He was unassuming next to Derby, though in person he towered over him like skyscrapers. Somehow that Harrington light eclipsed him, except for the rare occasions he was needed. To punch or be the bag, because he took more of Derby's abuse than she ever had to. Bif couldn't just break off that friendship like an engagement, it wasn't that easy.
Often he was Derby's default at functions, if the sun and stars himself couldn't afford to be there. He was also the envoy sent to cancelled dates, sliding along like a sale-rail straggler to inform her that Derby sent his apologies and none of his affection. Arriving in place of her so-called boyfriend, laden with bad excuses. He didn't believe them any more than she did, but loyalty ran through his blood and he would stick to them like a dog; a boxer or a pitbull, most likely.
He did have sympathy. She knew that. It was why she resisted laying the sharp side of her tongue on him for Derby's misgivings, though sometimes bitterness seeped out between the cracks in her porcelain face. She could tell he felt bad for her, and it was sad to be pitied. He hung around in Derby's shadow, doing what Derby might have done if he'd bothered to be there. Movies, milkshakes, and he'd pay even though her family had more money than his. But it wasn't real.
One day they went to the funfair; on her birthday, when she had a brand new dress and Derby wasn't there to see it. He never was. He put on the glaze of caring for her only around the people who mattered, and she wasn't one of them. Long ago she'd liked him, when she was younger and stupid and taken in by the great familla Harrington. Their son and heir, who was charming and powerful and cast his presence in a room like a bar of molten gold. To look at Bif, meekly beside him like he was almost too small for his big skin, made poor comparison. He didn't radiate like Derby did, but lurked quietly in the backdrop, a natural bodyguard.
Derby wasn't here now, though. Not even on her birthday. That hurt more than she wanted it to. So she made Bif take her to the funfair, refusing to release him from duty. He played along, and then smashed the bell right off the top of the strongarm machine. For a second she was thrilled, because the excitement had made her forget for just a second, and it'd been like a real date.
Well, maybe it could be, she decided, and wouldn't that just rile Derby up something terrific? She waited until they were on the Ferris wheel and then put her arms around his neck and kissed him. She didn't think of Derby. Well, other than what he'd make of what she was doing.
"No, Pinky." Words drifted gently on the breeze, as cast-iron hands pushed her shoulders back. "I don't think so," he added politely, like he was discussing a choice of clothing.
"Why not?" she challenged. "I've practically been on more dates with you than I have with Derby!"
"Hardly," he said with casual surety. He was too steady for his own good. A canyon that eroded too slow for eyes too see, too slow for anything but time to notice. "It isn't right. I'm sorry," he offered, like it was somehow his fault things were such a disappointing mess.
"It's not you who should be apologising," she huffed. "Why don't you go back to Derby and tell him he's the one who owes me an apology?"
"I do," he commented.
"You do?"
"Sure," he revealed, like he was keeping something deep in reserve. He was nice to her – nicer than he was to other people, at least. But he thought of her as someone else's property, so she wasn't to be damaged by others. He wasn't meant to defend her to Derby as well.
"Well then?" she said primly. "What does he say?"
"Nothing," Bif answered drolly. "He doesn't listen."
"Big surprise. He doesn't listen to anyone," she confirmed, and for a moment it was like they had something. Their eyes had met, and she noted for once that he washandsome. She never really looked at him when Derby was around. But then he turned away and looked dead ahead.
"But doing this isn't going to help, is it?" he said stiffly, and she knew he was right. It only mattered if Derby found out, and Bif certainly wasn't going to tell him.
"No..." she admitted wanly. She was only trying to make herself feel better. "I guess not." She was fed up, because she was meant to have everything and yet she felt like she had nothing.
She leaned over and rested her head wearily against Bif's shoulder. It was just the right height for her – Derby's was too short, and he always complained of ruining his shirts. Bif didn't complain. In fact he was the perfect gentleman. It was kind of disappointing. Anyone else would've taken the offer and made out with her all evening. She had to get the guy with morals of steel.
Bif Taylor only really had one – well, two – black spots to speak of. Losing the fight to Jimmy Hopkins, and the rumoured politics of his family. Derby never failed to bring it up when Bif displeased him, but he never responded. Pinky didn't know if that meant he agreed or not. It could just be libel. He did disappear once in the middle of term, and they said he was on the campaign trail with his father, but he certainly never mentioned it in company.
