Eight ~ Vodka

At least Mia liked me. In fact, she liked me enough to extend an invitation to meet her friendship group, and it relieved me to discover they were more similar to her than Brent.

"Yo, Mia Tortilla! What took you bitches so long?"

We'd barely set foot on the beach when, out of the dusk light, a tall guy bounded towards us. Mia managed to murmur a name to me—which I missed due to its hurried delivery—before the boy swept her into a hug, liquid sloshing out of the can in his right hand as he planted a rough kiss to her cheek.

I smiled at their apparent bond, but no more than three seconds later, he'd knocked Mia to one side and focused his eyes on me.

"Rosie, right?"

"Rosalie."

"Nice to meet you, Rosie." He bent to press a kiss to each cheek. "I'm Austin."

"How come I only got one kiss?" Mia pouted, gazing up at Austin with a playful sulk on her face.

"'Cause that's how they do things in Britain, Torts." He shrugged, then took a swig from the can.

"Favouritism." She smirked. "Or opportunism, whichever way you wanna look at it."

"Hey," he said, holding his hands in the air. I stepped to the side, away from the elevated can. "I know we've got this undeniable sexual chemistry between us, but I've given you plenty of opportunities to address it and you insist on turning me down for some inexplicable reason."

I watched the exchange with amusement. They seemed close, yet it appeared nothing had happened between them. How could so few young people live in such a small town without anything sexual occurring? I struggled to think of two single friends in my own social circle who hadn't hooked up at some point.

Mia led me down the beach and, as we neared the rest of her friends, eyes turned to land on us. After introducing me, she reeled off everyone else's names. I'd normally relish being the centre of attention, but here I felt self-conscious, desperate for them to like me. Desperate to turn this summer around.

At the far side of the group stood Brent. We made awkward eye contact before he looked away and lifted his can of Diet Coke to his lips. Perhaps this would be even more uncomfortable than I first feared. If so, I needed alcohol in my system.

As Mia sorted me out with a drink, the boy beside me offered a friendly smile and repeated his name as Tariq.

"How are you liking Camberley?" he asked.

I paused before answering. These people lived here, and I didn't want to insult their hometown. Besides, there was nothing specifically wrong with Camberley—it was a beautiful place—but it lacked a lot of what I was used to.

"It's lovely," I said. "Just quite different to London."

Austin joined the circle, swinging his arm around Mia's shoulder. "You're polite. It's boring as fuck here."

"Are you calling us boring company?" Mia challenged him, tilting her head upwards to capture his reaction.

Her friend grinned, squeezing her shoulder. "Not at all. You lot are the only things that keep me sane. Of course, there are always ways you could be more fun, Mia Tortilla..."

The lads chuckled, but Mia rolled her eyes and ducked out from under Austin's arm. "You're a pig," she said. "And you're not making a good impression on our new friend."

"I can only be myself." Austin shrugged. "What's the point in being someone I'm not? She's gonna find out what we're all really like at some stage, isn't that right, Rosie?"

The attention landed on me. I found my discomfort frustrating. If this conversation were taking place in Carringham, I'd be confident and happy and chatty... But here, I was so out of my comfort zone, fully aware of how different I was in comparison to all these people, and terrified that they wouldn't like that. Mia's friends were perhaps my only chance of having a good time out here. I needed them to like me.

For the moment, though, I had two choices. Everyone had heard Austin get my name wrong. I could either correct him and come off as rude but assertive, or I could let it slide and come across as polite but a pushover.

As they all waited for my reaction, I had to decide quickly. Austin had made a great point about the futility of pretending to be someone you're not. If the group were going to accept me, I wanted them to accept the real me.

"Actually, my name's Rosalie—not Rosie."

Austin's smirk grew. "I think I'll stick with Rosie."

"You're such a dick, Austin," Mia said, rolling her eyes.

"I guess I'm one of the few you haven't had then, Torts."

Once again, the boys snickered among themselves at the exchange, while I stood there sipping at my drink and watched the banter unfold.

"Jeez, I wonder why," she said, lifting her glass to her lips.

"Beats me. It's one of the universe's biggest unanswered questions. So, Rosie, you single?"

"Oh, man..." Mia muttered, reaching for the bottle of vodka again to top up her glass.

"What?" Austin asked her, his voice laced with surprise. "I'm making conversation."

"You're flirting."

"And is flirting not a form of conversation?" He raised his eyebrows at her crouched figure, then turned back to me when she ignored him. "So, Rosie?"

"No," I said. "I've been with my boyfriend for three years now."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised their implication. Without thinking, I glanced across to see Brent staring at me, and the situation became even more awkward with Austin's next comment.

"Wow, serious; is he out here with you?"

"No, he's staying in London for the summer." I straightened up, forcing the tension out of my shoulders. "He's got a busy schedule."

"That must be tough. Well, if you ever find yourself in need of some, you know, sexual satisfaction... I'm here for you."

"Thanks," I said dryly. "Sweet offer."

He winked. "Only kidding. I'm not gonna mess with a three-year relationship. You must love him a lot if you've been together that long."

