“Having a fake girlfriend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Freddie’s voice is raw, more emotional than I’ve ever heard him, and when he looks at me, there’s a warmth in his eyes that’s both surprising and at the same time, a confirmation of what my unconscious has known to be true for a while. Maybe since that first night.
This isn’t nothing. It’s special for both of us.
Special and forbidden.
It’s you, I want to say.And I think it’s me for you, too. Forget your safe hiding place behind Hadidja and be with me.
But I can’t. I can’t. So I smooth his eyebrow with a finger and get ready to break his heart. “Fucking aroundisas great as it sounds.” I lack all conviction when I say it and I’m not sure Freddie believes it, but he does flinch.
A tiny, petty part of me is satisfied. Good. I’ve been hurting—let him experience at least some of it.
We stare at each other for an endless moment, then Freddie tilts his face up and kisses me softly. “Let’s go back inside,” he says, and I know this is it. This was our last chance at being close, at doing … whatever it is we’re doing here. It won’t continue. “The others are probably wondering where we are.”
His tone tries very hard to be light, like the last couple minutes haven’t happened, so I blink back my tears and try to match him. “Practicing our dance routine for when we do our ABBA karaoke,” I say and do an off-beat little shimmy with my hips. “Obviously.”
Freddie chokes on a laugh. “Obviously.”
I smile and it almost feels real. “Come on, Agneta. Can’t wait to see your moves.”
CHAPTER 8
Freddie
I’m sprawledout 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,hatethat 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 andallabout 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.”
