Living With Boys

three // peace and love

Isabelle: I've decided that drinking is actually the key to dealing with Will Kennedy.

Zara: That's the spirit, love!

***

There was something beautiful about the way any awkwardness faded the moment Jameson shoved a mojito into my hand.

It was as if he sensed my conflicted feelings about Will and the consequent urge to jump out of the nearest window. This was a far more effective option at Zara's eighth story apartment; at Emo Road, I'd just be jabbed by the thorns in the rose bushes, so I'd then just be bleeding and conflicted.

Usually, I didn't like drinking when I was feeling anything negative—sadness or discomfort or anger—all of which were feelings roused by seeing Will Kennedy again after my potentially-unreasonable-two-year-hate-fest. But given the number of positive feelings—excitement at seeing my friends again, joy at the prospect of seeing my brother tomorrow, and the general pleasure of stability that cheap rent provided—I figured it all evened out to a happy neutral. At least, that was going to be my reasoning, because Jamie made an awesome fucking cocktail, and I didn't want to refuse on the grounds that I was a pathetic, pining loser who could not get over anything, ever.

I was a Molotov cocktail of emotions, and I was faintly hoping that the alcohol did not serve as the accelerant that made me explode. Do not bitch out your landlord, Isabelle. Just sit, smile and drink your cocktail.

Jameson had procured a drink for everyone—a glass of whisky for himself, red wine for Seb, a cocktail for me, and beer for Will and Jonah—with a startling alacrity, but no one was complaining. He was even using fancy glasses that he'd stolen from his parent's house when he moved out to mark the occasion. I didn't even want to know how much they cost, but I was almost certain they were real crystal, and if I shoved one into my backpack, I could pawn it for the entirety of my yearly rent. It made me feel slightly better about the fact I was definitely paying less than Jameson.

"Stop being a bad influence, Jamie," Seb chastised, when Jamie added another half-shot of rum to my glass with a cheeky wink, as if he had been surreptitious about the action. "You can't give the baby alcohol."

He was, hypocritically, sipping heartily from his own glass.

We were all clustered around the island bench, offering our support to Will, who was slaving away over the stove and refusing any assistance whatsoever. No one had particularly pressed their offer to help, because Will was easily the best cook in the house, unless Jonah had notable culinary skills that Kai had never mentioned on the phone.

I raised an eyebrow at Seb. "You know that I'm twenty, right?"

Sebastian seemed to genuinely consider this point for a moment. "Logistically, yes. Emotionally? No."

"Almost twenty-one," Will noted with a nod. Oh, so you do remember my birthday, do you, asshole? I took a long, vengeful chug from my glass, and thought vaguely about whacking him. "We can take her out to bars and clubs and everything." He looked at me then. "Whenever you want to go, just let me know and I'll organise something for you. I know you love a night out."

Well, okay, fine, that was quite nice of him. "I have heard great things about the nightlife here," I admitted. "And I haven't really kept in touch with many people, so that would be great. Thanks, Will."

He smiled at me, and the tightness of hurt and anger in my chest unfurled. It was the same smile he used to give me, when we'd seen each other every day, and he'd enjoyed the simple pleasure of doing something that made me happy.

"And since no girl wants to go out with just a group of guys," Jonah added, exhibiting a healthy understanding of my kind that would not go unappreciated. "I'll rope in the girls. Just let me know when."