15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Alex
A crash sounds from the kitchen, loud enough to be heard over the pounding bass of the music but I hardly register it.
“Everything’s fine!” Keith shouts, and I chuckle at my frat brother. A minute later, he’s back in the living room, sipping his beer and handing me a bottle of water. I mutter my thanks, twisting open the cap and taking a deep chug. We stand against the wall, surveying the masses. Devon is on the couch with the same girl he had draped across him a few weeks ago. At least, I think it’s the same girl. It’s hard to tell in that position. I look around for Kai, but he’s absent again. He hasn’t really been around the last few days and I make a mental note to pound his door down tomorrow and figure out what’s been going on with him.
“Your girl coming?” Keith asks me, taking a sip of his beer.
I scoff. “Margot isn’t my girl, Keith. She’s a girl…that I know.”
Keith looks back at the crowd. “A girl that you know.” He nods slowly. “A girl that you’ve spent almost all your free time with. A girl you’ve brought up in conversation at least four times this week. A girl that–.”
“Okay. Your point has been made but whatever you think, it’s not that. In fact, it’s so not that that I actually don’t even want to hook up with her. We’ve got a mutually beneficial relationship and it actually appears that I like her company as a person more than just a chick who can give me half-assed sex whenever I want.”
Keith looks over at me with an impressed expression. “Wow, Alex. You really are all grown up. I am…,” he sniffs, wiping away a pretend tear, “so proud of my little boy.”
“You want something to be proud of?” I ask, grabbing him around the neck into the crook of my elbow, holding his head in a choke hold. He laughs as he tries to fight me off but I’ve got a foot of height on him and just as much muscle, so he’s got no shot.
“If you boys are done touching each other’s butts, you can move out of the way,” a familiar voice says next to us. I let Keith’s head go at the sound.
“A pleasure as always, Danika.” Danika smirks in response and I look over her shoulder to find Sydney who gives me a small wave and smile. But there’s a painfully empty place where a third person should be.
“If you’re looking for Margot, she’s at home... ‘sick’.” Danika adds air quotes to the last word and rolls her eyes.
“That so?” I ask, taking another sip of water. By the time I’ve twisted the cap closed, I’ve made my decision. “We’ll see about that.”
I clap Devon on the back and nod toward the girls, one of which is staring at me agape, the other with a devilish grin mouthing the words 2A to me with a wink. I head toward the front door, grateful to myself for always keeping my things on my person during these parties so I’ve already got my wallet and keys.
Getting into my car, I take one moment to pause and decide if I’m making the right choice. Then I look back toward the house at all the drunken ridiculousness going on. If I could spend a night hanging out with a friend or a night fending off drunken girls, I’m always going to pick the former. I just didn’t realize that friend would be Margot.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I get to the second floor of her building in seconds. Not that I’m in a rush or anything. I’m just fighting off the adrenaline of showing up at her door unannounced. When I get to apartment 2A, I silently thank Danika for the information before knocking on the door.
There’s a hushed jolt heard from inside and then a shuffling. “Who is it?”
I roll my eyes but smile, leaning my arm on the doorframe. “Open up, sunshine.”
A gasp of surprise and the door opens immediately.
“Alex, what are you doing here?” Margot flips the light switch next to the door, as if she needs more illumination to make sure it’s actually me. The bulb flickers relentlessly, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.
I can’t help but notice her. Her brunette locks, typically worn down and loose around her face are up in a messy bun with a few pieces loose to frame her face. She’s standing there in short shorts and a pink tank top, sans bra, I can’t help but notice. Focus, perv .
“Well, I was looking forward to hanging out with you at the party but since you pussied out, I came here to get you.” I stand up straight, throwing my hands in my front pockets.
She huffs a breath, her resolve returning. “That’s nice and all but I didn’t pussy out. I’ve had a long week of classes and honestly, I was just looking forward to laying on the couch and reading.” She’s quiet for a moment and then continues. “Plus, I’m meant to be 'laying low', aren’t I?” She uses air quotes around the words “laying low” but I would’ve gotten her meaning by tone alone. I hadn’t realized that my wanting to keep her anonymous for the prank would result in her hiding out in her living room wasting away with Shakespeare or whatever is it women read.
Whatever the reason she told me—and herself—, she did seem much more comfortable in her own apartment, clad in comfy pajamas.
“Such a nerd. Fine, show me your bookcase. I’ll pick something to hold my interest.” I gesture toward the apartment but she doesn’t step aside. Instead, she looks at me with this intense gaze and then she takes a deep breath.
“I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Have I asked you to sleep with me?” I respond, not missing a beat and I wait for her to respond. Only after she shakes her head do I continue. “I came to the realization that I’ve never been friends with a girl like this. I actually like our friendship. It’s different but I’m getting used to it.”
Margot thinks for a minute, resting her head against the door she’s still holding open. “So we’re…friends?”
“Only if you want to be.”
Margot thinks for a second, narrowing her eyes and then finding some resolve in herself because she opens the door a little bit wider.
I grin as I walk into her apartment. “Okay, but now that we’re officially friends, can I request a more fun activity than reading? Please? Anything?”
She laughs and tosses the remote to me. “Pick a movie. I’ll make popcorn.”
