Page 71 of Snap

He leaned in closer and shouted in my ear, "I said I'm gonna lose my voice from talking so loud!"

I moved away from him. "Okay, there's no need to yell." I grinned at him.

He laughed. "They're good aren't they?" He nodded towards the band, then kept bopping his head.

"Yeah, they are." I ran my thumb up and down the outside of my cola glass. I'd like to get up and dance, but there was barely room to move as it was. I had to settle for grooving in my chair. "Who did you say they are again?"

"Ice Blue Roses," he called out. "I think the lead singer is Jack." He shrugged.

I shrugged in return. I'd dated some rock stars in the past. They often had interesting nicknames, and the habit of turning everyday events into songs. I might have a breakup song or two written about me. Nothing I'd admit to. I put a post or two on my social media about them, so the whole, sometimes ugly, thing went both ways.

The song ended abruptly, and the band set down their instruments for a break.

"I was wrong about one thing," Ollie said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I thought I'd be able to hear myself talk once they finished playing," he said. "Turns out it's just noisy in here."

I laughed. He wasn't wrong about that. Talking, laughing, clinking and the TV in the background, made a cacophony. My ears would ring tomorrow.

"Halftime is over," someone shouted out.

The noise settled a bit, as everyone's attention turned to the TV.

It was a big TV, but I couldn't see much from where I was sitting. I didn't mind. I was here for Ollie, not the football, but I'd keep half an eye on the game.

The crowd roared as someone was slammed onto the turf in a tackle hard enough to make me wince.

"Is that the best they've got?" one of the guys said. "A five-year-old could tackle better than that."

Everyone laughed.

I exchanged looks with Ollie.

He smiled. "Cavemen," he said by way of explanation.

I nodded. "Ahhh, of course." No one would ever tackle as hard as they did, or run as fast, or throw as well, or have dicks as big.

Whatever anyone else did, the Rapids would do it bigger and better. And if they didn’t, they'd razz the playing teams anyway.

On the screen, one of the guys grabbed the ball and bolted.

At Waves, most of the room rose to their feet. Some shouted encouragement, others shouted for the opposition to intercept.

The announcer's declaration of, "Touchdown!" was met with cheers and jeers.

Ollie applauded and then fist pumped the air. "That was awesome," he said.

I smiled. He was obviously enjoying himself. Looking at it through his eyes, it was easy to see what fans saw in the game. It was exciting, especially when your team was winning.

I realised it wasn't so much that I disliked the Rapids or the idea of them, but that my father's obsession with them bordered on addiction.

Addictions were things I tried to avoid.

But for Ollie, it was more like good, clean fun. Okay, dirty fun, but the kind you could share with your family and friends.

While he watched the game, I watched him. The way the low lighting in Waves caught on his hair, the way his blue eyes lit up whenever the game got more interesting. The line of his jaw where a smattering of stubble grew.