Chapter 5

• Trent
• I down the whiskey in one gulp. And you know why? Because that’s how we drink it, Eric and I. That’s how we get down to business when we decide to get drunk.
• Julia takes a sip and I shake my head and laugh. “Oh, fuck that,” I say. “Fuck that.”
• “Fuck what? What are you talking about?”
• “You don’t get to sip it,” I say, suddenly feeling angry. “Fucking down it, Julia. Or you can’t drink with me.”
• “What?” She laughs.
• “I’m fuckin’ serious,” I say. And I am. I don’t know why, or where this is coming from, I’m just suddenly pissed off. “Down it or get out.”
• “Prick,” she says. But she tilts the glass to her lips and swallows it all. She hands it back to me. “Fill me up, asshole.”
• And suddenly, I’m better. God, what is wrong with me tonight? I’m like a fuckin’ teenage girl with all the goddamned emotions I’m feeling. But I walk into the kitchen, grab the bottle and come back out into the living room, pointing it at the couch. “Take a seat, little sister. We’re gonna do this proper.”
• “Proper, huh?” And she makes a face. “I’m not your sister.”
• “You are now,” I say, then regret it. Because no, Trent, that’s not right. “I mean, you know.”
• “I know what you mean,” she says, taking a seat on the couch and patting the cushion next to her. “Sit down and pour.”
• I grin at her and take a seat. Purposefully close, but not too close so I’m obvious. I’ve wanted to kiss her my entire life and I finally take the chance and it’s… not good enough. I need a do-over.
• But that can wait. We’ve got whiskey to drink first. I pour it into her glass as she holds it, then refill mine and set the bottle down.
• “You know these are doubles, right?” she says, staring at the level in her glass. “We should be taking shots if you want to drink like this.”
• “Tonight,” I say, clinking my glass to hers, “tonight we drink like you’re Eric and not Julia.”
• “Mmm-hmmm,” she hums. “I get it. Trying to get me drunk, are you? So you can kiss me again?” She smiles as she lifts her glass to her lips. Pauses, then tips her head back and downs it.
• I wait, my glass half lifted to my lips, and look at her, serious again. “Yeah,” I say. “So I can kiss you again and not think about how Eric would kick my ass if he were here.”
• I down my drink and place it on the coffee table.
• “Well, you know what?” Julia says.
• “Hmm?”
• “He’s not here, is he?” She pours us each another two fingers, and holds her glass up to the ceiling. “Fuck you, Eric. Fuck you for not being here. How you like that, brother? Feels good, right? To be left out, and left behind.” Then she looks at me and says, “I’m gonna kiss him back next time.” And then she downs her drink.
• I smile, lift my glass up to the ceiling, and say, “Yeah, fuck you, Eric.” And down mine too.
• Julia is already pouring again. We just did six shots in the span of two minutes and yeah, I can hold my fucking whiskey, but that’s a lot of alcohol flooding my system right now.
• “You know what the best part is?” Julia asks, handing me another double.
• I turn my body to the side a little and lean back into the cushions. Her hair is kind of a mess right now. A little bit in her face, not smooth and sleek like it normally is. Just haphazardly framing her cheeks like an unruly tangle of underbrush.
• My fingers reach out, like they have a mind of their own, and brush some of it away from her cheek. “Hmm?” I ask. “What’s the best part, Kal?”
• “Kal.” She snorts. “God, it’s been years since you called me that.”
• “Kal,” I say, brushing my knuckles down her cheek, a part of me unable to believe I have permission to do this, another part of me wondering why the hell I waited for Eric to die before I did it. “Tell me.”
• “Drink first,” she says.
• I shrug, down the drink, and set the glass down on the coffee table.
• She smiles with the glass up to her lips, then downs it and slams hers on the table next to mine, like we’re at a bar and not my apartment.
• “OK,” she says, wiping the glistening droplets of alcohol off her lips. “This is the best part. You ready?”
• “You’re already drunk,” I say, laughing.
• She slaps my leg, laughing too. “I am not. I’m just… feeling better. Funny how eight shots of whiskey can do that for you.”
