Page 45 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Dylan

So High School – Taylor Swift

In the morning, we didn’t talk about the kiss. At the airport, on the plane, we pretended I had not been a complete idiot and kissed him goodnight. We spent a week back home in Melbourne, also not speaking about it.

I was beginning to think we might never address it. Whether this was a relief or a nightmare, I wasn’t sure.

‘Sit down!’ Oliver yelled from the kitchen.

I turned to face him, a scowl stinging across my face. ‘Stop bossing me about.’

He shook his head sharply, pointing between me and the sofa I was supposed to be resting on. ‘I’m your coach, it’s my job.’

‘My coach, not my nurse.’ I stopped myself from sticking out my tongue at him, sick of him constantly telling me what to do or, more accurately, not to do.

He refused to let me do anything without assistance or just straight up taking over what I was doing.

I was surprised he let me go to the bathroom without knocking on the door, asking if I needed anything.

A small smile curled on my lips as I pointed behind him. ‘You’re burning the chicken.’

Oliver jumped into action, pulling the pan off the heat. I could only laugh as I sat down again, watching him panicking, flailing around while he attempted to save dinner.

Radley, my physio, came back into the living room, her large equipment bag thrown over her shoulder. ‘I’m getting out of here before you guys have a domestic. Remember to do those exercises, Dylan.’

‘She will,’ Oliver said, dinner apparently saved.

‘I can speak for myself, dude,’ I bit back. My attention turning to Radley, ‘I’ll try.’

Oliver turned, a stony look cemented across his features. ‘She will .’

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him, smiling politely at my physiotherapist. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘See you! Bye,’ she called, her voice light with humour as she left. I headed over towards the TV to grab the controller, when I heard Oliver shouting again from behind me.

‘Oi! Get back on the couch.’

I didn’t even turn back to him as I continued to limp over towards where I could see it sitting. ‘I’m getting the TV remote.’

‘I could’ve got it for you.’

‘It’s like two metres away and you are supposed to be cooking. Although God knows why since it will probably be horrible.’

‘It will be edible,’ he promised. ‘Now sit down, and I’ll bring it over when it’s done.’

This time I did as he said, not wanting to push Oliver any further. It was fair to say I’d driven him mad enough already today.

After some swearing and chaotic noises of irritation from the kitchen, Oliver made his way over with two plates of food, presenting an attempt at chicken and rice. Suspiciously, I eyed the meat.

‘Is it …’ I began, looking from my plate to his, ‘supposed to be this colour?’

‘It’s cooked.’

I scraped at the surface. ‘It’s black.’

‘I think it’s the seasoning.’

‘What’s the seasoning?’ I joked. ‘Charcoal?’

‘Just pick out the bad bits. It’s not all like this.’

I nodded, unconvinced. I decided to cut off the burned part, cutting the meat apart.

‘Um, Oliver.’ I said, watching him as he pushed his food around his plate, looking equally unsure. ‘Don’t eat that.’

‘Why not?’

‘ ’Cause it’s still pink.’ I said, turning the fork around, revealing the chicken uncooked in the middle.

Oliver sighed angrily, lifting his plate from his lap and putting it on the coffee table, as if he couldn’t stand to be near his failure any longer. ‘How on earth is it burnt and raw?’

‘I don’t know but this feels like some sort of new low with our cooking skills.’

‘Yeah, we need to stop trying. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to serve you literal death on a plate.’

His hand went to my plate to take it away from me, but my hand found his, catching his attention. I held his gaze, ‘You know I’m grateful for everything, right?’

‘I haven’t done anything,’ he rasped, but I only shook my head.

‘That’s bullshit, and you know it,’ I replied, my voice softening again as I continued. ‘I thought I was done for. I was injured, and you pulled me up off the ground yet again,’ I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Oliver didn’t say a word, he sat there in silence, his expression unreadable. After a beat, I moved the conversation along, ‘Will I order pizza?’

He looked at me, the reluctance clear across his face. At first, I was sure he was going to say no, tell me we could eat a salad or something shitty we had planned for tomorrow’s lunch. But surprisingly, a grin broke through the hesitancy. ‘Yes, but on one condition.’

‘What?’ I asked, his smile increasing in wattage.

‘Don’t tell your coach.’

I lay awake in my bed, staring at the opposite wall knowing Oliver was on the other side. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking the past few days. There was the embarrassment in the living room when I’d come too close to telling him how I felt, exactly how much I appreciated him.

Then there was the goddamn kiss. What was I thinking?

Why was I seemingly intent on acting like such an obvious love-sick idiot? I had to pull it together before I made the wrong move, and pushed him away.

Promising myself to do better, I turned over, wishing for the sweet relief of sleep to find me. But it was then the hallway light shining under the bedroom door caught my eye. I pushed up, sure that I had turned it off. Carefully I got out of bed, limping to the bedroom door.

I opened the door to find Oliver standing suspiciously in the hallway, a pillow tucked under his arm, his duvet thrown over his shoulder.

‘Where are you going? Was there another spider?’ I teased sleepily.

His panicked expression melted. He looked so good in just a thin cotton T-Shirt and a pair of shorts. ‘I’m going downstairs for a drink.’

‘With half your bed?’

His arms tightened around the items, holding them close to his body. ‘I like to be cozy.’

I looked at him flatly, trying to figure out what was going on. Realization hit me. ‘Are you sleeping on the couch?’

‘Um …’

‘Oh my God, are you sneaking downstairs to sleep on the sofa?’ I shrieked, horror dawning on me. ‘How long has this been going on for?’

He raised his hand, palm face down to calm me. ‘Not long.’

‘Since we got back from Brisbane?’ I questioned, watching as his face gave his answer away. ‘ Longer? ’ My voice grew louder and higher in pitch.

