my landlord still hasn't gotten rid of the mold growing on my ceiling fan."
I scrunched my nose in distaste. She laughed at my reaction.
"Hey, listen," I said as it occurred to me to extend her an invite, "if you'll be sitting around at home, why don't you..."
My words trailed as I rethought my intentions. Vic in my flat. Vic at my party. Vic and Fitz. I started to wonder if maybe that was the worst idea I'd had in a long while.
"... take a few extra minutes for lunch?" I finished weakly. Gulping, I added with a nod, "If anyone asks, I'll cover for you."
Vic's face fell, as if she knew what had sat on the tip of my tongue but had never seen the light of day. She gave me a close-lipped smile.
"All right," she agreed. "Thanks, Harry."
"Don't mention it."
I left her in the break room as I headed back to my cube, trying to reason why I hadn't just told her to come to the party.
In the end, I was left puzzling over whether it was because I didn't want her to see me with Fitz or if I didn't want Fitz to see me with her.
*
Fitz had messaged me a list of items to pick up before the party, so I arrived at the flat armed with a 40 of coconut rum along with two bags' worth of various chasers. As soon as I walked through the door and dropped everything but the rum to the ground, I caught an unwelcome glimpse of Fitz and Jamer giggling in the kitchen.
"Good, you're home!" Fitz said, joining me at the entrance to pick up the heavy bags of juice. "We've set up a bar – come look."
I followed her into the kitchen, where there was, indeed, a bar set up on the counter.
"There's not much alcohol yet," she explained, gesturing to the meager collection, "but I told Callum and Briony to get here early so we could get the shotluck started."
"Briony's coming?" I asked in surprise. In the entire year she and Fitz had lived together, I couldn't remember her visiting my flat once.
Fitz rolled her eyes, hating to be reminded. "I invited her weeks ago and she said she'd be busy. My idiot brother asks her to come this morning and all of a sudden, her plans are mysteriously non-existent."
I grinned. "She probably thinks he has a hefty stash on him. What kinds of substances do models do these days – coke? Heroin?"
"Your brother has a stash?" Jamer asked, jumping into the conversation uninvited. "My dealer's dropping by, but if I'd known that your brother—"
"What?" I interrupted, whirling around to face him. "No, no. Meet your dealer somewhere else."
Jamer's jaw dropped indignantly as he pointed to his shirt – tie-dyed with a marijuana leaf smack in the middle. "It's Jamaica, mon!" he cried while donning a rasta hat, complete with fake dreadlocks.
"Very persuasive of you," I said with raised brows, "but no. Call it off."
"You need to change," Fitz said, expertly changing the topic to avoid tension. Unimpressed, she eyed my business attire up and down. "Wear your green and yellow shirt. It's Jamaican-themed."
I groaned. "Is it necessary that I dress up?"
"For you, that's dressing down," she pointed out, "and it's just an ordinary tshirt. I won't even make you wear dreads."
"Fine," I conceded, giving Jamer one last sharp glance. I knew then that I'd be keeping an eye on him all evening.
Before I could get to my room, Niall's bedroom door was flung open and he stepped out.
"Oh, fuck," I breathed, scanning him up and down with a mixture of amusement and disgust.
"I know," Niall said, grinning with the utmost satisfaction. "What do you think?"
Starting with the blond, overgrown hair and the scruffy beard, the last thing that crossed my mind when I saw Niall was 'Jamaican'. Where he'd found green spandex shorts, I'd never know or ask, but he wore them below a muscle shirt. The look was complete with a cape – the Jamaican flag – which was tied around his neck and draped from his shoulders.
...
I stared. Niall waited. I stared some more, and then I spoke.
"First of all, you look like The Fucking Turtle," I told him matter-of-factly. "Secondly, you're the whitest man alive and the only reason anyone's going to know you're Usain Bolt is because you've written 'BOLT' on paper in sharpie and pinned it to your stomach. Thirdly – and I can't stress this enough – it's highly disturbing to see your man parts through the spandex."
Niall's eyes brightened, and he nodded enthusiastically at Jamer and Fitz, who leaned over the kitchen counter to catch a glimpse.
"It's true!" he agreed, stepping into the common area to give them a better look. Tracing his V-line down, he said, "I love spandex. Really shows off my bulge."
But it wasn't all a disgusting waste. At that exact moment, Finley let herself in to see Niall making a show of himself and his genitalia.
She was laden with extra drinks and supplies, but she stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes came to rest on Niall. I couldn't read her expression, but her next actions were unmistakable.
"Nope," she said, taking herself and her supplies back out the door and closing it behind her.
