Fairest

by Beth Bishop

  “Doesn’t it make you feel awkward?” I glanced over at the bar to find Sicily glaring at Whit over the top of her glowing cigarette. He was either oblivious or just didn’t care. “Did you…you know…with Sicily?”

  He coughed out a laugh. “She wishes. Linc told you that?” He looked down at me, and I nodded. “Yeah, well. Who knows which of them made that up?”

  I looked over at Linc who was gesturing at Derrick with his refreshed drink. “Why are you friends with him?”

  “I’ve known him all my life, and I can trust him. Was he mean to you?”

  “No, for a change. He was creepy but not mean.” I turned a bit to look at Whit. “I thought you were a ‘the fourth’.”

  Whit grinned. “I am. My dad goes by our middle name.”

  “Ah,” I said and nodded.

  “You’re up, Skye,” Derrick called to me. “Oooh…tough shot, too.”

  Linc and I had one ball left on the table. It was near the far right corner pocket, but the cue ball was in a bad spot. There was no way I could hit it well enough to get it to rebound around the table and nick the ball into the pocket. I needed a head-on shot.

  “Where’s the crutch?” I asked, looking for the stick with the bridge on it.

  “Oh, uh, hmmm. Did you get a new one after last time?” Linc asked Whit.

  Whit laughed and said, “I totally forgot that you broke it.”

  I frowned. “I need to lie on the table.”

  I looked at Mike and Derrick for a ruling, and Mike nodded. “We’ll allow it.”

  “Much obliged,” I said and leaned over the table.

  I inwardly cursed the fact that I was a bit short. I had to stretch so far over the table that only the toes of one foot stayed on the floor. To make matters more embarrassing, my sweater rode up above the waist of my jeans and exposed my lower back. At least my jeans weren’t so low cut that the top of my panties showed.

  “Nice,” Mike said. When I looked up at him, I found his eyes zeroed in on my butt.

  In my embarrassment, I blushed and teetered off my foot. “You have to keep one foot on the ground,” Derrick called.

  I grunted and tried to regain my toehold. “Yeah, well. I’m five-three.”

  “Here,” Linc said. He knelt behind me, gripped my calf, and pulled until my foot touched the floor. “There. Can you reach?”

  “Yeah,” I winced as the edge of the table dug painfully into my hips.

  I took the shot, and when I backed off the table to miss the returning cue ball, my butt hit Linc in the head. He played at getting knocked out, stuck his tongue out, and fell backward.

  “Sorry, Linc,” I said.

  He grabbed my hand. He pulled himself to standing and would’ve pulled me onto the floor if I hadn’t quickly braced myself.

  “Look, Skye. I’d love for you to sit on my face, but I need some warning.” He smiled at Whit and looked at the table. “Hey, you made the shot. We win.” He did a ridiculous celebratory dance, with fist and hip pumps, and I accepted the high five he offered. “You wanna play, again?”

  “Swap partners,” Mike said. “I think she’s a hustler.”

  Sicily said something of which I only heard, “Hussy,” and Linc spun around to look at her. “That would be the pot calling the kettle black, except that kettle,” he jerked his head toward me, “is pristine. You,” he said while wrinkling his nose, “not so much.”

  “When did you join the Cluck Moo fan club?” Sicily asked him. “You’d think she was your girlfriend.” She made a face at Linc, flipped him off. Then, she and Kelsey both went down the hallway to the bathroom.

  “Yeah, do some more coke,” Linc called to her retreating back. “You should smoke a joint and chill out.” He looked around to find everyone else staring at him. “What? She’s being a bitch.”

  “That’s just who she is,” Mike said. “Rack ‘em.”

  Whit came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders. “Here, take the edge off.” He offered me his drink.

  I shook my head. “I think I need my edge around here.”

  Chapter Seven

  While Whit drank and mingled with his friends, I played a round of pool as Mike’s partner and another as Derrick’s. At the end of the final game of pool, Mike suggested we all watch a movie. One of the guys that I hadn’t been introduced to brought the two-liters of Coke and the bottles of Crown Royal over to the large coffee table and refilled everyone who was drinking, which was everyone but me and the now-high Sicily and Kelsey.

