Sarah Cameron did NOT like JJ Maybank.
Because it seemed that every time she and John B stumbled into John B's house, her hands in his hair, his lips on her neck, there was JJ. Sitting at John B's kitchen counter, eating a ham and cheese sandwich or something of the sort.
"Shit." He'd say most times, hopping off the counter. "My bad." Then he'd stroll out the door like he had all the time in the world.
They may as well have not called it the Chateau, but instead the Routledge-Maybank residence, like they were married or something. Because nine times out of ten, JJ was somewhere in John B's house, be it at his table, on his couch or drinking his beer.
"What is it with you being here all the time?" Sarah asks JJ one day when John B leaves to go grab something from the other side of the house.
"What?" He asks crudely from his place on the Routledge's couch.
"You're… always here. In John B's house."
JJ shoots his empty can of Red Bull into the bin over his head like he was some sort of NBA star. "I guess I am." He shrugs.
"But why? Don't you have your own house?"
"Yeah." He ruffles his hair with both hands. "Doesn't mean I have to be there all the time."
"But you also don't have to be here all the time."
"And you do? You're pretty much hijacking my best mate."
Sarah looks offended. "I'm his girlfriend."
He sneers back at her, scrunching his nose. "And I'm his best friend. Isn't that right, JB?" He asks as John B re-enters the room, only having heard the last comment.
"That's right." John B says, smacking JJ affectionately on the back of the head. "Since third grade.
Damn straight. JJ's look seems to say as he glances at Sarah. He's been mine for longer than you've even known him. But then the look disappears and he hauls himself off the floor.
"Well, I'll be off." He huffs.
John B stands up to pat his friend on the back and bid him goodbye.
Sarah Cameron does not like JJ Maybank. Really? John B moving from his spot next to her to say one last thing and a goodbye to his friend? JJ just made her blood boil. But what mad her even more ticked off was John B's indifference to JJ's constant presence.
Whenever JJ walked in on a make out session, John B didn't apologise or comment, as if he didn't even notice it happened.
Sarah never really began to put the pieces of the puzzle together until one night when she and her boyfriend were sitting at the table, talking about the north coast when there was footsteps on the porch. "JJ?" She asks.
"Yeah. Sounds like him."
The door swings open and there is JJ Maybank in all his glory, red eye, bloody nose and a slice the size of a ruler gashed along the outer side of his leg.
John B jumps up immediately, weaving past chairs and furniture to catch his friend. Sarah watches as her boyfriend grabs his staggering buddy by the shoulders and leads him to the bathroom, voice soft and concerned. Sarah wished John B talked to her like that.
Though she still didn't like him, there was a twinge of sympathy for him somewhere in her heart.
But it all came together one day when John B wasn't there.
Sarah sits on the couch at the Chateau, feet up on the armrest as she scrolls through her phone when the door swung open. She looks up, hoping to see her boyfriend. But to her disappointment -and somehow yet, concern-, It is JJ.
He staggers into the doorway, jaw clenched. His blond hair is everywhere, and there's a trickle of blood that trails down from his forehead and cakes in his eyebrow. His knuckles are split and red, angry and irritated. A large, round mark that looks like the early end of a bruise swells on his left leg.
He looks over to notice her, and immediately looks downward and turns to hide his hand and leg. "Where's John B?" He asks, voice cautious and uncertain.
"He's getting food." Sarah pulls herself up from the couch. "Are you okay?" As much as she's ticked off that he essentially steals her boyfriend all the time, she can't overlook his injuries.
"Yeah, yep. If he's not here, I'll just go on my way." He turns.
"No- no." She takes him by the shoulder. "We're going to fix you up."
"What?" He glances toward her blankly.
"If John B thinks it's worth it fixing you up, then so do I." She says with conviction. "Come on." She drags him to the bathroom, closing the lid of the toilet and telling him to sit.
He sits.
Sarah pulls the first aid kit from where she knows it sits, zipping it open. "Now, this may hurt." She shakes the bottle of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad before pressing it to his forehead, making him hiss.
"Hey!"
"I warned you."
"Be careful!" He pouts. "You'll mess up my beautiful face!"
Wiping the last of the blood from the cut, she replies, "Your beautiful face has already been messed up, by the looks of it."
JJ huffs.
"Who was it?" She asks, simply out of curiosity, but he takes it in a much more serious tone.
"None of your business." He snaps, swatting her hand away.
"Geez, man. Calm down, I'm not attacking you." Turning to his knuckles, she wonders if she should clean them too.
"Sorry, man." He relents.
"So this happens a lot, huh?" Sarah refers to all the times she's watched John B patch JJ up. All the times when the blond comes straight to his friend for help.
"Yeah. Bit too often, really." He wrinkles his nose. "I hope you know I'm not trying to shag your little boyfriend, right?"
She laughs, but feels slightly eased. "Of course not. But you do take him away from me a lot." Her tone is slightly accusatory, and she feels bad as soon as the words leave her lips.
But JJ, -bless him- brushes it off. "Sorry to be Mr-Steal-Your-Man, but unfortunately I'm very accident prone and your boyfriend has a saviour complex."
She can't help but grin as she finishes cleaning up his knuckles. "All done."
"Hey, can you not… tell John B about this?" He asks, tone pitched as if he's afraid she's refuse.
"Of course. Just as long as you're okay."
They walk out to the lounge room and both sit on the couch, drinking out of date beer until John B comes back.
When he does, he says. "Oh, Jay. You're here."
"Yep."
"What're you doing?"
Sarah shrugs. "Just hanging out. Pogue style."
She likes being a Pogue, even if that entails having her boyfriend stolen by a blonde, injury prone, reckless teenager with a goofy smile and a drinking problem. Being a Pogue is really good.
And maybe, after all, the tolerates JJ Maybank.