She found it curious, that someone born with privilege and wealth would want to support the other side. To willingly care for the the poor and needy, giving up their own money for welfare of nobodies. It was noble, really, to care when there was no direct benefit to yourself.
She got into the habit of watching him when Derby was talking 'politics' in the clubhouse, trying to gauge any emotion in his carefully preserved façade. He was plain-faced as always, neither approving nor disapproving. She wondered what he really thought of Derby. Or what he thought of her, for that matter.
Once she asked him, on yet another failed date. If Derby had someone else she might've had an excuse to dump him, but for all the money she gave Jimmy Hopkins to sneak around after him with a camera, it was all hairdressing and manicures and business lunches. He loved himself too much to care for anyone else. So it was her and Bif and a bouquet of wilted excuses.
"You don't have to do this any more," she said primly, pride held up high because it was about all she had to her name. She couldn't be fierce and violent, but she could at least have respect for herself.
"What?" he replied dumbly.
"I'm going to know if Derby's not coming. You don't have to do this, if you don't care," she commented.
"That's not-"
"I mean, what must this look like to you?" she put to him. "You probably think I'm such a dummy."
"I don't," he insisted politely.
"You can tell me," she said. "I bet everyone's saying it anyway."
"They don't," he assured her. "Derby's just..."
"-Special, everybody loves Derby," she bit. "Well, what about me? Who loves me?"
"People like you," he protested, but it wasn't much good.
"What about you?" she turned back on him. "Do you like me?" He was quiet for a moment, like he couldn't come up with anything. Or because he had to make up an excuse.
"I think you're a nice girl," he said calmly.
"Nice is just another word for boring," she retorted. "Oh, what a nice girl, I guess she's cute... then what happens? I get passed over for some tramp in a ten-dollar skirt!"
"Pinky-" He was getting uncomfortable now.
"Well, just tell me what you think of me," she forced on him. "Really, Bif. Am I just Derby's dumb girlfriend to you?"
"No."
"I don't believe you." He groaned, threw up his eyes and heaved a sigh.
"Then what can I say?" he sneered. "You don't want to listen to me anyway. I could say I think you're pretty, smart, and Derby's lucky to have you, but you'd just say I'm humouring you!"
"Really?" she gasped, hopeful as she clasped her hands together. "Do you really think that?"
"I was just saying," he muttered awkwardly.
"I bet you'd know how to treat a girl according to her station," she remarked implicatively.
"This is getting off topic," he evaded. "You and Derby are-"
"Nothing!" she cut off. "That's the point. I'm nothing to him. I get handed off to you like some kind of last-season jacket, and you don't even like me."
"Pinky-" he entreated, but she was done being told to moderate and play along.
"I'm leaving!" she burst, standing up with a bolt of energy. Maybe she'd go to Jimmy, she considered. He was always good for a bout of rebound fury.
"Wait a minu-" Bif began, and was interrupted by his mobile phone ringing. "It's Derby," he announced on pulling it out of his pocket. Like that was a reason to stay.
"And that matters to me why?" she shot, then turned her back, striding off to the tune of Bif answering like the obedient lackey he was. At least she wasn't that bad, she told herself in her aura of displaced rage.
Later on, she regretted blowing up at Bif like she had, because it wasn't really his fault. If anyone was going to suffer it should be Derby, not his second-in-command. So the next time she saw him she was all ready to apologise, but he went and did it first.
"I'm sorry, Pinky," he butted in, taking the line from her mouth. No cancelled date this time, just a normal school day in the clubhouse. "About last time, I mean."
"It wasn't your fault," she sighed, sitting next to him on a couch with gentle familiarity. "I was hard on you. I suppose the sad truth is that neither of us can control Derby."
"Yeah, that's about right," he concurred, and they shared a conspiratorial glance. Maybe Bif would be better for her, she thought slyly. He was of the right station, he was clearly loyal.
"So why do we put up with him?" she asked with a sardonic air. Why not stuff Derby Harrington and dump him in the trash like he did to everyone else?
"Because he's a Harrington," Bif murmured almost resentfully, then gave her a guilty look. Maybe he wasn't quite as faithful as he made out, she observed. "But he's our leader," he continued to her disappointment. "We have to support him."
"Ya, well, maybe someone else would do it better," she suggested.
"I wouldn't know," he said, but she recognised the tone. He was effortlessly polite, like the words were a recording played on a drum. She finally realised that it was because he didn't mean them. Bif Taylor was starting to come uncoiled in front of her.
