Page 50 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Dylan

C’est Comme ?a – Paramore

As I turned away from the arena, making my way down the tunnel, I couldn’t help the delighted laughter from breaking, the electricity of the crowd leaving my hair standing on end. I’d played here before, and every single time the rush of the high was unmatched. Today, however, I’d outdone myself.

A force slammed into me, long arms wrapping around my sweaty torso.

‘How the fuck did you manage that?’ Inés practically screamed.

‘I thought you were down for the count.’ She released me; she was only slightly shorter than me but her slim body made me feel like a giant this close to her.

She was dressed in a fashionable one piece, the emerald colour paired perfectly with her sun-kissed olive skin.

I adjusted my racket bag back on my shoulder, mocking and pushing my ponytail back over my shoulder. ‘Never count me out.’

‘Mila was pissed,’ she pressed, linking arms and dragging me back towards the locker rooms, dodging press and other players who were lurking.

‘She’ll get over it,’ I said as we reached the busy warm-up area, players and coaches taking up every bit of spare room. I looked over at her as we walked, ‘When do you play?’

‘Later today.’

‘Feeling good?’ I asked carefully. Ever since Inés’ win at Roland Garros, she’d been plagued with injury. Between operations, intensive training and retiring early from tournaments, she’d barely played in the later stages.

‘Yeah, I think so,’ she nodded, unhooking our arms. ‘My wrists are improving and Brisbane went well. Scottie beat me again but she’s lucky I like her.’

I hummed in agreement. I’d followed her matches, rooted for her as I always did. Turned the TV off before I watched her lose again. I never liked to watch friends lose, only win, but only when they weren’t playing against me.

‘Felt like everything kept going wrong for you,’ I mumbled. Inés had been a good player, fun to compete against. She was the kind of person you couldn’t help but be friends with, despite how competitive we both got.

‘Life of a tennis player, I guess.’ She took my racket bag from me as I climbed onto a treadmill, pressing the options into a light walk.

It was my chosen way to cool down after a match, taking a brisk stroll to transition my mind and body from the high-intensity setting that was required.

She continued, ‘Once you get one injury, it feels like it’s non-stop. ’

Her words struck me a little harder than normal.

My mind went to my ankle which I hadn’t allowed myself to give much thought to since winning the match.

Mind over matter, and with that sort of celebration from the crowd, it was easy to be distracted.

But now that my feet hit the treadmill, I could feel weakness in the joint burning hotter like a brand.

Walk it off, Bailey. Like you always do.

‘Speaking of injuries.’ Oliver appeared, walking towards us, his lips pressed into a disapproving thin line.

‘Oh hi,’ Inés greeted, smiling his way. But he didn’t look at her, instead his attention fixed on me.

‘We need to get ice on that ankle,’ he instructed.

I didn’t dare to match his gaze, instead looking ahead, keeping my focus. ‘It’s fine.’ I shrugged his concerns off, thinking of the rest of my body, my heart rate still thundering in my chest. Even faster now he’d entered the room.

‘I still want you to rest it.’ He leaned forward, slowly pressing the down button on the treadmill speed. ‘I’ll get the physio to meet you in your room.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I ground out, increasing the speed again. The faster movement caught me off guard, almost causing me to misstep and fall on my face. Panicking, I was forced to press the stop button, that simmer turning into a rolling boil as I handed him his next point.

‘Dylan,’ he pressed, his hands placed at the top of the treadmill, forcing me to look at him. I tried not to melt instantly. His stupidly adorable fluff of brown hair was all pushed up, like he’d been pushing his fingers back in it, all stressed and worried while he watched.

I rolled my head towards Inés. ‘Just ignore him, he gets grumpy when I argue.’

She raised her hands. ‘I’m staying out of this.’

‘Inés, you’re playing soon right?’ Oliver asked.

She nodded. ‘I’m next up.’

‘Good luck,’ he said sincerely. ‘I bet she listens to her coach.’

‘She doesn’t give me much choice in the matter,’ Inés mumbled.