Jamer barked with laughter. Fitz gave Niall a glance of sympathy. Niall, who took his hands away from his nether regions, straightened up and looked to me for guidance, his cheeks faintly tinged pink.
My response was to shut my eyes and slowly shake my head in disappointment.
It was only a second or two before Niall composed himself and shrugged it off. As I retreated to my bedroom with a smile on my face, I heard him say to the others, "She can't handle the bulge."
*
When I heard the words 'party in my flat', I saw myself wiping up spilled alcohol on floors and tabletops, directing guests to the bathroom, hollering at Jamer to turn down the music, protecting the sanctity of my bedroom from the horniest partiers, and untangling Niall's cape from the many things on which it was bound to snag and choke him.
Fitz had thought about all of that, and for reasons beyond my understanding, she found me and my stress to be more of a hassle than Niall and Jamer.
As soon as Louis and Josie arrived, she ordered the three of us and Finley out into the hall, where a long table had been set up for beer pong. She insisted that I play on the side facing away from the door.
"And talk up Niall in front of you-know who," she whispered in my ear.
"Louis?" I suggested, just to tease her. I shook my head. "No use. He thinks Niall's a right git."
Fitz rolled her eyes before leaving me to the game. Ten minutes in, I realized why: she'd given the married couple the same instructions.
"Niall gave us our wedding video this week," said Josie. She smirked at her husband, who was drinking the contents of the cup in which she'd sunk the ball. The two of them had refused to team up – "Let's spice up this boring-as-fuck marriage," were Lou's exact words – and were now going head-to-head in a rather tame round of beer pong. It was almost sad to witness. "It was beautiful, wasn't it?"
When Louis finished the last gulp of the solo cup, he let out a satisfied sigh. "Stunning, love. I forgot I'd said 'I do' until I saw it captured on tape. I film very well, by the way. I'm quite handsome, Harry, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes. Quite," I played along.
"Wouldn't have killed you to say it once or twice," Louis continued. "Had to find out from a film."
While Finley laughed at our banter, Josie ignored it, turning to me with a hand on her hip.
"Have you seen the film, Harry?"
"Nnnn... no," I said slowly, setting up my shot.
I let the ball fly, smiling to myself when it plopped effortlessly into a cup. Finley groaned, knowing it was her turn to drink. I looked at Josie, who stood questioningly beside me, and offered her a high-five that she did not accept. To say we were a good team was pushing it.
"I'm busy," I said with a shrug. "I went to the damn wedding; I know all the spoilers. I'm not going to watch an eighthour video of the same thing."
"He cut it down to three," Josie said. "I thought you would have liked to see it – you're in it a fair bit."
"Well, unlike Lou over here, I already know I'm handsome – I don't need to see myself on tape to believe it."
"Here, here," Louis cheered, taking his aim. He took the route of bouncing the ball on the table, and I caught it before it could hit a cup. He hissed in disappointment, realizing he had to take another drink. "Handsome and shrewd – total package right there."
"Too kind of you," I said with a nod.
"Don't be silly." He took a swig from a cup.
Realizing that the pair of us were useless to her, Josie spoke directly to Finley to get her point across.
"He must have put so much time into editing," she said. "Honestly, it turned out beautifully."
"Well, editing is how he spends most of his time – at least, as long as I've known him," Finley replied. "Hopefully he's good at it by now."
"Oh, he is," Josie assured her. "And he's so sweet – he didn't tell us, but he included an extra film, just eight minutes long, where he combined all the best and most important shots and set them to music. It's amazing. Out of all the gifts we were given for our wedding, that one's the best."
"Hmm. That's hurtful," I mused. A ball was tossed into my cup and I picked it up to drink.
"I liked your gift, Haz," Louis said. "What was it, again?"
I lowered my cup following a long sip. "Fuck if I know. Fitz took care of it."
"It meant a lot to me. I could tell it was from the heart."
"Totally was," I said into my cup, nodding matter-of-factly.
"I sleep with it every night."
"I think it was crystal glasses."
"I stand by what I said."
"Nice."
"All right. Shut up," Josie finally said, shooing me away with her hand. "The point is that Niall did a brilliant job, Finley."
She smiled awkwardly, realizing she was put on the spot. "I don't doubt it. I've seen the rough cut of the ad we made to send out to venue managers – it's pretty impressive. If anything comes of it, I'll owe him a lot."
"But that's the thing: he'll never ask for anything. He just likes to help people, and if he can somehow do that through film, it's even better."
"It's the icing on his cake," Louis said, patting Finley on the shoulder.
"The chocolate drizzle on his sundae," I said.
"The bee in his bonnet."