• “Jesus Christ. Only eight?” I joke. “We need two more before I can hear the best part.”
• “Pour,” she says.
• I do. I pour a little extra this time. Three shots.
• She notices, but takes the glass anyway, then says, “Challenge accepted, Trent Turner.”
• We down it all, at the same time, then both of us come up for air, coughing like maniacs.
• “Oh, shit!” She giggles. “I’m drunk. I’ve been here ten minutes—”
• “Eight,” I correct her with a finger point.
• “—eight minutes and I’m shit-faced!”
• “Technically,” I say, “you’re only half shit-faced. Because most of that has not hit you yet.”
• “I’m in trouble,” she say. Then bursts out laughing.
• I reach over, like… I dunno why. It’s instinct, maybe. Or wishful thinking. Or twenty-six years of pent-up desire. But I reach over, place my hand on her cheek and turn her towards me. She goes quiet and still in that moment. Like she knows what I’m gonna do.
• And she does. Because when I kiss her, she kisses me back.
• This time it’s everything last time wasn’t. It’s heated, not sad. Open-mouthed, not closed. And our tongues are sweet with the taste of whiskey as they tangle together.
• She backs off, just a little bit, and says, “You still wanna know the best part?”
• I nod my head and say, “Mmmm,” as I kiss her again.
• She dips her head down and says, “The best part is… I think… maybe… I have always wanted this. I once told Eric that I liked you.”
• “When?” I ask, too quickly.
• “Mmmm?” She rolls her eyes up, like she’s thinking. “Fourteen, I think. Yeah. I was fourteen. And it was Christmas Eve. And you got me—”
• “A silver locket,” I say, remembering that night. “And I put my picture in there.” I laugh, thinking back on that memory. “And Eric was pissed. He ripped it off your neck and threw it away.”
• It was a joke. I wasn’t really trying to get Julia to like me. I vaguely remember Eric and I having a conversation about girls the week before Christmas. About how we could make them like us and get ourselves some girlfriends. And he came up with this stupid locket idea to get them all melty. So I did that—I bought Julia that locket and put my picture in it as an inside joke between Eric and me.
• A stupid, thoughtless teenage-boy move if ever there was one.
• But it definitely got his attention.
• “Do you know,” Julia says, shaking her head and closing her eyes like she can’t believe she’s gonna say this, “do you know that I took it out of the trash and kept that locket under my pillow for four years?”
• I picture her doing this. “You did?”
• “Mmmm-hmm,” she says. “I did. After everyone left that night and Eric was asleep. I went down into the kitchen and poked around in all the trash until I found it, and then I cleaned it up, and took it upstairs and held it in my hand all night long. And from that night forward, I had you with me every time I fell asleep.”
• “Jesus,” I say. “I never knew.”
• “But anyway,” she says, waving her hand in the air to clear that memory. “The best part of all this is… that time I told Eric I liked you, he said…”
• She stops. And she stares at me. Her eyes begin to water.
• “What?” I ask her, sliding my hand around her waist. And not to make a move, either. Just to comfort her. Because all of the day’s sadness is about to come pouring out.
• “He said, ‘The day you get with Trent is the day I die.’” And then she laughs. “But we’re three days late, so I guess he wins.”
• “No,” I say, leaning in to her again. “He lost, Kal. We’re the only ones who have a chance to win now.”
• She meets me halfway this time. Maybe even more than halfway. Because her lips find mine instead of mine finding hers.
• But this time is different in another way too. Because her hand is on my leg, sliding up my thigh, and resting on my cock. I’ve been getting hard, a little bit at a time, ever since we kissed outside. But now the blood rushes in and filled me up as she squeezes.
• And I know for certain that we’re going to do this.
• Maybe there’ll be regrets tomorrow, maybe not. Maybe Eric is looking on us yelling and screaming to stop, but we don’t care.
• Because Julia is right. That asshole went and died on us, so fuck him and his rules. Fuck him. I’m gonna fuck his sister tonight.
• And I’m not even gonna feel bad while I do it.