The next time she was sneaky, and insisted on Derby taking her shopping when she knew he had an appointment. This time she was expecting to see Bif pace up with a doleful look in his eyes.
"Good! You're here," she chirped. "Let's go."
"Aren't you mad? Don't you want to know why-"
"I knew Derby wasn't coming," she dismissed. "But I thought this was the best way to get you to come out with me." He might refuse if she asked him up-front, obedient creature that he was. He was a little dumbfounded by the experience at first, but like all people of their breeding he knew how to shop, and they had a nice afternoon spending thousands of dollars on outfits that would sit at the back of the closet. She'd never seen him in anything except school uniform or a gym kit.
"So, Bif," she began like a rambling little walk through conversation. "You don't already have a girlfriend, do you?"
"Uh... no," he responded, caught like a deer by the proposition.
"Good," she declared.
"Pinky, you wouldn't be thinking that, well..." he mumbled, trying to lead up to a question that wasn't quite right on his tongue.
"What? I just wanted to know if you were single. No reason," she lied cheekily. "I mean... you do like girls, don't you?" She knew there were rumours. There were rumours about everyone at Bullworth.
"Yeah..." he admitted like it was a filthy secret. Perhaps he just wasn't used to talking about things like this. He spent too much time around other men. It made them all a bit funny.
"Interesting," she remarked.
"Derby wouldn't-" He spent half-formed sentences like dollars, she noticed.
"Derby isn't here," she fired. "You are." She smiled, but he wasn't looking. He didn't like to look, not when she could see, at least. He sometimes turned away quickly when she glanced his way.
She was set on a path that was probably destructive, but she really didn't care. Flirting was harmless, and she wasn't exactly throwing herself at him. Just being a little friendly and smiley whenever he was subbed in for the boyfriend she ought to have had.
At some point she should have just broken it off with Derby – again – but she found herself not bothering. She wanted to see if he'd notice. She wanted to know if Bif actually liked her or just babysat for her. He was infallible, though. Maybe the protein shakes and training supplements suppressed his libido or something, because even her prettiest outfits didn't draw more than a falsely-worded compliment from him. He still said Derby's name all the time, like it would make up for him not being there. It didn't.
She was most cross when she found out he'd gone on a yachting holiday without her. Their families always went away together, and he'd just gone off with his best little boyfriends and left her in Bullworth in a half-empty clubhouse. Right in the middle of term he took a long weekend away to show off 'his' new boat, and she only heard about it from Christy Martin of all people.
For an hour she'd sat at the bottom of Harrington House getting slowly more and more angry about how quiet it was, then in a fit of impetuousness she got a bike and cycled round and round the Vale until her legs were throbbing. Burn off the anger, her mommy told her. Sweat it out.
Except it wasn't helping, she was just out of breath and still angry. Then Glassjaw gym came around the corner, and she decided that seeing as it was going to be empty she might as well go in there and smash it up. She could wreck it, she decided, and blame it on the Greasers when Derby got back.
Once she was in the door, though, she changed her mind about breaking things. The place had a pong to it, like rubber and sneakers, and Derby wasn't going to care if some of his cabinets were smashed anyway. Making Preps beat up Greasers wasn't going to make her feel any better.
Annoyed with herself for having half-baked ideas, she locked onto a punching bag in the corner and decided that it was good enough. She could imagine it was Derby's face and beat away the smugness.
Squaring off to the bag she bunched her hands into fists and threw one against the plastic. It was much harder than she thought it would be, and heavier. The thing didn't even swing. She huffed, clenched her knuckles tighter and imagined Derby lounging on the deck of a yacht, surrounded by his inner circle. The second time she hit it harder, and the bag moved a fraction, but she was pretty sure something in her hand clicked.
She pictured him sipping drinks, laughing, pretending to fish and ordering the crew around... all without her. Furious, she started pummelling her hands into the punching bag and embraced the pain.
"Screeeew youuu!" she shrieked as she slammed the flat of her hand against the bag. "Up yours, Derby Harrington!" Clattering footsteps like a horse was running down the stairs interrupted her little episode, and she was shocked to see Bif there. He was surely on the boat with Derby, she'd assumed.
"Pinky?" he cried, dressed in boxing shorts and a towel around his neck. "What are you doing?!"