His hand rubbed at the back of his neck. ‘It’s been a few weeks.’

‘Why?’ I hated that he’d kept this from me, instead creeping around the house at all hours of the night.

‘The airbed was doing a murder on my back and we were focusing on your training, I didn’t want to be a distraction.’

‘Oliver, you’re my guest,’ I cried.

‘Uninvited guest.’

‘You let me believe the air mattress was fine.’

‘I didn’t want to complain.’

‘Because you never complain.’ I shook my head, thinking of that sofa downstairs. It was comfy enough to sit on, but to sleep on for weeks? My brows pressed together in question, ‘Is it even big enough to sleep on?’

He grimaced, muttering under his breath, ‘I curl up.’

‘You curl up ?’ I tried to imagine him squished into the foetal position, or even worse, his legs sticking out of the end of the sofa. I bet he’d look pretty cute like that. I shook my head. ‘No, I can’t stand it. Come on.’

He partially followed me as I limped back into my bedroom, pausing at the doorway. Oliver looked at me strangely as I pulled my own cover up off the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘You can have my bed,’ I said easily, picking up the pillows and covers, piling them high in my arms.

‘No.’ He didn’t move an inch.

‘I’ll take the air mattress.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Oliver shook his head. ‘I’m fine with the couch.’

I sighed, hobbling past him to the hallway, ‘I’m not letting you sleep another night on the goddamn couch.’

I moved through to his bedroom. Boxes still lined the walls, but the room was tidy. He’d been here for longer than a month, and we still hadn’t sorted this room out. ‘We can go and pick up a proper bed and mattress for the spare room tomorrow, but tonight, please take mine.’

‘No, Dylan. You need your sleep, and besides, you’re injured.’

My nose wrinkled with annoyance as I threw my bedding onto the air mattress. ‘I’ve sprained my ankle, I’m not dying.’ I looked at him, crossing my arms. ‘How bad can it be?’

‘Really? How bad?’ He laughed once, pointing to the bed. ‘You try it.’

‘Okay fine.’ I said, sitting down on the bed.

I swung my legs around and lay on the bed, wiggling to get comfortable.

‘See it’s not that …’ I muttered, trying to lie still and find a comfortable position.

I could somewhat understand what he was saying.

It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. ‘It’s fine if I sleep on my side.’

I made eye contact with Oliver, who was now leaning against the doorway, a shit-eating grin across his face. ‘Okay, maybe the other side.’ I rolled over, each movement as uncomfortable as the last.

‘Just admit it, Dylan,’ Oliver crooned.

I mumbled, wiggling again, trying to will my body into comfort. ‘I’m sure if I lie still enough I’ll drift off to sleep.’

He laughed from behind me, before adding, ‘I’m going downstairs so no matter what, your bed is free.’

Instantly, I shot up. ‘Wait. No, please. I can’t stand the idea of you curled up down there.’ I pushed myself from the bed. ‘The back pain must be awful.’

He shrugged uncaringly. ‘I mean, it’s better than the air mattress.’

I didn’t disagree. Tomorrow, I had a strong intention to take a pin to that air mattress and watch it exhale its last breath for what it had done to my body in the last thirty seconds.

He turned, heading towards the stairs. I eased myself up from the bed, shouting from behind him. ‘Let’s just … share.’

He paused, turning around with a look of confusion. ‘The sofa?’

‘The bed.’ Those two words hung in the air between us, lingering as we both stayed silent for the longest moment. The silence bit at me, swallowing up all the oxygen in the space between us.

‘No.’ The word punched through the hush, the firm line of Oliver’s jaw settling.

I placed a hand on my hip, taking another risk. Might as well double down. ‘Oliver, we’ve done it before.’

‘No.’

‘Just this time …’ I attempted to salvage the offer, ‘there will be far more clothing.’

The firm line of his lips remained. ‘Please, Dylan, don’t joke.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I wasn’t even sure I was pushing this idea. Surely, this would be hell for me as well as him. ‘Please, we are both adults. We can share a bed without getting it on.’

He leaned against the banister of the stairs, as if requiring the physical support to keep him upright. ‘Again with the joking?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t stop.’ I pushed away all the other ten jokes that instantly came to mind, my own discomfort at the situation only fuelling my need to mock it.

Sharing a bed was the logical situation.

If he wasn’t going to take the bed, wasn’t going to let me sleep anywhere else, then what else was left?

But even the idea of lying next to him in the very bed where he’d last touched me was a mix of deep discomfort and extreme longing.

As if I was already too keenly aware of the torture I was signing myself up for.

Would I even sleep? Or would I lie awake watching the way his chest rose and fell, mesmerized by even the smallest of actions from him?

He looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen him, as his fingers pushed his hair back. ‘I don’t know, Dylan.’

‘It’s just a bed. I share one with friends all the time.

’ The word tasted sour on my lips. Friends.

Like I was back at square one pretending that’s all I felt for him.

I hadn’t even bothered to remind myself that we were supposed to ‘just be friends’ in weeks.

I was tired of trying to clown myself into believing.

‘And tomorrow, we will go and get you a proper bed to sleep on.’

‘This feels like such a bad idea.’

‘I don’t see why,’ I lied, clearly seeing every single reason and ignoring each one. ‘It’s the perfect middle ground. It’s this, or I sleep on that god-awful air mattress you’ve been subjected to.’

He took a moment, grimacing at the idea. ‘Fine.’ I fought the urge to die on the spot. Whether it was in celebration of winning or grief at a lost night of sleep, I wasn’t sure. He continued, raising an eyebrow, ‘But if anything happens …’

A small daring smirk grew across my lips. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘You’ll punish me if I’m bad?’

His head fell forward, shaking slightly as he mumbled, ‘I hate this already.’