  The sofas formed a block-U around the coffee table. After much discussion, seats were assigned. Derrick and a now-drunk Mike sat at the ends of one sofa with Sicily and Kelsey sitting between them. Wedged between Linc and Whit, I sat on the sofa across from theirs. The blonde Mary Beth sat next to Whit while Lindsey and the other two girls sat on the middle sofa. The two remaining guys took spots on the floor in front of the sofa of girls.

  We watched Inception. Rather, I tried to watch it and understand what was happening, and everyone else slipped further into drunkenness and talked over the movie. Whit’s arm ran behind my lower back, and his hand cupped my hip. Linc’s upper arm pressed against the side of my boob, and we were practically holding hands.

  Not long into the movie, Whit’s hand slid under my sweater. His fingers stroked the skin of my waist. The way Linc and I were pushed together, he could feel Whit’s hand. After giving me a look, he dug his elbow into Whit’s arm.

  Whit sat up and leaned around me to glare at Linc. Linc tried to shift a bit and shrugged. “Sorry, man. Not much room, and my arm’s falling asleep.”

  Linc took advantage of our proximity by poking my thigh each time he wanted to ask a question about the movie, which was annoyingly frequent. I kept trying to shift into a more comfortable position, but it just wasn’t possible. The air in the room seemed infused with smoke and liquor, making me even more claustrophobic.

  I grew even more uncomfortable when Sicily started making out with Derrick. When his hand went up her skirt and out of sight, Whit cleared his throat loudly. Sicily mouthed something unladylike to Whit. Then, she and Derrick went upstairs. One of the other girls nudged one of the guys in the floor with her foot, and they left, too.

  At the halfway point in the movie, I took a bathroom break. For a few minutes, I stared at myself in the mirror over the sink. I was tired, and my eyes were red from all the smoke. I wanted to be at my daddy’s or, even better, already in New Orleans. I looked down at my watch to find it was past one.

  “Less than twelve hours. You can do it,” I said.

  Someone pounded on the door, making me jump. When I opened the door, Mike shoved past me, skidded onto his knees in front of the toilet, and puked. I squeaked in surprise and quickly exited the bathroom.

  Since I hadn’t had anything to drink since dinner, I was terribly thirsty. I wandered down the hall into the kitchen. It took up half of the room with a table and chairs for six filling the other half. After searching the cabinets, I found the one with glasses, got one down, and filled it at the tap. I guzzled it.

  “Water?” Whit asked, his voice slow from being tipsy. A lit cigarette dangled between his fingers. He paused, took a drag, and then walked over to me. He twisted his lips sideways, so that he wouldn’t blow smoke in my face, and propped against the counter next to me.

  “I was thirsty,” I explained, refilling my glass. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “When I’m drunk.” He took another drag.

  “Are you having fun?”

  He smiled and turned so that he faced me. “Not as much as I could.”

  “I’m sure. Look.” I put my hand on his chest to keep him from inching up on me. “My flight is at noon. I’m ready to go to bed, so where am I sleeping?”

  “You could just sleep upstairs until we
all go to the big house. I could even lay down with you to make sure no one messes with you.”

  I pursed my lips. “That’s a lovely offer, but I’d rather just go to sleep.”

  “Skye,” he complained and jabbed his cigarette out against the inside of the sink. “I’m trying to tell you that I want to make out with you.”

  “Oh, I got that,” I assured him. “It’s just that I’m not interested in kissing or making out with you when you smell like smoke and a Jack Daniels distillery.”

  His eyes went wide. “Are you related to them?”

  “No.” I sighed. “Where did you put my bag?”

  “In the big house, second floor, third door on the left.” He lifted an eyebrow and turned on the charm. “Want me to come and tuck you in?”

  I patted his chest. “I’ll pass.”