I give her a grateful half-bow before jumping over her couch and settling into the pillows and cushions. Girls, always got comfy shit around. I need more comfy shit . Minutes later, Margot joins me on the couch with a steaming bowl of popcorn and two water bottles.
“I narrowed it down to three. You get to make the final decision but be warned: Your choice will affect how cool I think you are.”
She grabs the remote from me with a huff, “I’ll show you cool,” she mutters, looking at the large screen in front of her. On the streaming app, I favorited three movies.
Fight Club. It. Little Women.
“You know, all of these movies are book adaptations,” she says, popping a piece of the buttery snack into her mouth.
“You don’t say,” I reply, mimicking her snack movement with a smirk.
Margot looks over at me and finds something in my expression that causes her to smile. “Okay, let’s break these down then. If I pick Fight Club , then I’m a tough chick that doesn’t mind a little vulgarity and mind-fuckery.”
“Is mind-fuckery a word?”
She ignores my dig as she continues, “If I pick It , I’m either into scary movies and will enjoy the horror and gore or I’m a scared little girl who you’re hoping will cuddle up for protection ,” she rolls her eyes, placing them back on the screen. I laugh at her assessments, but also come to realize, she’s not totally wrong.
“And if I pick Little Women , I’m a chick lit snob who will probably go on a rant about how Jo should’ve just picked Laurie from the start and avoided all this drama.” Margot looks over at me again and I keep my expression as blank as possible.
“But the twenty-nineteen adaptation is so good,” Margot pleads and I bust out a laugh as I grab the remote and put on Little Women . “Score,” she hums, getting more comfortable in her seat.
Something I learn over the next one hundred and thirty-five minutes is that Margot Davis is a movie talker. If she wasn’t trying to explain the plot to me, she was commenting on their clothes, their accents or how Timothée Chalamet really was cast perfectly.
“I didn’t peg you as a Timothée Chalamet fan girl,” I comment as the credits roll.
“I’m not,” Margot responds. “I just think he’s a good actor.”
I nod, placing the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table in front of us. Leaning on my side, I rest my elbow on the back of the couch and use my palm to hold my head up. “Who are you a fan of then? Better yet, who’s on your elevator list?”
“My what?” Margot asks, her legs bent underneath her, her knees pointing toward me.
“You know, the list of three celebrities that, should you ever find yourself stuck in an elevator with them, you get a free pass to hook up with them.”
Margot laughs. “That’s ridiculous. When would I ever be stuck in an elevator with a celebrity and why would the first thought be ‘oh, I get to hook up with them now. Rules are rules!’” She keeps giggling as she takes a sip of her water.
“You’re thinking about it too hard, sunshine. Just pick three celebrities you’d want to hook up with. I already know mine.”
“Go on, then,” She caps her empty bottle, placing it in the popcorn bowl on the table. When she settles back onto the couch, her position mirrors mine exactly.
“Easy: Olivia Rodrigo, Selena Gomez, and Jenna Ortega.”
“All brunettes,” she comments, putting a stray piece of her brown hair behind her ear.
I purse my lips and shake my head with feigned confusion. “I don’t see the correlation.” Margot only raises her eyebrows. “Alright, fess up now. Who’s on your list?”
Sighing, she grabs the empty containers from the table and brings them into the kitchen. “I need to think, I can’t just make a hasty decision about this.”
I chuckle in exasperation from the couch, my arm dropping as I careen my neck around to face her. “Oh, come on, sunshine. Just name the first three guys that come to your head!”
Placing the bowl in the sink, she turns to face me again, holding the edge of the kitchen island with both hands. “Okay fine.” She thinks for another second before responding. “Hugh Jackman, George Clooney, and Gerard Butler.”
For a second, I’m speechless. But only for a second. “Those guys are all, like, thirty years older than you!”
She shrugs, walking back around the island. “What can I say, I like distinguished men.”
I get up from the couch to meet her on the other side. “Distinguished? What’s distinguished about old balls?”
She scrunches her nose up in disgust. “Ugh, you are so gross.”
“So is George Clooney’s saggy, wrinkled dic—”
“Okay!” She shoves my arm to cut me off. “Enough insults about my taste in men. Isn’t it time for you to go now?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the time. 12:41 am. “Huh, it is pretty late. I probably should,” I reply, pocketing the device again. Margot walks with me and puts that god-awful flickering overhead light back on when we get to the door.
“I hate to admit this, but I actually had fun hanging out with you,” she says, her head resting on the door as she holds it open for me to leave.
“I knew you would, everybody does.”
Margot rolls her eyes and shoves me along so that I’m out in the hall. I chuckle as I turn around to say goodbye.
“See you tomorrow, then. Three o’clock at the recording studio.”
For a second, I’m jolted back to reality. I forgot all about the fact that the only reason we’re in this “friendship” is because we’re helping each other out. And once the prank and the podcast are over, we’ll probably go back to being nothing at all. The thought sends a pang of feeling through my chest but I can’t quite decipher what that feeling is. Or maybe, I just don’t want to admit it.
“Right.” Giving her a small wave, I say my goodbyes. “Goodnight, sunshine.”
Margot matches my wave. “Goodnight, frat boy,” she says, before closing the door. As I walk down the hall, I can’t help but think that tonight was the most fun I’d had in a long, long time.