Page 26 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Dylan

Rose-Colored Boy – Paramore

As it turned out, living with Oliver was a pain.

And not because he was dirty or lazy. He was seemingly very well house trained, even putting the toilet seat back down when he was done.

No, it was the way he insisted on helping or doing every single bit of housework, as if I was incapable of doing anything myself.

‘Oliver, is it okay if I go into your room?’ I shouted from midway up the stairs. It had only been a couple of days, but it felt wrong to go into the spare room without his permission.

Oliver appeared in the doorway of the living room, a bowl of cereal in hand.

It was mid-afternoon, but given that neither of us seemed to be very good cooks, and the fact we had only quickly run around the supermarket with hats and sunglasses on to get the basics, cereal had become our snack of choice.

‘You don’t have to ask. This is your house.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m going to bring down some boxes and start clearing some more space.’ I turned, taking a few steps up when I heard Oliver respond.

‘I’ll help.’ I looked back, watching him put down his bowl, following me up the stairs.

I tsked, heading into his room, noting his perfectly made-up bed as if it wasn’t just a blow-up mattress on the floor. Could he be a tiny bit less perfect?

‘I can do it,’ I replied, my arms wrapping round the first box I came across. It was quite light in my arms, but nonetheless, the fracture in my chest ached a little, stinging and reminding me I was still injured.

As I turned, Oliver appeared in the doorway, his height nearly filling the entire space. He looked around the space, his eyes flickering down to the very box in my hand. He stepped forward to take the box directly from me.

‘Here, let me help,’ he insisted, and I had to turn my body slightly away from him, as if to protect the box from Oliver’s grasp.

‘I’ve got this one,’ I replied, ‘just go enjoy your cereal.’

‘No, I want to help,’ he said. ‘Tell me what boxes you want and I can take them down.’

‘No, just …’ A slight frustration biting at the edges of my voice. I had been taking it easy since we arrived the day before yesterday. I could manage a few boxes. ‘I can do it myself.’

‘Of course you can,’ Oliver forced an unconvincing smile. ‘I just want to help.’

I considered continuing to fight him, but at the end of the day, I needed the boxes taken down and this was an offer of free labour. Who was I to turn it down?

A retired, injured tennis pro. That’s who.

‘Fine,’ I ground out. Craning my neck, I motioned to the boxes behind me. ‘I was going to take these downstairs and sort them out.’

‘Aye, aye captain.’

By the time I’d placed the box in the living room, Oliver had taken his third box downstairs, leaving them in the hallway instead of following me through to the living room.

I considered taking them through but suspicious of what he was doing, I went to the spare bedroom instead, passing Oliver on my way up, his arms filled with another large box.

I was barely halfway back down the stairs, large box in hand, when Oliver appeared in front of me, smiling brightly.

‘I can take that.’ His hands replaced mine, taking the box and disappearing back down the stairs. I rolled my eyes, turning to go retrieve another.

This time I met him at the top of the stairs, the smile still on his lips. When he went to take the box from me, I pulled back from his grasp.

‘What are you doing?’

He feigned innocence, a vacant expression appearing across his face.

I tried again, ‘Is it some sort of helpfulness kink?’

‘I just like helping.’

‘No, you’re making sure I don’t lift anything. It’s getting ridiculous.’

‘Dylan,’ he pressed, but I carried on, an accusatory finger pointed.

‘Don’t tell me it’s in my head, I know what you’re doing.’

He sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to gaslight you.’ He paused, almost weighing up his options. ‘You’re injured.’

I rolled my eyes at him again, correcting, ‘I was injured.’

He carried on as if I hadn’t said anything. ‘And we both know you’re still supposed to be resting, taking it easy.’

‘It’s a couple of fractured ribs. It’s not like I lost a limb or something.’

Oliver swallowed, my eyes tracking every movement of his body. ‘I need you to heal properly. When you figure out that you aren’t done with tennis, your body will have healed properly and you can get back on the court as soon as possible.’

I threw my head back. This again.

He looked a little serious. ‘I’m sorry if I overstepped. I knew you wouldn’t like me bringing up the injury, I wanted to be helpful instead.’

‘Is there an option where you don’t do either?’

‘Nope.’ He looked a little too pleased with himself.

‘I can do things myself, Oliver.’

‘Of course you can. But you don’t have to. Why risk it?’

I knew he had a point, but that didn’t mean I liked it, or that I wanted this level of fawning over.

And judging by the fact he had admitted he didn’t want to bring it up, he knew it too.

