Chapter 8
Freddie
I’m sprawled out on the sofa, one foot up on the backrest, arms flung wide, my head dangling off the end.
Apparently there’s a thing about bisexuals not being able to sit properly, and I guess I’m living proof.
I look over at DJ, who’s on the other settee, hunched over her laptop, furiously typing.
One of her legs is stretched out, the other pulled up as close as possible to her chest, and I grin despite myself. Apparently, she’s living proof, too.
She’s been chatting to this butch for a couple weeks now and seems super into her and I’m so happy for them but also hate, hate, hate that the only people they need to hide from are her parents. For me, it’s the entire world.
Dr Who is playing on the telly but neither of us pay it much attention. We’ve watched it so much, ever since we were kids, that we can quote large chunks verbatim. It’s the perfect background show for us.
“Hey,” I say.
DJ grunts without looking up. She’s in grey sweats and a black tank top, long black hair tied in a messy bun. She’s super attractive like this. She always is, but there’s something about her today. Not that she would believe me if I told her.
“Have you ever thought about what would happen if one of us caught…feelings?”
That makes her look up. “For each other?” Her brows furrow. “Mate, I’m honoured, but you should know by now that I’m not into—”
I hold up a hand and laugh. “Not you, you absolute goose.”
“Oi.” She unfolds the other leg and pokes me in the thigh with her toes. “You’d be so lucky. But fine, you have my interest.” She closes her laptop—a rare occurrence. “So? Spill.”
I sigh. “It’s—” Fuck. This shouldn’t be so difficult.
We’ve always been open with each other about what we’re up to and how we feel.
She knows about my many hookups, I know about her much lower number and all about how wonderful her new lady is.
Besides, DJ has known me all my life. She’s heard about the highs and the lows.
So why am I hesitating to tell her about this?
I rub a hand across my face and sit up, getting dizzy.
She cocks her head to one side. “Oh, mate,” she says, dismay and certainty in her voice. “It’s Marlon.”
I’m equal parts relieved and embarrassed that she can read me so easily.
“Babes.” She gives me that look she has, one eyebrow raised, her eyes judging my entire existence. “Are you seriously crushing on a team mate?”
“I’m not crushing!” It’s instinct to protest even though she’s one hundred percent right.
She knows about how gone I was for him when we were maybe fifteen, sixteen, but she also knows that it went away again after a while.
Unfortunately, sleeping with him has brought all of it—and more, so much fucking more—back.
When I close my eyes, I see the way he looked at me that first night, full of trust. When I stroke myself, I taste his skin on my lips, wet with Italian rain.
DJ snorts. “Right.” She waits until I look at her, then pointedly rolls her eyes. “You should see your face, you’re such a goner.”
There’s no point denying it. I slump against the backrest and pull at my hair with both hands. “Fuck, DJ, he’s the one guy I can’t have. This is such a bad idea.” Her gaze softens and I shake my head at her. “Don’t.”
“What? I haven’t said anything.” But she’s looking at me, much nicer than she usually would, and I have a feeling she’s about thirty seconds away from patting my head.
“Don’t pity me.” I sound like a sullen teenager but, well, it’s an accurate depiction of what my insides feel like right now. “Give me a swift kick up the butt. Make me snap out of it.”
She makes a derisive sound. “And I thought up the butt was your thing.” At my glare, she raises both hands defensively.
“Fine, fine. Whatever. I’ll take this seriously.
” Then she gets up and sits down next to me, taking my face in her hands.
“Look at me, babe. It’s not going to happen.
You can’t let it happen. We both know that. ”
I give her a pitiful whine and sad puppy eyes, and DJ shakes her head. “Nope. Forget it. Imagine if you lost your job and I had to pay for this apartment. And my degree. I’d be so screwed.”
That does make me laugh and she lets go of my face.
“I know it’s not the same,” she says, “but if it’s any consolation, Rachel and I also won’t ever be able to be a couple in public. My family…” She doesn’t need to finish that sentence. I’ve known her family for most of my life and love them dearly, but queerness as a concept is foreign to them.
“What is this, a pity contest?” I push messy strands of hair back from my forehead and shake my head. “No chance. I’ll win this one easily.”
DJ sighs softly and puts her hand on my cheek again, softly this time. “I know, love. And I’m sorry. You know despite all the shit I give you, I want you to be happy, right?”
“Most of all, you want me to be employed,” I grumble, but I don’t mean it.
Hadidja is the sister I never had and we ride hard for each other.
I would protect her against anything and I know she’d do the same for me.
Unfortunately, the obstacles I’m facing aren’t ones that can be overcome by sheer stubbornness and audacity. “Ugh.”
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “You can’t let it go on or it will put both of you at risk. So maybe think of it as a way of protecting Marlon? If you can’t do it for yourself, I mean.”
I nod. “If only I wasn’t sure it will hurt him as much as it hurts me. Fuck.” I hate that my voice has gotten so small. DJ’s suggestion is good, I should focus on making sure I’m not putting Marlon at risk. But still.
Hadidja does give me that head pat, after all. It’s not at all comforting, but then again, nothing could be, except maybe Marlon’s arms around me. “Fuck indeed,” she agrees quietly.