Page 12 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

“One.” He placed his lips softly and chastely to hers. No point revving his own engine for something not going anywhere.

Words had never been able to explain the need he had for connection. Perhaps that’s why so many of his early relationships had been snuffed out.

He shook his head.

That hadn’t been the problem.

Lauren, his first girlfriend at fifteen, had been his everything. Until, at eighteen, he’d told her he thought he was something other than straight. Not because he had any intention of them splitting up, because he was still sexually attracted to women. Nor did he feel the need to experiment, because she was enough. His everything. But he’d wanted to be honest with her rather than burying his true self.

Instead, she’d panicked, assuming he’d leave her for a man at some point in the future. And then she’d exacerbated his grief at the breakup by telling everyone he was gay.

Which did not reflect how he felt.

Then there was Joshua. They’d been doing great…until Joshua met his dad.

He shivered at the thought of that night.

And then there had been Justin. They’d met in Ibiza, high as fuck. Four nights had turned into four months when they’d returned to the U.K., Justin to Liverpool, himself to Manchester. Until one weekend Justin had bailed on plans and said he was struggling to feel the connection because Alex wasn’t gay.

On his twenty-second birthday, he’d given up trying to adapt and fit himself into boxes for others. Instead, he’d committed to being true to himself. So many attempts to fall in love. To find someone. Now, he slept with strangers or people like Ollie, motivated by his fame, and in those hours after sex, while they slept and he held them, he’d pretend this was it. That the person in his arms was the person who’d wake up and be in love with him in the morning instead of creeping quietly out of random rooms to go home alone.

Because his heart really couldn’t take another rejection.

“Have a good gig though, yeah?” Sadie said, as they broke apart.

He stroked her cheek. “Yeah.”

With confident strides, he headed straight for Zoe and placed his hands on either side of her thighs. The move made her jump.

“Alex,” she said, placing a palm across her heart.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump. What are you doing?”

“Checking my phone.”

He took the phone out of her hand and placed it next to her. “I wondered why you were over here alone. Is everything okay?”

A line formed between Zoe’s eyes. Then she nodded as if she’d understood his question. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Jesus. If she’d felt left out, he’d feel like a shit. “Sure.”

“When I said I don’t actually like people yesterday, I kinda meant it.”

Expecting some explanation involving not being able to catch all their conversation, he laughed. “How very on-brand, Zoe. Why don’t you like people?”

Zoe sighed. “I’ve tried the whole peopling thing. I was never naturally any good at it.”

“Even at school?”

“Especially at school. I was bullied. Too small. Too studious. Too musical. Too everything they weren’t, and I tend to get annoyed by the things people do.”

Alex folded his arms. “Okay. A. I’m intrigued. And B. Do you realise you are people too?”

She sighed, as if he didn’t understand some tacit of human existence. “For most people, other people simply co-exist. But I get disproportionately offended by them. Like the guy who man spreads on the tram. Or the woman who stands too close to you in the queue. And don’t get me started on when people ask obvious questions. I found small-talk awkward before I went deaf. It’s even worse now. My idea of hell is walking into a room full of people.”

“How on earth did you become a performer then?”

“There’s a barrier in what I do. The stage is a line performers and the audience never cross. Only musical notes flow between them. That was how I communicated with the world. It’s hard to describe. Emotions, which are deep and vivid and memorable. But no conversations about my outfit, or how they heard the symphonia played at Carnegie Hall when they visited New York for their twentieth wedding anniversary. Like, who needs to know that shit.”

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