I shifted my weight, the pain in my chest growing sharper, although whether it was from his attention or the weight of the box, I wasn’t sure.

‘Are you going to let me do anything?’ I asked, my tone a little bitter as I grew fed up with the baby treatment.

He leaned towards me. ‘Nobody can stop you from anything, Dylan,’ he said, his voice low. Slowly but surely, a small smirk grew across his lips, breaking the serious tone. ‘But I will try my best.’

I managed to resist rolling my eyes again. And instead, I sighed, asking, ‘What’s the middle ground here?’

A hand rose to cover his wide mouth. ‘Compromise? From Dylan Bailey?’ His hand moved to his chest as if he was a scandalized woman in a Jane Austen novel. ‘I might die from the shock of it all.’

‘Very funny,’ I said. ‘ If I let you take them downstairs for me, and I start unpacking there, would that make you happy?’

‘That would, thank you.’

Without another second’s delay, I stepped forward, thrusting the box into his arms, my hands meeting his temporarily, something under my skin sparking at the contact with his.

Oliver almost lost his balance on the first step under my speed, not expecting me to throw the box at him.

If he wanted to carry them downstairs, then fine. Let him at it.

‘I only want a couple more downstairs,’ I instructed, sliding past him. ‘We can sort the rest out later.’

‘No problem.’

I focused on the boxes in the living room, opening them up and inspecting the contents. I wasn’t very far into the job when Oliver joined me, the last of the boxes in his arms. Apparently with me not around, he was happy to show off and carry multiple at a time.

We both started to open them up. I rediscovered living room cushions and blankets that I’d tucked away, while Oliver found my DVD collection.

‘Why on earth …’ Oliver asked, trailing off. I could hear him across the room, muttering a count under his breath, ‘do you have four copies of The Princess Diaries ?’

He held them all up, fanned out.

‘First of all, one of those is The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement .’

He turned the boxes around, easily spotting the odd one out.

‘Second of all,’ I continued, ‘my sisters and I did not understand the concept of sharing. But when they moved out of my parents’ house, I got to keep all their old copies.’

‘Who even still watches DVDs?’ his eyebrows squished together as he frowned at them.

‘Loads of people,’ I answered. ‘Sometimes the movie you want to watch isn’t available on streaming. And there’s an experience with a DVD player, the quality of the film, not having to wait for the film to buffer. The nostalgia alone.’

‘But three copies of the same film?’

I could only shrug. ‘I’ll admit that it’s a little overkill.’

‘Do you even have a DVD player? I got rid of mine years ago,’ he said, pulling out title after title, inspecting every single one with the same strange look on his face.

Then he pulled out a smaller case, a CD album.

‘Or something that could play this? The speaker in the kitchen looks like it’s bluetooth only. ’

I shook my head. ‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘That’s not an answer.’

‘I’m sure there will be a DVD player upstairs.’ It was a small white lie as I tried to shrug his questioning off. But his eyes only narrowed as he issued another challenge.

He stared at me, long and hard, before he said, ‘Let’s go get it then. We can plug it in and have a Princess Diaries marathon.’

I tried my best to stare him down, pressing my lips as I refused to tear my gaze away from him. ‘I’m sure it’s on streaming.’

‘Oh no,’ Oliver laughed, ‘I want this DVD experience you speak of so highly.’

I bit my lip, fighting the temptation to pretend to go upstairs and search, pretend I couldn’t find it and hope it satisfied him enough. But the pain in my chest was still too sore, the concept of getting up, clambering up the stairs and poking at boxes for another ten minutes seemed terrible.

‘Fine. I’m pretty sure it broke,’ I relented, ‘but I’ll get a replacement.’

Oliver rolled his eyes at me as he imitated, ‘Why bother if it’s on streaming?’

‘Not the point.’

‘No, the point is that you …’ he trailed off, a gleeful glint shining brightly in his eyes, ‘are a secret hoarder.’

‘I am not.’

‘You are,’ he argued.

I motioned around the living room. ‘This place barely has anything in it.’

‘Because it’s all packed away,’ he replied. ‘You are hiding your hoarding tendencies, but I know the truth.’

‘You have no idea what you are talking about,’ I said.

I grabbed my phone, opening up the browser to find and order a DVD player. Prove him wrong. Oliver huffed at the box full of DVDs, clearly refusing to unpack it, before digging into another.

My attention turned to the phone, scrolling through the admittedly very limited options when Oliver spoke.

‘Oh.’