  I set the glass in the sink. When I left the kitchen, he followed me; however, when we got to the living area, he went back to the sofa. Even though I turned down his offer of making out, I expected him to at least give me a peck on the cheek or wish me good night. Instead, he leaned over and spoke to Mary Beth, which I took as an official end to our “date”. I set my shoulders and headed for the door. When I opened it, a few heads turned toward the sound, including Linc’s.

  “Where you going, Skye?” he asked.

  “Bed. Enjoy.” I waved a hand at the TV. “It was nice meeting you all,” I said out of practice more than truth. “I had fun playing pool,” which wasn’t a lie.

  After I walked out the door, I closed it behind me. The night was cold, but the air cleared my head and lungs. I felt better, even if my clothes and hair reeked.

  The big house was dark, but I found my way back into it and up to the room Whit described. My bag sat on an actual luggage caddy, like at a hotel. I dug out my toiletry bag. After washing my face in the bathroom the bedroom next to it shared, I changed into my sweatpants and an old T-shirt of my daddy’s. I set the alarm for nine and crawled into the queen-sized bed.

  My daddy would never have approved of underage drinking or smoking, but Whit’s parents didn’t seem to care at all. I guessed it was part of their culture. In my limited experience, drunk people tended to do stupid things. The teenagers I’d been around this night reinforced that opinion.

  As I snuggled into the down comforter, I wondered if Whit would find a replacement for me. Since I didn’t know how I felt about him, the thought didn’t bother me too much. At times, I really liked him. I was attracted to him, when he didn’t reek of smoke and alcohol. I just didn’t know if the pros could outshine all the cons. As I tried to remind myself what the pros were, I fell asleep.

  * * * *

  The sensation of weight falling on the bed beside me startled me awake. The bedside clock read that it was four in the morning. After fumbling around, I found the switch for the lamp and flicked it on.

  I rolled over to find Linc on top of the covers, curled up on his side and facing me. By all appearances, he was asleep, with his hands sandwiched between his thighs near his knees. He took deep, even breaths. He wore only his boxers, a white undershirt, and one white athletic sock. I looked around at the floor and found a trail of clothes and shoes that began at the door and ended at the bed. I frowned at him and shoved against his shoulder.

  “Linc.” I poked him. “Get out of my room.”

  He grunted unhappily but didn’t wake. I shoved him, again. “No, Mom. Sleepy,” he said.

  “I’m not your mom. Get out of my bed.” I shoved him more forcefully.

  He grumbled, scratched himself, and tucked his hands under his chin without ever waking. I pursed my lips and glared at him. Then, my glaring turned into a genuine study of him. His lips were very red, probably from the alcohol. With the side of his face smushed into the pillow, his mop of dark hair scattered across it. He looked peaceful, completely at rest. He smelled faintly of cologne and strongly of bourbon.

  I poked him a few more times. When he didn’t respond, I rolled my eyes and turned off the light. I couldn’t wake him. I couldn’t drag him out of the bed, and I wasn’t going to sleep on the floor or get up and hunt for a free room. I decided he was sleeping too heavily to try anything with me. If he did, I could easily knee him in the groin. I turned my back to him, scooted as close to the edge of the bed and as far away from him as I could, and went back to sleep.

  * * * *

  The alarm went off at nine. From behind me, Linc moaned but didn’t move. After several seconds of slapping around, I finally hit the snooze button. Half-awake, I snuggled back into the covers. Linc hummed, and a breeze of bourbon-tinged morning breath blew over my shoulder. Then, my eyes flew open as I registered my current situation.

  In the night, Linc had migrated over to my side of the bed. The front of his body molded to my back, and his hand was under my shirt on my belly, hugging me a bit. When I tried to scoot away, he murmured in protest and held me tighter. He inhaled deeply and sighed.

  “Linc,” I said, rolling over a bit and trying to look at him over my shoulder. His hair was a mess, and he had dark circles under his eyes. “Linc.”

  “Skye,” he said quietly. His fingers traced lightly around my belly button. “You feel nice.”

  “Let go of me,” I said.

  He loosened his hold and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  I pulled back the covers and removed his arm from around me. Once free, I got out of bed, grabbed my overnight bag from the luggage caddy, and carried it into the bathroom. After setting the bag on the counter, I locked the door. A quick peek into the adjoined room showed me it was vacant, so I elected to go in there after getting a quick shower.