I wanted nothing more than for the sand to swallow me up. Brent's eyes burned into my body, and although Austin was being genuine this time round, I'd never felt sicker with myself.

Not wishing to prolong the conversation any longer, I turned the focus back onto him. "So, I'm guessing you're single, then?"

"Indeed. I'm a free spirit. Ain't no girl gonna tie me down."

"He's full of bullshit," Mia said. "He's a big softy at heart. A hopeless romantic."

"Nah, I only told you that to try to get you into bed."

We remained in that circle for another hour, chatting away. Austin continued to be the life and soul of the party; whenever you thought he'd not spoken for a while, he'd throw in the odd joke at someone's expense that would have us all laughing again. Brent stayed quiet and chatted to the other boy—James—instead of involving himself in the main conversation. That suited me.

When we returned to top up our drinks later, we made the startling discovery that the vodka supply had run out, and I spotted my chance to earn respect within the group.

"My house is just up there." I gestured towards the row of trees at the bottom of my garden. "I can see if we've got anything in?"

"Nice one, Rosie," Austin said. "Brent, be a good lifeguard and accompany the lady."

"Oh, it's fine," I said quickly. "It's literally at the end of the beach—"

"Sounds lovely," Austin said in dismissal. "It's dark, though, and Brent does nothing during the day as a lifeguard. At least let him exercise his powers of protection during the night."

"I'd like to see you do my job," Brent shot back at him.

"Man, if I did your job then I'd pick a busy beach where I could sit and stare at all the hotties in their bikinis."

Brent shrugged, accepting his valid point. "True. It's just Rosalie here."

I frowned, unsure of whether he was complimenting my body or instead agreeing that there were no hotties on his beach.

"Honestly, guys, I'll be fine. There'll be less chance of my mother hearing."

"You heard her, Brent," Austin said with a nod. "Keep the chatter to a minimum."

So, for the second weekend in a row, I found myself heading from the beach to my house with Brent—this time not quite as drunk as before.

We didn't say a word to each other.

Mia's friends all seemed lovely, so I hoped I'd form some good relationships, even if I didn't with Brent. That aside, there was another reason why I wanted to keep away from the lifeguard. If I'd felt awkward about inviting him in beforehand, then I felt much worse now he knew I had a boyfriend.

I was careful to be quiet when sliding my key into the lock. Brent followed me inside and, as I turned to shut the door after us, I heard him sigh.

"What?" I asked, spinning to look at him.

He stood a few feet from the welcome mat, craning his neck as he scanned the grandeur of the reception area. I remembered my reaction being similar when I'd first arrived, but no doubt Brent's thoughts would be different to mine.

"Nothing," he said. "Sometimes it's just easy to forget how the other half live."

Although he could have been much crasser with his wording—like his standard line of 'people like you'—it still irked me. Must he bring it up at every opportunity?

"You know what, Brent—I'm not a different species."

I continued towards the kitchen, the sound of my flip flops echoing around the room every time they smacked against the marble floor. Brent trailed behind me. Even though I couldn't see him, I knew he'd be examining the house and picking out other proof of the social gap between us. He hadn't responded to my comment, making me wonder whether being in my house—my territory—had thrown him off guard and unsettled him. The thought gave me a small dash of joy.

When I pulled the vodka out of the wine cabinet, however, he found his tongue again.

"Grey Goose. Figures."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course we wouldn't buy any old vodka. We're better than that, right? People like us don't drink the same cheap alcohol that people like you drink."

His eyes narrowed, missing the sarcasm. "You claim I shouldn't judge you, yet you love proving how rich you are."

"No, I don't," I said, glaring at him as I struggled to keep my voice down. "It's just money, Brent. It has no significance to me, and it shouldn't define me as a person."

"It's not because of the money. It's the way you act because you've got money."

"Bullshit. I've tried time and time again to offer an olive branch, and you always throw it back in my face. You're judging me because I've got money, and for some reason, that bothers you. I might have been brought up differently to you, but that doesn't make me a bad person, all right?"

"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms. "And does trying to fuck me when you've got a boyfriend mean you're not a bad person, too?"

My cheeks warmed at the casual delivery of a sentence that struck the hardest blow. "It's not like that," I said, though embarrassment overpowered my attempts at defensiveness.

Brent held up his hands to silence me. "I don't want to know, Rosalie. It'd be wrong for me to judge you, right?"

Arguing with him was fruitless; there was too much between us now. The worst thing was that I'd got myself into this position.

How could I convince Brent money didn't matter when I'd grown accustomed to the finer things in life? How could I convince him I was a good person when I'd almost cheated on my boyfriend? Maybe he was right, and we weren't meant to click.

"Let's get back," I said, closing the door of the cabinet.

Neither of us uttered a word as we walked down to the beach, and yet the awkward tension cried out, begging to be addressed. Mia potentially detected the atmosphere because she dragged me into her conversation with James, whilst Brent helped himself to another can of Diet Coke.

When James asked how many celebrities I'd met, prompting everyone else to listen with intrigue, the difference between Brent and the rest of the group appeared greater than ever.

It made me wonder if the problem wasn't with me, but with Brent.

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Thank you for reading :) xx

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