The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(53)
I made tentative enquiries, as the night passed, what had gone wrong with Viv. Personally, I thought any twenty-something woman named Vivian was bound to have been born with a stick up her arse, but Liam had seemed to really like her. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about what had gone wrong, although I had my suspicions cemented when he insisted on acting—in his own words—as queer as he possibly could.
For the record, Liam doesn’t flame. By appearance alone you’d say he was a quiet, staid, nice boy you could take home to meet your mother. Only those closest to him knew he’d probably promptly seduce her, and your father, too. He was irresistibly attractive, smart, wealthy, softly-spoken and unfailingly polite. Who would suspect that beneath such a polished exterior lurked a playboy party animal with a wicked—in every sense—sense of humour? Certainly few people would guess his sexuality was as fluid as the fine-spun silk from which his suits were tailored.
I loved that I was privy to those details, that I alone knew every facet of his complex personality, and loved him anyway. Loved him because of all the things he was, not despite them.
I stood at the crowded bar and simply watched him. It was three in the morning and he was dancing at the front of the club’s raised stage, surrounded by a host of squabbling admirers. The music had turned hard and heavy, mirroring the atmosphere, the dirty bass dripping down the walls. Liam was lost in a tangle of limbs, some Hindu god come to life. Hands were groping, hips slamming, bodies writhing as Liam ground against the guy next to him, their faces close. My heart thudded in time with the slowing bass and the room began to tilt sideways as they danced closer, arms snaking around each other, and Liam crossed the last of the distance between them to claim a hot, sweaty kiss.
I was across the club in a trice, elbowing revellers out of my way left and right, spilling drinks and getting shoved back as I shoved them. I didn’t care who I trampled in my haste to get to the foot of the stage. Not so long ago I’d have sighed to myself and let Liam get on with it, but not this time. He wasn’t doing this to me again. We’d been best friends since we were four years old, lovers for half our lives and dammit, it was about time he gave me a chance for more. I was done passively letting him use me, letting him think he could pick me up and drop me whenever a better offer came along. I might not have the muscles or the looks of the guy currently slathered all over his face, but I must have something to offer, some worth. Liam was always telling me I’d make someone a great boyfriend. It was time he put his money where his mouth was.
The stage being some four feet high, I was at knee-height to Liam when I stood on the dance floor in front of him. Any other time that might have seemed a disadvantage, but I was not in the mood for feeling daunted. I slapped his legs and tugged on his jeans until he finally surfaced for air and decided to investigate. Looking down and seeing me, he dropped his new friend and crouched, our faces close.
“What the f*ck do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
“What?”
“Him.” I indicated the other dancer, who was watching us with undisguised interest. I wondered briefly who I thought I was, if I was Liam’s boyfriend, if he cared.
“What about him?” Liam backed away far enough for me to see his confused expression.
I almost gave up. If he really didn’t know why I was upset… But this felt important, it felt like a turning point. Passive little good-time Toby was dead.
“Get down here.” I half-helped, half-hauled Liam off the stage. He landed on his feet, steadied himself against a stranger and turned back to me, his expression still bewildered. The bass thumped and bodies swarmed around us and there was no way I was going to say everything I wanted to say in front of dozens of curious strangers—none of whom were even bothering to hide their interest in our conversation—even if I could have made myself heard above the music.
Liam followed placidly as I led him out of the club. The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour but already the sky was paling, the deep violet fading and the tall buildings of the city centre standing in stark relief to the night like watchful guardians, the twinkling red and orange and white lights at their extremities shining brighter than the stars.
The five-minute cab ride seemed to last forever. I refused to talk to Liam until we were in the privacy of my home, but he refused to give up asking me what was wrong. With every word he uttered, my mood grew blacker, a dark and malevolent thing riding in the backseat between us.
By the time I opened my front door and ushered him into my house, I don’t know which of us was angrier.
“Are you going to explain yourself?” Liam demanded, pacing the room like a caged panther. “I was in there!”
“Exactly.” I also remained standing, too tense to sit.
“What does that mean?”
“If you think I’m going to spend the rest of my life watching you get off with other men, you’ve got another think coming. I can’t do it, Liam. You can’t make me.”
“Toby—”
“No, Liam. I know you, you’re not this stupid.”
He stopped pacing, suddenly apprehensive.
“You must know how I feel about you?”
“I, I…”
“I love you, you idiot. I’ve always loved you.”
We stood facing each other in the silence which followed my words. I was holding my breath, my heart hardly daring to beat, waiting for the axe to fall. Liam—my brash, beautiful Liam—looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, wide-eyed and terrified.