Page 4 of Love Game

She snorts so loud it sounds painful. “Spare me the self-pity. You have plenty going for you. You’re just a slimy wee cheater.”

I wince as the word rings around the room.Cheater. It sounds so much worse out loud than in my head. Olivia always tells it like it is. She’s always unapologeticallyher. Pan and fully capable of explaining that concept to curious older relatives at family dinners. Meanwhile I’m fucking Alex every chance I get and afraid to even put a label on it in my head. I’m not gay. Bi at most. Maybe. And only for Alex.

Shit, that sounds bad. Like I’ve got it bad for him or something. Scratch that thought.

“I know why you’re so nasty to him,” Olivia says.

“Why?”

“Because you’re attracted to him.”

We have this conversation every so often, so it’s no shock to me. It just makes me feel weary, and sad. At least she doesn’t know we’re already fucking. I don’t think she knows, anyway. She’s pretty close to Alex. They’re in a rock band together. But I doubt he’d admit to her that he lets me fuck him, or that I let him fuck me.

“Being scared of your feelings is no excuse to treat Alex like dirt,” she says.

“It’s not like I singled him out. I just wanted to win that game.”

“So you’d cheat against anyone? That’ssomuch better.

I refuse to defend myself. I know I deserve this onslaught.

Olivia’s disapproving face softens, just a little. “Why do you think Dad would care if you like Alex?” she says. “He doesn’t care about me and Cara.”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because I’m a girl?”

“Olivia, can we just leave it alone? Please?”

She takes me literally, standing without another word. Strands of dark blonde hair fall into her eyes as she shakes her head with exasperation. She goes into the kitchen. I hear the sound of the kettle being filled. She’s making tea without offering me a cup. That’s means I’m really in the bad books. It’s practically like being excommunicated in Northern Ireland.

Whatever. Let her be mad. Whether she likes it or not, itisdifferent for her. Dad is a man’s man. I’ve always been his mini me. He expects me to be into the same things as him, like cars and sport. There’s no room for dark-haired, dark-eyed boys in make-up. No room for Alex. Dad would be shocked if he even suspected. He doesn’t hold Olivia to the same standard.

I look in the mirror above the fireplace. Big guilty eyes look back at me. My hair is a mess and my cheeks are ruddy from thecold, like a kid who’s been playing outside in the snow. I look childish and silly-looking. I’ll never be cool and effortless like Alex, with his shrewd, angular face and black hair which falls across his eyes just perfectly. Perfect rock star looks for the boy in the band. And his band is evengood. He seems to be good at everything. While I grew up listening to whatever’s on Radio One, he was listening to artists with names like Deadly Weasel and Pierced Lace. His guitar is covered in pink sparkles. He’s a badass. And I just fucked him over.

I glance through the open-plan living room to Olivia in the kitchen. She’s clunking cupboard doors, loudly stirring the tea with an aggressive machine gun style to make a point. She thinks I’m scum for what I just did to Alex. I kinda think the same thing. Just as the guilt threatens to overwhelm me, the front door opens again and Dad comes in from work, shaking snow out of a wooly hat all over the carpet.

“Snow’s coming on out there,” he says unnecessarily.

“According to the weather forecast, there’s a decent chance of a white Christmas,” Olivia shouts from the kitchen.

“They say that every year, but it never happens,” I say moodily.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dad says to me. “Did you lose the big match?”

Olivia stares daggers at me from the kitchen. Dad’s eyes are on me, wide and ready to commiserate or celebrate.

“No, I won,” I say.

“Unbelievable,” Olivia says.

Dad isn’t paying attention, focusing on me. “Well done, son,” he says.

He pats my shoulder awkwardly. We’re not really a hugging family, especially the men. He looks at me for a moment but seems to be out of words. There’s real pride in his eyes. It would make me feel good about myself, but I know it’s not deserved.

After a few moments he wanders into the kitchen, sensing tea on the go.

Sighing, I pick up my phone, click on Alex. As soon as I see his name I’m transported back to the showers, the scent of his fancy shower gel. The look on his face as he came. Like he’s so mad with himself for wanting me. I start typing.