15. Whitney
15
WHITNEY
“ C ome on, just open your gullet and knock it down,” Liam says, tilting his shot glass towards me. It’s our third one of the night, and we haven’t even gotten our entrees yet. I suppose the Vegas waiters are used to this level of drinking during dinner, since ours didn’t bat an eyelash when Liam proclaimed we needed to take another shot.
I scoff. “Open my gullet?”
“Yeah, come on. Don’t be a?—”
“If you say pussy, I’m going to be highly offended,” I interrupt him with a near-growl.
“I thought offended was your resting state,” he shoots back.
Refusing to justify that with a response, I follow his instructions and take the shot down in one gulp, shuddering when the liquid makes its way down my throat.
“Hey! We were supposed to cheers for your birthday,” he says before downing his own, handling it like a champ. The man doesn’t even flinch.
When our food arrives, we stuff our faces in silence, both of us having drank too much on empty stomachs. Liam excuses himself from the table to use the bathroom and returns a few minutes later.
“You look weird,” I tell him, studying his expression.
He scoffs, avoiding my eyes. “Finish your spaghetti.” He points to the nearly clean plate in front of me.
“Did you just pull trig?”
“Did I what? ”
“Pull trig. Vom. Throw up. Are you sick?”
He throws his head back, laughing like I told the world’s greatest joke. “I did not throw up, but thank you for your concern. In fact, we should get another shot.”
“Please, no.” I shake my head and lift the bottle of wine sitting between us. “We still have this.”
We both finish eating, polishing off the bottle of wine. They clear our plates, and I’m studying the dessert menu when I hear it. My nightmare scenario unfolding. At first, it’s in the distance, far enough away that I can briefly entertain the idea that it doesn’t concern me. Then, it’s right next to me, and I’m no longer able to kid myself. My cheeks flame red, and I try to school my expression into one of grateful excitement.
“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Whitney!”
Liam’s voice is loudest of all. He’s bellowing the notes like he’s a classically trained opera singer, grinning at me with that wicked gleam in his eye, like he knows how much I hate this. I throw him daggers, trying to smile at the staff while silently communicating how much I hate him.
“Happy birthday to you!”
The staff disperse, everyone in the restaurant clapping and staring at us with wide smiles. I manage to maintain my smile as the attention draws away from us.
“Really?” I ask Liam through my teeth.
He just smiles wider. “Only the best for my wife. Come on, dig in, we don’t want to be late for part two of your birthday celebration,” he says, pointing to the tiramisu in front of me. Rolling my eyes, I hand him one of the spoons and eat my dessert, wondering what else Liam is hiding up his tattooed sleeve.
When we get back to the hotel room, we’re both sufficiently drunk. If the bottle of wine at dinner didn’t do it, the tequila shots definitely did.
“When she did that triple flip in mid-air, oh my God. That was crazy! Do you think they ever fall? What if they fell in the middle of a performance?”
Liam shushes me, chuckling lightly while he searches his wallet for the room key. He finally finds it and lets us in the room, the door shutting behind us.
The sight of our shared king bed sobers me instantly.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Liam offers, kicking his shoes off.
I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. We’ll just… stay on our sides.”
He grunts in agreement, falling onto the bed and yanking his socks off. I shuffle into the bathroom before he starts taking off any more items of clothing. Wiping my makeup off, I give myself a pep talk in the mirror.
“You are not horny. You are a cold winter’s day. You are made of ice!”
Liam knocks on the door. “Are you talking to yourself in there?”
“ Uhh … no!” I turn the shower on. “I’ll be out in a minute!”
I swear I hear him chuckle as I stumble out of my clothes and get into the shower. The water’s still cold, which is probably for the best. It’ll sober me up… among other things.
Liam is already in bed when I come out in my towel. I avoid his eyes as I grab my pajamas out of my bag and shuffle back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, my “pajamas” are actually just an oversized t-shirt and tiny boy shorts.
Maybe he won’t notice?
No such luck. Liam’s eyes are on me from the second I step out of the bathroom. I bolt for my side of the bed and turn my light off, hoping to dim his view.
“What are you wearing?” he asks in a low voice.
“A Japanese Breakfast tour t-shirt. What are you wearing?” I reply sweetly.
“Let me rephrase the question. Where are your pants?”
“I didn’t think we’d be sharing a bed,” I tell him, flashing the hem of my tiny shorts. “They’re here, don’t worry.”
“You knew we’d be sharing a room, wife, ” he says.
“Can you stop calling me that?”
He grumbles and turns over, pulling the comforter up to his shoulders. “I think you are wildly overestimating my restraint when it comes to you and me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means seeing you in nothing but a skimpy t-shirt and those tiny shorts is doing very bad things to my imagination, love.”
I roll my eyes and shove him back to his side, but he grips his fingers around my wrist, his eyes boring into mine. I swallow, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“Will you turn your light off, please?” I ask.
He releases my wrist and grumbles again, muttering under his breath. I swear I hear the words ‘last nerves’ as he turns the light off and lays against his pillow. Suppressing a giggle, I close my eyes and turn to face the wall. It’s quiet for a few moments, and I focus on the steady sound of his breaths as I try to fall asleep.
“Are you still awake?” I whisper.
No answer.
“Liam?”
“What?” he growls.
I sigh into the dark room. “Why didn’t you like me when we first met?” I whisper. “It seemed like right away I pissed you off somehow… you know, when you told me to fuck off.”
He doesn’t respond for so long I’m sure he’s not going to at all. I hear the sheets rustling from his side, so I turn to face him, but his back is still to me. I can see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
“It’s something you said. Believe it or not, you sort of… triggered me. I know you didn’t mean to. It’s stupid.”
“What? What did I say?” I say to his back.
He sighs. “You said ‘I don’t know what your last roommate dealt with, but I won’t’ or something.”
“Oh,” I whisper. “Why?—”
“His name was Luke. We were roommates at uni and did our grad program together. He was… well, he was a better guy that I am, that’s for sure. Funny, smart, and just a genuinely good person. He was my best friend.”
The sadness in his voice shocks me. I’ve never heard him sound like this before, and I suddenly regret prying into his personal life.
“He killed himself six months ago.”
Oh God.
Sympathy floods me. I’ve been judging his surly attitude and bad mood since we met, but now that I know that he’s grieving… I feel awful.
“His death kind of… well, I’ve kind of fucked my life up. Can’t really blame it on Luke, to be fair. I just can’t help thinking that if he could see me now, he’d knock my teeth out for dropping out of school. Guess it doesn’t really matter.”
It’s quiet again.
“Sorry. I dunno why… anyway, I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Just kind of set me off, so I acted like a dick. Can we just forget about it?”
I clear my throat, moisture gathering in my eyes. “I’m so sorry.” The urge to reach out for him consumes me, but instead, I turn back over to my side, staring at the wall.
“S’alright,” he mumbles. “Thanks.”
I exhale on a shaky breath and blink back the tears that are forming. “Thank you for telling me.”
He hums in response.
“Goodnight, Liam.”
“Happy Birthday, Whitney.”