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Mean Girls was peak cinema.
Lindsay Lohan at her finest, navigating the brutal highs and lows of high school politics.
Tina Fey, the icon she is, delivering masterpiece after masterpiece.
Tommy sat in the dark, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s balanced precariously on his lap, doing a piss-poor job of hiding the salt of his tears.
His phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Straight to voicemail.
It rang again.
Tommy didn’t need to look. He already knew who it was.
Eddie.
He hadn’t spoken to Eddie since before the breakup. Hell, he didn’t even know Eddie was in Texas until he bumped into Evan at the bar last night.
Voicemail again.
The third time the phone buzzed, Tommy finally caved and answered.
“Go for Kinard.”
“Hey, Tommy, how’s it going?” Eddie’s voice was smooth, too casual, too friendly.
“Diaz, long time no talk. I hear you’re in Texas now.”
“Diaz, huh?” Eddie repeated. “Is that what you call me now, Diaz?” The question was loaded.
Tommy exhaled hard, pinching the bridge of his nose as he debated hanging up.
“Sorry, Eddie. So how’s Texas?”
“Eddie? I thought you called me the Competition…”
And even from 800 miles away, Tommy could feel his own face heating up. Goddammit, Evan had told him.
“Edd…”
“Competition? I mean, it sounds kinda cool as a nickname, but come on, Tommy.”
Tommy very seriously considered hanging up the phone.
“I don’t want your man, Tommy. I don’t understand why you want him,” Eddie said, voice still calm. “And he doesn’t want me, not like that. We’re best friends. We come as a package. But you’re the one whose prostate Buck wants to massage.”
Tommy may or may not have let out an audible squeak.
“I know way too much about that, by the way. Like, there’s bro talk over beer, and then there’s 'I do not need to know the face you make when he hits it just right'…”
“Diaz!” Tommy choked out, scandalized. “Too far…”
“Hey, tell that to Buck when you’re apologizing for being a dick.”
“He’s the one who said...”
“Yeah, I know. And he feels bad about it. So how about you both apologize, you stop thinking about me. which, I know, it’s hard but please, for the love of God, remember you’re meant to make each other’s dicks hard, not your life.”
Tommy sighed heavily down the line.
“Right. Go fix your shit, Kinard. Don’t make me come up there and lock you two in a room with twenty gallons of lube.”
"Eddie..."
But sassy Eddie was not in the mood to stop.
"Competition, please. If you're gonna give me a nickname, at least use it. And look, me and Buck are close, but Buck’s heart is big enough for the whole world. You really think after seven years we wouldn’t have worked it out if things ran deeper? Come on, man. Buck’s the brother I always wished I had. And I don't know where you’re from, but in Texas, we don’t sleep with our brothers."
"He's literally living in your house, Eddie."
"Yeah, because he owed me after scaring off all my would-be sub-letters. But that’s just it, that’s Buck, isn’t it? He would do anything for anyone. What he needs is someone who sees the real him. Someone who shows up. Someone who steals a helicopter..."
"Borrowed, I borrowed a helicopter for a search and rescue mission," Tommy corrected, in vain.
"You stole a helicopter. And it turned Buck on because he loves stealing LAFD equipment. If that’s not enough proof you two belong together, I don't know what is."
"He told me to my face he doesn't have feelings for everyone he sleeps with."
"Did he say, 'Tommy, I don't have feelings for you'?"
"Well, no..."
"Exactly." Eddie cut him off, "Stop sitting the dark watching Rom-com's and go get your man."
"I'm not..."
"I could hear Lindsay Lohan as you answered the phone, after the third attempt, you totally are sitting in the dark, eating ice cream aren't you?"
Tommy huffed.
"B.B.B now." Eddie demanded.
"Sorry, what?"
"go get Buck Back Bitch."
Then the phone clicked in his head, followed a minute later by a text message from Eddie.
'Go get Buck, love The Competition.'