"The ball in his solo cup."
"Well done."
"Thanks. Sort of dirty, when you think about it."
"Oh, I'm thinking about it."
I laughed. Louis laughed. Finley laughed with us.
Josie took the cup of water we used to wash the ball after every throw. Because I was nearest, I got sloshed in the face.
My laughter ended abruptly as I spluttered and blinked rapidly.
Louis and Finley laughed harder.
"I wouldn't," Josie warned, pointing a finger at Louis, "or you're next."
"Yes, darling," he said, his smile vanishing on cue with a knowing nod.
I dragged my palm down my face and mussed up my hair, airing out my shirt as Josie got back to business.
"There's no point in subtlety with you lot around," she grumbled. "Finley, is Niall your type or is he not?"
"What?" she asked, still laughing.
"Do you like him? At all?"
"Oh, God," I moaned under my breath. Fitz wasn't going to like this – it was too straightforward; not convoluted enough for her taste.
Louis shook his head in disapproval, echoing my sentiments.
Finley was put on the spot, but she brushed it off with surprising ease. "No! I mean, he's nice, but..." She thought about this for a moment before correcting herself. "Actually, he's not nice at all. He's kind of a bitch to me."
"Take it as a compliment," I suggested.
I tossed the ball, which rolled around the rim of Finley's cup before slipping in. She picked it up and took an enormous gulp, as if she needed it.
"He's helping me score a few gigs. That's it." She shrugged apologetically.
"From what I hear, you two spend a lot of time together," Josie said. "My roommate works nights and sleeps during the day. Harry and Niall let me play my music in their flat so I'm not stuck in the hall. Music is my job, so I tend to spend a lot of time there."
"Fitz said you made him lunch last week."
Finley barked with laughter at this accusation. "He's helping me with my career! Honest to God. Why am I the one being questioned? He doesn't like me. That's the story."
"We're working on you first," Josie said pointedly.
"Once we've locked you in, Niall is easy," Louis added, giving Finley a conspiratorial wink. "He gets excited about things like" – he snapped his fingers – "that."
"Locked me into what?" Finley said with a frown. She took a step back from the table, wary of us all. "You don't need to... I mean... let's not do this. Things aren't really working out for me in the UK. All I need is a few bucks for a plane ticket and I can go home."
"So you need a reason to stay," I offered. When her eyes met mine, I gave her a noncommittal shrug.
"I just got out of a relationship."
"Niall's been trying to get out of one for a year," said Louis.
"I don't have a job."
"Niall doesn't have a job."
"I'm really fucked up right now."
"The thickness of Niall's beard is at a level eight right now. You think you're fucked up?" Louis said.
"How is this supposed to make me like him?!" she cried, throwing up her arms in frustration. "Everything you're saying, it's... bizarre! I'm supposed to have a thing for someone just as poor and confused and fucked up as I am – and who thinks I'm dirt, to top it all off?!"
"No," Josie said simply. "You're supposed to have a thing for somebody who could be quite good for you. You're both in the arts and you respect each other's work. You can spend hours together and then do it all over again the next day. And all the antagonism between you two is nothing but sexual tension. Admit it."
"I will not!" Finley spluttered, indignant.
"He's rather good-looking without the facial hair. Trust me on that one," Josie added.
"It's true," I agreed. We were making it or breaking it – there was no in between at this point. I figured we might as well sell as hard as possible.
"You get lost in his baby blues," Louis chimed in.
"And his soft, blond hair." Josie.
"And his adorable accent." Me.
"And his lust for life." Louis.
"Ooh, good one. I second that." Me.
"He's talented." Josie.
"He has a turtle." Me.
"Once, Hugh Grant kissed him on the forehead." Louis.
"And he's caring." Josie.
"And cuddly." Me.
"And royal." Three of us looked at Louis, who appeared lost. "Wait, are we still saying real things?"
"The best thing about Niall, though," I said, donning a most serious expression as I looked straight into Finley's eyes, "is that on nights like tonight... you can see his penis through the spandex shorts."
I shrugged innocently, as if that spoke for itself. It earned me a smile from Finley who, until then, had looked as though she'd kill us all.
"Oh, that reminds me!" Louis exclaimed. He finished off the last of his cup and slammed it down on the beer pong table before extracting a sharpie from his pocket with a devious smile.
*
By the time I made it into the flat again, I was drunk.
Wasn't complaining about it, though.
If I was sober, I might have noticed the cranberry juice stain on the rug, or Niall's table that had been shoved so far to the side to allow more room that there were scrape marks on the wall, or that Jamer was waving his lighter in the air too close to the smoke alarm for comfort.
