Page 39 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Oliver

Too Much – Carly Rae Jepsen

‘I’m telling you, she could’ve made that shot,’ I said, pointing at the TV, a tennis match we were reviewing ahead of travelling to the Brisbane International.

The past few weeks had been filled with intense practice, Dylan working hard to get into great shape ahead of the first competition of the year.

The lead-up event kicked off New Year’s Eve, and our plan was to fly in a couple days early, to make sure Dylan was comfortable in her hotel before the tournament started.

It would end a week before Melbourne, the Australian Open, and gave us the perfect opportunity to let Dylan test everything we had been working on during a real event.

Dylan waved me off, pointing at Scottie on the large TV screen. ‘She had no chance. She was half the court away.’

‘Don’t underestimate Scottie Sinclair. She’s only getting faster.’

‘Don’t underestimate her? Don’t overestimate.’ She rolled her eyes, confidence biting on every word. ‘She’s good but I can take her on a bad day.’

I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘You’ve lost to her before.’

“I’ve also won against that hack. Anyway, Inés has got her here.’ I leaned forward, grabbing a handful of grapes we’d set out as a snack.

Scottie missed the return, Dylan turning to me, a wide satisfied grin on her lips. ‘Told you.’ She threw a grape up in the air, catching it in her mouth.

‘Have you seen this match before?’ I asked. It was a few weeks old but we’d been spending almost all of our time together and this was one I’d been saving to watch. She shook her head. ‘Then how did you know she’d miss it?’

Dylan looked at me with a bemused expression, her head tilted slightly to one side, a mixture of perplexity and faint amusement playing across her soft features. ‘Um? I know their plays. I’ve studied them both for years.’

‘So have I.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve been on the court with them.

Not to mention training camps.’ She turned towards the screen.

Her voice drowned the commentary out. ‘Inés is aggressive on the baseline, she plays a lot of ground strokes. Meanwhile Scottie has this stupid slice she likes to pull out during serves. It’s very annoying.

She’s cocky, but it can be her downfall too. ’

I watched the match, tracking all she had pointed out.

She was right. Certain things she had said were well known: they had the courts they performed better on, for example, hard court had always been Dylan’s preference, compared to Inés’ win on clay.

But she’d managed to use their off-court personalities and translate it into on-court behaviour as well.

I asked, curious to what she thought, ‘And what is your style?’

Her dark eyes turned to me, her words laced with determination. ‘I play to win.’

‘I’m pretty sure they are playing like that too.’

‘But I do it better.’

I didn’t argue with her, enjoying seeing the competitor coming out, no matter the vicious edge it held.

It was what had made her such a good player, her drive.

Watching her play, before I’d even known her personally, had always been a treat.

She wasn’t a player most rooted for, not because she was necessarily unlikeable, but because she was brutal with her playing on court.

She’d wear her opponents down, play hard, win hard.

It’s why it was such a contrast to her playing style in finals.

She had the ability to win, there was no doubt of that, but it seemed like she got in her own way.

I couldn’t wait to see the result of everything we’d been working on. I wanted to watch her lift her own trophy, as much as I remembered wanting my own.

Dylan’s phone vibrated on the table in front of us. She held her device up, scanning the screen.

‘Oh wait, I have to take this.’ She answered the call, lifting it to her ear. ‘Hi Avery – what’s up?’

She shifted, pulling herself up and walking away for some privacy. I tried my best not to watch her leave, or to stare at her ass in the tight leggings she was wearing. I forced my eyes back to the screen, watching as the match restarted, Scottie having taken the first set.

This was torture. And what was worse, it was all a situation of my own making, but one I couldn’t quite regret. I was turning into a masochist because of her. Living with the torment of being close to her, but keeping our relationship squarely in the friend zone.

That damn night was supposed to be the vent for this attraction. Instead, it had turned into my breaking point, my feelings for her only growing stronger since. Every time I thought they’d reached a fever pitch, she’d find some way to drive me even closer to the edge.

I watched her through the window as she paced back and forth in the yard, my gaze narrowing as I read the annoyance on her face. She ran a hand through her long hair, pushing it back from her face.

If she’d been talking to somebody in person, I would’ve gone to see if there was something she needed help with. But instead, I left her alone, knowing if anyone could handle a difficult situation, it was her.