"What are you doing here?" she retorted shrilly. "Aren't you meant to be off the coast with Derby and all his stupid friends?" She hit the bag again, wincing and realising it was starting to hurt quite a bit.
"Stop that, you're going to hurt yourself," he said calmly, striding over and getting between her and the bag. She backed up, rather too close to his bare chest, and sulked as he picked up her hands and looked at them. "Well, now you're going to bruise," he commented cruelly, so she snatched her hands back.
"So what," she dismissed. "Stupid bag. Stupid gym."
"What's the matter?" he asked helplessly.
"Uh, duh?" she fired. "Derby took all his best friends off on a boating trip and didn't invite me?"
"Oh," he murmured. "That."
"And why aren't you out there with him?" she demanded, though at the back of her head she was wishing he'd say because of her.
"I can't miss training," he answered, and she was disappointed as usual.
"Uuugh!" she screamed, side-stepping past him and slapping the bag again.
"Whoah, easy," he urged, putting an arm across her front and moving her away from the victimised training kit. "You're going to break your hand like that."
"Then get me some gloves," she snapped. "I wanna hurt something." She didn't, really, but it felt good to say. She wanted Bif to take her seriously.
"Really?" he remarked, eyebrows up.
"Yeah, sure," she spat. "I'm done with Derby, for real this time. Teach me how to bust his nose for when I break up with him."
"I don't think that's-"
"Ohhh, shut up, Bif!" she snapped. "Stop being so reasonable all the time, I'm sick of it!"
"I'm just trying to be nice!" he yelled back. That was more like it. He treated her like a china doll too often.
"I'm not asking you to be nice to me, I'm asking you to teach me how to punch!" she retaliated, and for a second he was still. Perhaps he'd shout and throw her out. He had training to do, after all.
"Fine," he groaned. "If it'll make you calm down." He stalked off and she propped her hands on her hips, proud of winning the bout. At least she got her way sometimes. He came back with a roll of bandages. "You're going to need to wrap your hands if you don't want a fracture," he said grumpily, and it seemed like a lot of fuss for the sake of hitting something, but she wasn't going to back down now.
"I don't know how," she decreed. "Do it for me?" She'd gotten a manicure the other day and didn't fancy the state of her nails after all this, but that was fine. She could always get another.
"All right," he huffed, and took one of her hands in his. His weren't wrapped up, she noticed, but then he was upstairs when she came in. Maybe he hadn't started yet, or he was on break or something. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he started to roll the fabric around her wrist, pulling it tight but not too tight, fingers light as sparrows as he bound each finger and swaddled her little hands in gauze until she felt like she already had gloves on.
"This is weird," she remarked, holding up a big white paw in front of her as he started on the other one.
"It's the way it's always been done," he replied caustically. When he was done he pulled a set of little gloves off a peg and unlaced them in the middle. "These are Gord's, but whatever, they're the smallest we have," he remarked, pushing one onto her outstretched hand and pulling it tight.
"My hands feel super heavy now," she commented when it was all done, holding up big blue claws like a lobster.
"They're too big for you, but close enough," he declared. "Now, you want to hit that bag?" he challenged. "Go ahead. But punch straight out from your body, not the wrist. It's the shoulder that matters." She did the same thing she'd been doing before, but with all the padding and gloves it only seemed harder.
"It's not working!" she protested, thumping the target to no avail.
"Act like you're going to hit the wall behind the bag, not the surface," he instructed, "and your stance is all wrong. Like this." Without warning he was right behind her, and was shuffling her feet with the inside of his feet, his arms reaching around hers, like a big bear hug as he drew her into position.
"It feels wrong," she said, but that didn't mean everything.
"It's right," he replied surely, and she wasn't entirely sure what he was referring to. She could feel his body right behind hers, and if she wasn't mistaken he sounded a little tense. "Now, like this," he guided, and his hand was against her arm as he wheeled her through the motions, another hand on her back to steady her. "Think of Derby, if it helps," he said just before she moved, and when she drove all her weight through her arm like she was going to punch a great big hole in Derby's face. This time the bag let out a tiny squeak as it moved on its hinge.
"Yay!" she squeaked in tandem, then tried with her other hand. However, all she did was hurt her bruises while the bag sat there like a big drunk hobo. "Dammit!" she snapped. "This is too hard."
"The left is totally different," Bif started to lecture, and he'd stepped back, loitering a few paces away from her looking mildly worried. "Really, if you want coaching you should get a personal trainer and start with the basics."
