Page 50 of The Revenge Game
But then Pete’s voice cuts through my spiral of memories.
“Drew, mate!” He leans over Dave to shake my hand. “That fix you did for my corrupted file last week was brilliant. I would have been screwed without you.”
“Yeah, and thanks for sorting out my email filters on Friday,” Dave adds. “I can actually find important messages now instead of drowning in spam about enlarging various body parts.”
“Although maybe you shouldn’t be ignoring those emails.” Pete elbows Dave with a knowing wink.
“IT can fix computers, but some hardware upgrades are beyond our scope,” I deadpan.
There’s a moment of silence, but then everyone cracks up laughing.
“Techno-Genius just burnt you,” Pete crows.
“Looks like he’s as good at verbal takedowns as he is at fixing your password fuck-ups,” Dave replies.
A warmth spreads through my chest, slowly displacing the old, familiar tightness.
I glance at Justin, and the tinge of pride in his smile has me taking a large gulp of my Pimm’s.
I can’t handle Justin Morris looking at me like that.
“Drew, since you’re so good at helping people out…” Dave leans forward, a glint in his eye. “You’re single, right?”
“Yes…” I say cautiously.
“Perfect! My sister’s friend Sophie is visiting next weekend, and my sister wants me to set her up with someone who will treat her well. She’s gorgeous, works in publishing, lovesStar Wars. What do you reckon?”
Justin stiffens beside me.
My heart starts racing like an overclocked processor. These guys remind me so much of the jocks from high school—the ones who made my life hell because I was gay—that my fight-or-flight response is automatically launching its startup sequence.
But fuck it. I’m never going into the closet. Not for anyone or anything.
“Actually, I’m gay,” I say.
And I wait for the negative jock reaction, the uncomfortable coughs or the awkward silence, the subtle shifting in their seats.
But Dave doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, mate, why didn’t you say so? My cousin Mark’s just moved to London. He’s agraphic designer, totally into gaming, and he’s got this amazing collection of vintage computers. You two would have so much in common.”
I can’t help my eyes darting sideways to gauge Justin’s reaction. He’s gone completely still like someone’s hit a pause button. The rim of his Pimm’s glass hovers halfway to his mouth.
The old familiar twist starts in my gut, that instinct honed by years of watching for signs of rejection. But before I can spiral too far into those well-worn neural pathways, Dave’s voice cuts through.
“Though fair warning about Mark, he’s obsessed with Pacman. Like, he’s got the original arcade cabinet and everything.”
“That’s actually kind of impressive,” I say, trying to focus on Dave while still hyperaware of Justin beside me.
“Right? Though he named the Pacman ghosts and talks to them when he plays. That might be a dealbreaker.”
Pete leans forward. “Mate, you can’t judge. You named your golf clubs.”
“That’s different! Gloria the 9-iron earned her name after years of loyal service.”
Their easy banter washes over me. There’s no subtle distancing, no awkward topic changes. Just…acceptance.
Justin finally unfreezes, taking a large gulp of his Pimm’s. He chokes on something, causing him to splutter slightly.
“You okay there?” I ask.
