Page 4 of Unexpected Company
Liam and I thank the staff at the ice rink – after paying for using it exclusively for an hour – then exit into the leafy suburban park on the outskirts of London. We trudge along for ten minutes before passing a shopping mall with a pub right next door.
“Let’s go in here,” Liam points to the pub. There must be a sports game of some kind on because it’s heaving inside. Heaving with very buff, very raucous men, drinking and cheering at the large screens.
Perfect.
I leave Liam to order drinks, then dip into the bathroom, glimpsing my reflection in the mirror.
“Bloody hell, Supernova, you look like shit.” I wink at myself. “Though still fuckable!” Chuckling at my foolishness, I use toilet paper and water to tidy the smudges of eyeliner under my eyes.
My blue hair is a mess, my fringe sticking to my forehead, and I do my best to style it into something less chaotic. My leggings are damp in that uncomfortable way that makes them stick to my skin and ride up my ass, which I try to ignore as I leave the bathroom.
When I find Liam, he hands me a shot of clear liquid and a pink cocktail.
“It’s a rugby match,” he says, tipping his head towards one of the large screens. “Those guys over there invited us to join them.” I scan the group of people watching the game, noting the way one of the guys is eyeing up my best friend. He’s barking upthe wrong tree, given Liam’s as straight as…. something straight and has a long-term girlfriend.
“I was gone for five minutes. How the hell did you get us an invitation to join them?”
Liam playfully bats his eyelashes, a smug grin settling on his face.
“Um…I’m me?”
“Fair.”
Liam is magnetic. There is no better word to describe the way people are drawn to him. He’s the boy next door type – the kind you see in nineties television shows and fantasise about late at night when the house is quiet and loneliness seeps into your bones and…fuck, my thoughts have a way of becoming mopey pretty fast.
Turning to happier things, I look down at the drinks in my hands and then back at my bestie.
“So, are we joining them?”
Liam lifts his shot.
“Fuck it?”
I lift mine in response and throw it back, wincing at the burn.
“Fuck it.” I repeat the mantra we’ve been using since earlier in the year when deciding this would be the year we did whatever the fuck we wanted. Liam and Roman’s ‘fuck it’ era. Full of great ideas and terrible choices.
Liam orders two more shots and we slot ourselves into the group, trying to follow the game while making small talk.
By the time the game is in the second half, I’m two cocktails and an undetermined amount of shots in and the pub is either located directly on a river or I’m swaying a little. I grab a seat at the table and stretch out my legs.
A guy around my age, wearing a rugby shirt to match that of one of the playing teams, slides into the seat next to me and tries to explain what’s happening on the screen.
When it’s clear I’m not getting it he gives up and changes the topic of conversation.
“I know you,” he states, his elbow resting on the table as he leans in closer.
“I’m certain we’ve never met before,” I reply, swivelling in my seat so I’m facing him, my leg brushing his with the movement.
He shakes his head. “No, not like that. I mean, I’ve seen you before. I just can’t place where.”
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing and I see the moment he figures it out, because he sits back, thumping his hands on the table.
“I’ve got it! You’re that guy. The one who makes all those videos where people dare you to do shit.”
My smile widens, and I open my hands palm up. “You got me!”
His entire face lights up, and he laughs. It’s kind of endearing. I wouldn’t say he’s hot, but there’s something charming about him. “Holy shit. How cool is this? Can I give you a dare right now?”