"What if I want you to be my personal trainer?" she queried, and he was staring up at the ceiling like his grandma was stuck to it.
"I don't have the training for that," he fumbled.
Fed up again, and now getting sweaty, she pulled the clumsy gloves off and threw them on the floor. She struggled to get her sweater off and stripped down to a plain camisole, appreciating the rush of air onto a gross, sweaty layer of cotton and skin. Now he was looking.
"Show me again," she demanded, picking the gloves back up and failing to get them on.
"I think you've had enough," he started to deny. In a heartbeat she'd snapped and just hurled one of the gloves at him.
"Stop it!" she belted. "I said show me again, Bif!"
"You sure are loud, you know that?" he snapped, so she threw the other glove, hitting him in the chest and thumping onto the floor like a wet rag.
"I'll be quiet if you do what I want!" she returned, always better at verbal boxing than physical. Bif ripped the gloves off the floor like they were weeds and was in front of her in one huge pace, shoving the first glove rudely onto her hand like he was clamping on manacles.
"Fine," he growled. "Do it again," he ordered when she was laced up. "The right hand. You better be making a fist correctly inside those gloves." This was the Bif who ambled around talking down at people, clouded up inside a big obnoxious ego. It was sort of refreshing for a change.
"Maybe I'll do better if I hit you," she slurred, but that seemed to give him an idea.
"All right," he accorded, walking off to fetch a pair of pads. He slipped one on each hand and held them up to her like traffic lights. "You wanna hit me?" he baited. "So hit me."
For the next fifteen minutes, they didn't talk again bar little snippets of advice and critique. She thumped fists into the pads over and over, until sweat was running down her face and Bif was saying 'good' more than he was saying 'try again'. And for every time she'd flaunted a shorter skirt or a cute dress, now was the time his eyes were roaming, leaving her gloves far too often for it not to be noticable. A sweaty vest top and her hair a mess and now Bif was starting to check her out. Figured.
"Okay," she announced when she was starting to ache. "That's enough." She dragged the gloves off and dropped them, swiping her hair back with a hand like a sponge.
"Feel better?" he questioned a little sarcastically.
"If you mean I know how hard I'm going to kick Derby's butt when he gets back, sure," she announced.
"You're not really going to," he said like that made it official. "I mean, come on. It's not that bad, is it?"
"What would you know?!" she snapped. Well, he knew quite a lot, but that wasn't the point. "He's a better boyfriend to you than he is to me! I'm through with him!"
"I know you say that now, but aren't you just going to end up together again?" Bif pointed out. "That's all that happens."
"No, not this time," she stated. "This time I'm serious." She looked him up and down for a second. "And why are you defending him so much, you're not on his silly trip either."
"I didn't want to go," he told her. "I'd rather... stay here and train." He said it in that voice she'd come to recognise. The one that was too bland.
"So you can give me relationship advice," she scathed. "Why do you want me and Derby to stay together anyway?"
"I didn't say that," he phrased delicately.
"Well that's what it looks like to me," she hissed. "Trying to convince me not to break up with him, saying it'll be pointless. What do you care? Are you trying to look out for Derby? Still his best man, making sure his stupid girlfriend doesn't decide to dump him."
"That's not it," he protested.
"Then what is it?" she hit him with better punches this way. He wasn't really hitting back, just taking the shots. "You just want me to be miserable, huh? Like it's funny that the boy I'm supposed to marry doesn't give two cents about me?"
"That isn't it," he sounded angry now, but it was a reserved anger. Like accumulating lava.
"Tell me, then," she demanded from him like an interrogator with his head over a table.
"Okay," he said, blurting like he was finally going to let it rip. "If you break up with Derby, that's going to put me in a hell of a position."
"You?" she scoffed. "What's it got to do with you?"
"This." He was already close, but only when he got a lot closer did she realise how near they had been. He had each of his hands behind her head, seemingly ignorant of her sweaty neck and fingers in soggy hair. "You two break up," he said very, very quietly; the large emptiness of the gym seeming to swallow them, "and I'll want to do something about it. And Derby's not going to like it."
"What sort of something?" she said with all the tender graces of a princess, like she was in a gown and not sweaty underclothes with big bound-up hands. He was just a little too tall for her to do it herself, so she had to wait.