  I hadn’t slept enough, but I figured I could do that on the plane. The shower was the first walk-in shower I had ever seen in a private home. The dark blue of the glass, block wall insured no one could see into it from either room or the mirror. Warming towel bars hung at the ends of the wall, and the showerhead was in the center. Jets shot water from the wall. Once I got the water the right temperature and the jets at the right pressure, I decided I could take a little more time to enjoy it.

  I shampooed and rinsed, conditioned and rinsed. The water pounded the tension from my shoulders and back. I hummed and then laughed softly at how six people could’ve fit in the shower with me.

  When I started on my legs, someone came from the vacant room into the bathroom. The toilet was in an actual water closet, and whoever it was went in there. After a few seconds, I heard peeing.

  “Mike, is that you?” Linc asked me. “Dude, I had the craziest dream about Skye, and when I woke up just now, I swear the bed smells like her.” The toilet flushed. “Mike? Are you okay? You puked a lot last night, or was it this morning?” He chuckled.

  I moved down to the end of the shower wall and stuck my head around it. When Linc registered who I was, he flinched. Then, he winced and pressed the heel of his hand to the side of his head.

  “Not Mike,” I said as I glared. “Mind much?”

  “Oh.” He squinted and then looked at me. “Oh, ah—” Mouth open, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s your room.”

  “Yeah. You passed out on my bed.”

  “I didn’t…I mean, we didn’t do—”

  “No!” I pinched my eyebrows and stomped back over to the jet area and out of sight. “I told you to get out of my bed and shoved you, and you said, ‘No, Mom. Sleepy.’ After that, you did a very good impression of Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Sleeping Beauty?” He sounded offended.

  “Okay, a dead man. Is that better?”

  “No. Well, I’m glad we didn’t really, because…hmmm. I don’t remember much after about 3:00 a.m. I’d hate to have done something with you and have no memory of it.”

  “Sure.” I snapped off the water. I moved to the entrance to the shower and jerked the towe
l off the warming bar. “Because it’s not having the memory that would upset you, not that you did something with someone your friend likes.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Skye. You act like you don’t even like him. Anyway, he said you shot him down.”

  “Shot him down,” I muttered as I dried myself. I wrung out my hair, rubbed the towel over it briskly, and then wrapped the towel around my body. “Yeah, I didn’t want to make out with a drunk person who smelled like cigarette smoke.”

  “Would you have if he wasn’t drunk?”

  My cheek and eye twitched, and I shook my head. “I’m not talking to you about him.” After double-checking that my towel was secure and covered me well, I walked out of the shower. Linc was sitting on the counter beside my bag, holding my phone in his hand and looking through my things. “Get outta my stuff,” I barked and snatched the bag and phone away from him. After moving my belongings to the other end of the counter, I took out my comb.

  “You’re wearing panties with little blue stars, today,” Linc said with a smile. “A plain, tan bra, size—”

  I whipped the comb across his naked thigh and then pointed it at him. He hissed and rubbed the reddening spot. “Get. I need to change.”

  “Giy-it,” he said, mocking my accent, and winced at the welt on his leg. “I feel like a bad dog.” He jerked his chin at my bag and grinned at me. “Say, does Whit know your bra size?” He hopped down and unlocked the door.

  I shoved him out of the bathroom. Since he was an athlete and solid, I knew he let me shove him. When I did, we found Whit sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Linc’s strewn clothes.

  “What the hell, man?” Whit asked.

  Linc held up his hands. “Look, dude. I—”

  I cut him off by saying, “Your drunk B-F-F crawled up in bed with me and passed out. So, don’t worry. This kettle,” I pointed to myself with the comb, “is still pristine.” I slammed the bathroom door closed.

  Through it, I could hear them. I couldn’t make out specific words, so I tried to ignore them. I took off the towel and put on my underwear. In preparation for flying, I brought a long-sleeved T-shirt, my favorite black hoodie, jeans, and sneakers.