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Tennis.
I take a mental breath.
But then Noah smiles, his face lit by the lights that reflect off the Yarra, and says, ‘I had a nice time, too,’ and the warmth in the pit of my stomach spreads, into my chest and arms, and lower—
Oh dear.
This is not good.
Papa’s still awake when I get home. He’s sitting on the lounge nursing a glass of port like a disapproving parent waiting for their recalcitrant child in the early hours of the morning. Except I’m an adult, and it’s nine-thirty.
‘Enjoy your night?’ he asks as soon as I step through the door. I wonder if he can smell the doughnut on me; if he knows I’ve been seduced by sugar and carbs and betrayed my high-performance diet.
Victor suddenly bursts from his bedroom with a sheet mask stuck to his face. ‘You’re home!’ he exclaims. ‘How is Lukas?’
Lukas?
Victor’s hard gaze is unwavering, and I realise that he’sliedto Papa for me.
‘Y-yes, he’s good. We went out for dinner and saw a bit of the city,’ I say. Twenty-five years old and I’m still making up stories about where I’ve been and who I’ve been with. ‘I’m going to shower and go to bed. Big day tomorrow.’
Papa nods and turns back to his port, seemingly happy to let the conversation go. I close my bedroom door and press my head against the wood grain. Everything suddenly feels so confusing, I just want to scream. I came here to play tennis; I’m into the second round, and yet all I can think of is—
The room’s stiflingly hot, so I open the window and let in the cool night air before flopping onto the bed and pulling out my phone. I know Lukas texted me earlier about meeting up to hit a few balls around, and I left him on ‘read’. As I open my phone to reply to him, I’m shocked to see that Noah’s messaged me.
Maybe I don’t have to cut him off completely. Maybe I can keep texting him while focusing on tennis.
NoAgenda:So Imight have a new job. Dare me to quit the old one tomorrow?
Hungrygabriel73:Double dare.
NoAgenda:Wow, way to up the stakes.
Hungrygabriel73:Where is the new job?
NoAgenda:Aqueer bar in the city. My friend works there.
Queer. I can’t help but focus on the word.
Hungrygabriel73:Are you
No. Too forward. I delete the words. Try again.
Hungrygabriel73:Sounds like a fun place—do they only hire gay people?
What in the world is wrong with me? Get a grip, Gabi. I delete that message, too.
Hungrygabriel73:Sounds like my vibe.
I hitSendbefore I talk myself out of it. My response says both something and absolutely nothing; it’s flawlessly crafted to ensure plausible deniability should my words appear in the press.
NoAgenda:It’s my vibe, too.
NoAgenda:Ithink it’s important there are places where people can feel safe to be themselves.
Then he sends an emoji of the Pride flag and my stomach clenches. This is dangerous territory. Besides my fling with Andre, the only other person who knows I’m gay is Phoebe. Letting Noah so close feels like a recipe for disaster—but at the same time, I want to know what it feels like to be myself, just this once, without any of the other baggage that comes with fame.
Hungrygabriel73:Ihad a lot of fun tonight. Thank you for showing me the city.