Bif looked down, right at her, and made the smallest sighing noise as he stooped in to kiss her. His grip had tightened and she could feel his fingertips against the centreline of her scalp as he released his mouth to the duty it wanted and kissed her like an inevitability.
She couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed her and really wanted to. Had wanted just her and no one else. Jimmy was fun, but he'd make out with just about anyone who gave him a shot. Derby only did it when he had to, in front of friends and family at gatherings. Bif was worked up and longing for her. She put her arms around him, following the shape of his chest as his bough-like arms encircled her.
She was stretching to reach him, going up on her toes and pulling herself closer. It felt good to be desired, to kiss someone with actual emotion. His hands moved down her neck and descended her back, sure and able, reaching her hips and then gripping fast. He lifted her up in a single motion and she excitedly hooked onto his waist, ankles linked around his back and arms in a sling around his neck. It was effortless to him, to carry her like a bag of shopping.
When he put her down again, she'd worked up a whole different kind of adrenaline, and was almost indignant when he straightened up and she could no longer kiss him.
"Hey," she protested. "That's not fair." Up on her toes, she moved for him and he tilted away, like a magnet repulsed.
"I shouldn't have done that," he confessed with an open vein of guilt. "Pinky, I... we-"
"Don't you dare, Bif," she reprimanded. "Don't you dare take it back, or I'll try out my punches on you first."
"It was a moment of... of weakness," he excused. "You're still with Derby."
"Yeah, well, only as far as he knows," she dismissed. "Maybe for once he should be on the crappy side of a relationship. It'll serve him right."
"I can't cheat on him, I mean... I can't make you cheat on him. You can't cheat on him with me." Bif couldn't seem to get this one straight in his head.
"I can do whatever I want," she proclaimed, "and right now, I want you to kiss me again."
"No," he said, but she wasn't going to have it.
"Derby's going to be away all weekend," she pointed out. "He's never going to find out. Unless you tell him." The thought took colour out of Bif's face. Derby was at his nastiest when he was angry, and even six foot three of Bif wouldn't choose to take his temper willingly.
"No," he confirmed.
"And I'm not going to tell him either," she concurred, conspirator in the pack. "If no one else sees us, how would he ever know?"
"When you break up with him..." Bif mumbled. "He'll have questions."
"Well, I'll deal with that when I get to it," she slurred persuasively, and put a single fingertip in the middle of his chest, in the groove between his pectoral muscles. Nice groove that it was. "Right now, we might as well not worry about it."
It was thrilling and exciting and made her feel alive to see the way he wanted her, betrayed in his eyes with long, aching looks. Perhaps it had been a sudden thing, or a gradual rising feeling that he'd kept back with politeness and duty, but now it was here. Derby's best friend. Who'd had more of a relationship with her this term than he ever had.
"I guess... what he doesn't know." He put his arms around her, in a movement so precise it could have been choreographed. "Can't hurt," he excused, and then he kissed her.
That weekend was golden, but it couldn't last. The gym had been their haunt, emptied of its usual fare. She lay on a bench with her head in his lap, letting him bend down to kiss her again and again as he wanted. He threw her over one shoulder like a set of skis and tossed her into the boxing ring, rolling around and tangling and being giddy like it was the first time either of them had ever been with someone. Somehow everything made sense now, and what had always been easy, put-upon companionship was a perfect fit.
But it couldn't last. When Derby came back, she was set to break it off. Hard and fast, like a knockout blow. Except when she wanted him to meet with her privately, so she could break the news, who would he send but Bif?
"I tried to get him to come," he said humbly, arms crossed over his chest and clearly not at peace with the world. "He told you he'll book you in as soon as he's free."
"Which will be never," she supplied, and then shrugged it off like a mink. "Oh well," she teased, a cheery smile on her lips. "I guess you'll just have to fill in as usual." His arm rested around her shoulders like a throwpillow, and he was full of energy when he kissed her.
"It'd be my pleasure," he joked through his worry lines.
The third time was when they finally got caught. If Derby had actually showed up she would have done the deed, but they were getting used to the de facto arrangement and had stopped thinking about it so much. It was the first three minutes, fatal as they were. Bif was on time – of course he was – and she'd reached up on her patent leather high heels to kiss him quickly, his hands on her sides to coax her up, and who should walk up but the great absent boyfriend?