Instead, I hopped up on the counter in the kitchen while Fitz and a friend mixed drinks at the kitchen bar for guests. She thrust a themed drink called a Jamaican Sunrise in my hands – complete with a tiny toothpick umbrella – and left me to sip it through a straw. The shotluck, it appeared, was a huge success. With Fitz's coordination, everyone brought a specific liquor and chaser, leaving Fitz with a stocked bar and plenty of unique combinations of mixed drinks to serve guests.
With a crooked half-smile, I watched her work while I sucked up my drink. The place was buzzing with music and laughter and chaos and life.
This was what made her happy. She loved it.
And I loved watching her like this.
Still slurping through my straw, I turned my gaze to The Fucking Turtle in his tank. He probably wasn't enjoying all of the outer-tank stimulation, and in fact, he appeared to be curled into a protective ball inside his shell on his sunbathing dock. I tapped the glass, my fingers knocking louder each time to see if he'd move for me. When he failed to budge, I couldn't help my sympathy.
Straw firmly planted between my lips, I had my arm inside the tank and was gently stroking his shell when Fitz took a break from the bar. She stood in front of me with an orange drink in hand – also decorated with an umbrella.
"So you'll never guess what happened," she began, narrowing her eyes.
Jaw hung in mock surprise, I pretended to pore over my options. "You ran out of rum."
"No."
"Someone left without saying thank you."
"No."
"When you went to mix a drink, you—"
"Shut up. Let me tell you."
I closed my mouth just as she opened hers.
Before she could say another word, I interrupted again, spitting out at lightning speed, "Someone else showed up dressed as Usain Bolt!"
I'd annoyed her. "Fine. We're fighting," she said, and as she turned to leave, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into me.
"Kidding, kidding." I leaned forward to nuzzle my nose into her hair, speaking slowly. "I like this drink, by the way. It's gooooood."
She pulled away slightly to smile at me, her grin spreading to match mine.
"All right, drunky," she said. "So here's what happened: Callum shouldn't even be here, but since he's been stowed away in the flat, he begged me to come and promised he'd lay low. And what does my idiot brother do? Why, he shows up with Briony, the flatmate who's barely said five words to me all week. The flatmate who brings not one, not two, but three of her model friends!"
"Really? Where?" I asked, quickly craning my neck to scan the multitude of bodies in the flat.
"Don't you dare," she said warningly. "I will literally kill you. I'll go female hamster on you. I will."
I laughed, surrendering my search and slumping my shoulders.
"There's barely room in here for invited guests!" she continued. "And what am I supposed to say to her? 'You weren't invited?' No, because I did invite her weeks ago, she simply chose to accept her offer from someone else and at the last minute."
"That's a pickle," I agreed as I set down my drink. Thoughtfully gazing at her, I reached up my hand to gently tuck a section of her hair behind her ear.
"What could she want with Callum, anyway? He's younger than her and still in school and immature and tall and skinny and on the run for dealing. She models. What about him could possibly interest her?"
"Again... do you not see how model and drug dealer go hand-in hand?"
She pursed her lips, not satisfied with my response. I went back to giving The Fucking Turtle calm, smooth strokes.
"Better be careful," she commented as I slid off the counter to a standing position, "or he'll nibble on you. It's happened enough to Niall that we know it's a very real possibility."
"Nibble," I repeated, enjoying the way the word sounded on my tongue.
"Mm."
I liked that sexy hum of hers, and I abandoned el Che to lean toward her with a grin.
"Like this?" I bent my head to take her lower lip between my teeth, gently dragging it away with me until I released it.
Fitz ran her tongue over her lip, quirking an eyebrow in interest. She nodded, free hand on my stomach as she pulled me in for a kiss. When she hummed against my lips and the vibrations tickled me, I smiled.
She patted my chest when we parted, sticking the straw of her drink between her lips. After a sip, she said, "I like when you're drunk."
"You're just happy I'm not running around cleaning the place up."
"Yeah," she agreed with a chuckle. "Well, you deserve a night where you're not worrying. And I deserve a night to be with you when you're like this." She paused, adding matter-of-factly, "I put up with a lot from you, you know."
My jaw dropped in offense. I poked her in the side, causing her to squirm. "Yeah, you put up with me."
She nodded, ignoring my sarcasm.
"I don't worry that much," I stressed.
"Aw, bunny," she cooed, reaching up to pinch my cheek in affection. "You're so adorably wrong."
I laughed.
"Now take your drink and go make a new friend. I'm very busy entertaining our guests."
"Anything you say, dearest."
