Free Lobsters by Lucy Ivison

decor of her upstairs bathroom, but I don’t think she even heard me. She just kept jabbering on and on about what a great night she was having and how she hoped everyone else was loving it too. She was at that lively, fiery stage of drunkenness that usually comes just before vomiting or falling over, or both.
    As flattered and nonplussed as I was by the fact she’d pulled me, I noticed that she would rarely hold my gaze for more than a few seconds. Her eyes were constantly pinballing around the hallway, as if to check whether there was someone more important she should be talking to. Finally, there was.
    â€˜Oh my god, there’s Carmen!’ she screamed, pointing behind me into the kitchen at a tall, dark-haired girl. ‘I didn’t think she was coming. Listen, Sam, I’d better say hi. I’ll see you later, yeah?’
    She gave another final glance around her, and pulled me back in for one more kiss.
    â€˜Why don’t you give me your number?’ she cooed. ‘We could meet up some time.’
    I recited my number as she jabbed it into her iPhone. ‘This is me,’ she said, and I felt my phone buzz in my pocket as she dropped me a missed call. ‘Give me a call, OK?’
    With that, she disappeared into the kitchen, and left me standing in the hallway wondering what the hell had just happened. I popped my head into the front room to find Robin, Chris and Ben all deeply stoned and very much ready to go home.
    I didn’t see Ribena Girl again. I guess she had already left with Freddie. Pulling Stella had been a weird – and, to be honest, quite nice – diversion, but I still couldn’t get Ribena Girl out of my head. I kept replaying the way she chewed her hair and then pushed it back behind her ears when she laughed.
    The next day me, Robin and Chris were sat round the computer in Robin’s bedroom. We’d met up with the intention of sorting out our trip to Woodland Festival in Devon later that month. But we ended up just going over and over the events of the party.
    Robin was obsessed with Stella. He’d never seen anyone so fit.
    â€˜She’s hot, she lives in a massive house and she’s named after a beer. She’s basically the perfect woman.’
    â€˜I don’t think she’s actually named after the beer, Robin.’
    â€˜Yeah, you’re right. The beer’s probably named after her. I bet some French bloke fell in love with her and invented a beer just so he could name it after her as a romantic gesture.’
    Chris googled ‘Stella Artois’. ‘It was invented in 1926. And it’s Belgian.’
    â€˜Look, whatever,’ said Robin. ‘That’s not important. What’s important is us figuring out why the hell she got off with Sam.’
    â€˜Thanks, mate. Appreciate that.’
    â€˜No, no offence, man. But Stella is next level. She’s one of those girls who should be going with a footballer or an ugly billionaire or something.’
    â€˜Why would the billionaire have to be ugly?’
    â€˜All billionaires are ugly. Why do you think they become billionaires in the first place? Do you think if Mark Zuckerberg looked like me he would’ve bothered to invent Facebook? No, he would’ve been too busy shagging birds.’
    â€˜You’ve shagged one bird, once,’ said Chris.
    â€˜Whatever. All I’m saying is, Stella is out of Sam’s league.’ He turned to me. ‘No offence, man, obviously.’
    I wasn’t offended. It was true. I was as confused as he was. Me and Stella definitely didn’t fit. Me and Ribena Girl fit. Or, at least, it had seemed like we did before she went off with Freddie the Quiff.
    â€˜So should I text her, then?’ I asked.
    â€˜Do you like her?’ asked Chris.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I mean, she’s really hot. So I guess I do. It would be stupid not to like her, wouldn’t it?’
    Chris