"Are you serious?!" The shout was the first warning. "Am I going mad?" Bif's hands were tense against her ribcage before he let go and turned away. He was lost for words, for anything that wasn't an awful cliché. Pinky chose to beat him to the punch.
"Well, if you'd turned up on time, I would have been able to break up with you!" she shot. "It's not my fault you're always late."
"What?!" Derby bellowed, like he was burning up with the power of the sun and was going to ignite from the inside.
"I was going to break up with you a week ago but you were too busy standing me up!" she retorted viciously.
"This can't be happening," Derby denied ostentatiously. "Bif? Really? Tell me my eyes were playing tricks on me, because it looked exactly like you two were-"
"I didn't want it to happen like this," Bif excused. "Believe me, Derby. I just-"
"Thought you'd cuckold me with my own girlfriend?" he barked, and Bif's eyes twitched like he was trying not to flinch. But it was done now, so Pinky put her hand into his big meaty one and clutched it like she was the prize boxing champ.
"It's happened now, hasn't it?" she stated. "It can't be undone, and our relationship was already dead waaaay before Bif got involved. So you know what, you're just gonna have to accept it!"
"As if!" Derby fought. "You can't just, just... leave me!"
"Well I have," she argued. "I've spent more time with Bif on all the dates you said you'd take me out on and then didn't show up to. I've practically been dating him all this time, and you're the one getting in the way."
"I'll have you for this, Bif," Derby threatened. "I knew there was something suspicious about you not coming out on the yacht. Thought you'd make a move while I was out of the picture, did you?" Pinky had known it, well, she'd wished for it. Maybe Bif had lied to her about needing to train because he hadn't been able to tell her the real reason.
"Fine," Bif said coldly, the first composed word he'd spoken on the subject until now. His fingers were like a vice around Pinky's hand. "I'll accept that, Derby. I deserve it. It wasn't a sporting thing to do."
"Wasn't sporting?" Derby echoed. "Well, I'm glad you understand these things on a level your brain can appreciate, old friend."
"Love isn't sporting," he said with a soft tone because he didn't need force to make those words powerful. They blew up like fireworks purely because they were what they were. He said that word about her. She could barely keep herself from hanging off his neck and having him spin her around, but figured Derby wouldn't like that very much.
"Oh, that's rich," Derby scorned. "As if you two could really be-"
"It's over, Derby," she interjected. "You, me, we're through. Finished. Done. For good. And that means whoever I wanna date is none of your slimy business, so why don't you go back to your lunch or whatever little plan you had in the first place, and leave us alone!"
He was blown back, she could tell. This was beyond the realm of anything he'd expected. Unfaithfulness, yes, they'd been through that before. But it wasn't what, it was who. Bif he'd trusted as his vessel, his footman and the servant to keep her sweet when he couldn't be bothered to give her his time. Now things were the way they were, and he honestly seemed surprised.
"Come on," she coaxed Bif, who was almost mute by her side. He was the outer wheel in this affair anyway, though his friendship with Derby ending would probably make much more of a difference in their clique than their pathetic excuse for a relationship. "We're leaving."
He followed her, largely because staying was a silly thing to do, but the idea of having a date was somewhat distant now. The wounds were too fresh.
"Come on," he announced tiredly, like he was a battery running low on energy. "I'll buy you a drink." He only meant soda, but it was something. They sat across from one another in a booth and didn't talk for a while. "Do you think it was worth it?" he asked tentatively, and it wasn't himself he was doubting.
"Yes," she reassured him, reaching out a hand and letting him mesh his fingers into hers. "Screw Derby. He had it coming to him."
"Yeah," he murmured. "I hope so."
"Aren't you happy?" she questioned.
"I am, but..." For someone who could move so deftly around a ring he was damn clumsy with his words sometimes. "Now that you're broken up, does this mean..." he lost his way again.
"What?" she probed.
"Does it mean you're my girlfriend now?" he said like he actually thought of it as controversial subject.
"Duh, dummy!" she laughed, leaning over the table to bop him in the middle of the forehead. "Don't you want me to be?"
"Yes, I mean, no," he rushed, correcting himself like it mattered. "I just haven't asked you."
"Well you still can," she pointed out. He clearly gave it some thought.
"Will you go out with me?" he said simply, and she still got a thrill off it. She hadn't been – properly – asked out before. Never officially asked to be someone's girlfriend. It was very exciting. Her grin was a mile wide as she answered, hand curled possessively around his.
"Like, obviously!"