I was on my way out of the kitchen when she said, "Oh!" I looked over my shoulder. "But if your 'new friend' is one of Briony's models... just think of the female hamster."
I clicked my tongue in appreciation, pointing straight at her. "Gotcha."
*
I saw it happen as I was chatting with one of Niall's film friends and sucking up the last of my Jamaican-themed mixed drink a-la-Fitz. Drunk and happy, I swayed back and forth on my heels as I nodded along to whatever she was saying.
Over her shoulder, I was amused to see Niall making what appeared to be a positive impression on Briony's model friends. He was showing off, shooting quick footage and showing them the playback. But his eyes wandered across the room to Finley, and when he finally caught her looking back, he excused himself from the models to join her. The models rejoined Callum and Briony, who were deep in conversation with a man I couldn't recognize.
Whatever Niall opened with caused Finley to sneer, but his next words earned a smile from her. And then he was stepping in front of Jamer, effectively cutting him out of the conversation and sending him away.
Maybe Jamer felt snubbed and was in search of a familiar face. Maybe he was in search of a girl of his own. Or maybe he was just a piss-drunk wanker.
Whatever his motives, I watched him approach Fitz at her makeshift bar, engaging in small talk while she concocted a drink and presented it to a guest. I watched him hold his beer bottle in the air and propose a toast, and I watched their glasses clink. I watched Fitz laugh at a joke he'd made, and I watched his arm sneak around her shoulders. I watched him pull her in to him for a hug of sorts, and I watched him plant a prolonged kiss on her cheek, dangerously close to her lips.
When they separated, Fitz seemed to fall away from him, rigid from the waist up. For a moment, she stared at him as if she couldn't be certain what had just taken place. But the awkwardness didn't last for long – another patron approached her at the bar, saving her with a drink request.
After I'd excused myself from my conversational partner, I passed Jamer on my way to the kitchen. He ignored me as I made a passing comment that had surely reached his ears:
"Guess that means wanker's not her type."
At least, I thought he'd ignored me.
Sharp and instantaneous, I felt a flick on my neck. As I turned, I realized that Jamer had tossed his beer cap at me in retaliation. With a frowning expression that read, 'Really? That's all you've got?', I held out my hands as if inviting him for more.
Wrong move. Wrong, drunken move.
Since he wasn't far from me, he couldn't gather too much momentum as he barreled into me. Still, it was with enough force that I was sent backward, colliding into a huddled group of guests as they chatted and sending the glass in my hand to the ground.
The shattering glass wasn't louder than the music, but those in the surrounding area stopped what they were doing to inspect the action. Fitz called my name in surprise.
I righted myself only to find that I was face-to-face with a fuming Jamer.
"Come the fuck off it!" I said, just as furious. "What the hell was th—"
I didn't finish before I was given another shove – this time, sending me into the door of the refrigerator with a thud.
"Think you're better than me, preppy boy?" Jamer said, calling to attention a shocked and nervous crowd.
Hushed whispers and shouts.
I caught his wrist before his fist could connect with my jaw, my teeth grinding from exertion and fury. As we struggled, I righted myself again, gaining the upper hand. Just before I could push him off of me with force, he ripped me away from the fridge and down to the ground.
My hand was out to break my fall, but when a sharp pain shot through my palm, I realized it had met a shard of glass. I hissed, wincing in pain, but there was no time to dwell – Jamer was on top of me, his face beet red from effort. We struggled only for a moment or two until I got him off of me with a knee to his stomach and an elbow to his chest.
Louis was there to pull me to my feet while Niall and another lad restrained Jamer.
"Fuck," I hissed, shaking my cut-up hand as I shot a furious glare at the idiot on the floor. What had he been thinking?!
"All right, mate?" Louis asked.
I nodded, holding out my hand so the two of us could inspect the damage. A jagged red line cut all across my palm, blood quickly pooling and dripping onto the floor.
"Run it under the tap," Lou said, gesturing for me to follow him. I did, finally taking a moment to assess my surroundings. My wrestling match on the ground hadn't drawn as much attention as I'd originally thought – the music was too loud, perhaps, or maybe people assumed we were only playing around.
But I'd heard Fitz call my name. Where was she?
It was then that I heard another name, shrill from her lips: "Callum!"
My head shot up, my gaze travelling across the flat to another crowd behind the couch. I could barely see over the crowd, but I could make out the man I hadn't recognized who had Callum in a hold.
Something told me that Jamer had invited his dealer after all. He probably did it just to spite me, not knowing that Callum's life was on the line if he was recognized.
"Fucking hell," I muttered, abandoning Louis at the sink, weaving through bodies and hopping over Jamer on the floor to make my way there.