I still kept her in the corner of my eye, making sure her reaction didn’t get any more worrisome. When she returned, a couple games later, there was something different. As if someone had deflated her.

Dylan sat on the other side of the sofa, her legs tucking in under her as her focus returned to the screen. ‘Inés is fighting back,’ she mumbled absentmindedly. ‘Good girl.’

‘She’s doing alright.’ My voice wavered as we watched Inés miss a game point. Dylan hissing through her teeth, the screen zooming in on the pained face of her friend. Nosiness got the better of me and I asked, ‘Was that your mum? On the phone.’

Dylan swallowed uncomfortably, focused still on the screen. ‘No, a friend.’

‘That’s cool. Will she be in Brisbane?’ I asked, assuming it was a tennis friend. I knew I wasn’t entitled to anything, but how uncomfortable she had looked outside, that wasn’t how you looked on the phone to a friend.

‘She lives here actually. She was mad at me for not letting her know I was in town,’ she said, adjusting her position, pulling her legs closer into her body. I tried to push any lingering questions away, aware that if she wanted to tell me more, she would.

Another game point went to Scottie, before Dylan spoke again, apprehension biting at every word. ‘Do you have those kinds of friends, you’ve known them for a while, and sometimes, you know how close you used to be with them …’

‘But it’s not the same?’

She nodded, ‘It’s a little awkward.’

‘I get it. People grow apart. Especially when our lives are so different. It can be hard to stay in contact with all the travel.’

She exhaled, looking as if the weight she’d been carrying since the phone call had relented.

‘I feel like a terrible friend.’ Dylan took a moment, her eyes watching the last bit of play on the screen before looking back to me, ‘She’s always texting, trying to meet up.

And I know I don’t put in the same effort. ’

‘Why not arrange to meet her when we are back?’ I suggested. ‘I’m sure we could move one of your training sessions to the morning and you could have the afternoon.’

‘Gee, not even one day off, Coach Anderson?’

‘Keep dreaming, Bailey.’ She rolled her eyes at me as I added, ‘But if you do need time off, let me know. As much as we want to keep up the practising and make sure you are in the best shape possible, you should have a little fun.’

Her gaze stuck to me for a moment, something unreadable coming across her face.

Her eyes shining, and then unexpectedly, her hand found mine, fingers interlacing before she squeezed.

Once. Twice. Three times. Time stood still as I took in the moment, the delicate touch of her hand.

The way her mouth opened, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’.

I smiled, letting the moment pass. ‘Do you want to watch something else?’

‘Yeah, Inés is losing anyway,’ Dylan replied, her hand slipping from mine. ‘I can’t watch it.’

‘You and Scottie have an odd friendship,’ I said, my voice still wavering and unsure.

Dylan paused, the match replaying Scottie hitting a powerful backhand. ‘I like her, I think,’ she said. ‘But I like watching her lose a little more.’

‘You aren’t sure if you like her?’

‘We have a complicated history,’ she said. ‘Competitors always do.’ I knew part of it. Scottie had been the player Dylan lost to at Wimbledon two summers ago. Only to find out that Scottie had cheated, being drugged by her own father-turned-coach.

I knew how complex and difficult those relationships could be. It could be tough for some players to not take what happened on the court personally. I moved on, letting it lie. ‘Are you going to pick the film?’

‘Of course,’ she said, sliding from the sofa as usual. I was tempted to find an excuse, escape to my bedroom. It was always harder in the evenings, sitting on the same sofa together, her body close to mine. At least when we were practising, she was half a court away.

Dylan picked out the movie and we adjusted on the sofa, sitting on opposite sides of the small couch, sharing a bowl of freshly popped microwave popcorn.

Throughout the film, we slowly moved together, meeting in the middle, her head leaning against my shoulder, our feet resting on top of the coffee table.

She shared her thoughts, even pointing out when there were shots of cinematography she enjoyed.

I could only smile, acknowledging her point, enjoying her running commentary as we relaxed together, before both of us falling into a comfortable silence.

The movie credits were running when I realized I’d fallen asleep. Moving slightly, I found Dylan, her head still resting on me, her eyes closed, mouth hanging open, the tiniest trace of drool hanging out of her mouth.

She was still beautiful. She was always beautiful.