‘See?’ he said, looking at me.

I only shrugged him off, climbing down from the treadmill as the ache began to grow in my legs and thighs. ‘Who are you against?’ I asked Inés.

‘Chloe Murphy.’

I grimaced, the name sparking the tiniest dash of embarrassment. I remembered what she’d said to the press after the China Open, and that was what she said in public. I could only imagine what was screamed behind closed doors. ‘They put you together this early?’

She shrugged. ‘The draw moves in strange ways.’

I looked at her, really trying to read her expression, see how she was feeling.

She sounded confident, but a competitor like Chloe was tricky.

I’d underestimated her, and come out worse.

She was young, not a lot of experience playing at this level, but even I had to admit she was definitely a threat by now.

‘Well, good luck,’ I smiled. ‘Not that you’ll need it.’

Inés looked unconvinced. ‘She just won the China Open. That’s a big tournament.’

‘I remember. I was there,’ I grumbled unhappily. ‘Besides, she had an unfair advantage. I’d just been in a car crash.’

Inés let out a heavy sigh. ‘One – you were out of your mind.’ She counted her reasons on her fingers. ‘Two – never count anyone out. She’s dangerous on court.’

‘That’s a good point, when did she get so good?’ We moved from the treadmill, finding somewhere to sit and cool down. ‘She went from crashing out at the first round at Wimbledon to lifting the trophy in Beijing. She had a good run in New York too.’

‘She didn’t switch coaches. I think it’s her brother who coaches her,’ Oliver said, on his knees in front of me.

I looked at him, confused, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing.

Then, in his hand, I noticed the ice pack he must’ve been preparing.

Carefully he placed it on my ankle. I hissed as the icy cold touched my skin.

‘Whatever she’s been doing,’ I said, ‘I want a piece.’

Oliver let out a mock gasp, his grip tightening on my leg. ‘Is my training not good enough?’

My eyes found his, a daring smile on my lips. ‘You let me get away with hell.’

He laughed, the noise a quiet rumble that came from his chest. I know how that sound feels, know what it’s like to be lying next to him, our bodies pressed together, those vibrations buzzing through me. He said quietly, ‘Like anyone could control you.’

I shrugged knowingly. ‘You try your best.’

For a moment, it was only us in the room, his simple touch on my leg, thumb rubbing back and forth as if to soothe the burning cold pressed to my skin. I knew this look from him. It was a heated, intense gaze, filled with a careful caution. He looked at me this way when he was between my legs too.

Inés coughed, bringing me back into the room. I turned to find her smile crooked, an eyebrow raised.

I broke the silence before she had a chance to say anything. ‘Good luck with your match. I’m rooting for you.’

‘Thanks,’ her gaze still flickering between Oliver and me. My gaze turned hard as if to dare her to say anything about us. Instead, she settled on me, pushing her dark hair behind her ear, ‘It will be good to have another shot at kicking your ass.’

‘I look forward to beating you.’

Her mouth fell open, but all I could think about was Oliver at my feet, his fingers now working in the way the physio had taught him to help take down the swelling.

That careful touch. He did it every night, starting at my ankle with a cold touch, massaging up my calf with those gentle fingers, a trail of lingering kisses up my thigh.

‘Hey – I will cut your racket strings if you aren’t careful.’ Inés warned, pointing a finger towards me, a darkened look in her face. I had no doubt she was lying this time. These tennis girls lost their goddamn minds sometimes.

‘First you have to win and stick around long enough.’

‘Another very motivating reason,’ she said. I hadn’t played against her in a while but there was no doubt in my mind she was still just as fun a competitor as I remembered.

‘Inés,’ a tall woman shouted from across the room, her blonde hair tied back in a tight bun. ‘Time to warm up.’

My friend looked apologetically at me, ‘Duty calls.’

‘I’ll see you around.’ She pulled me into a tight hug. I murmured a final ‘Good luck.’

Inés sent Oliver a small wave as she walked away, heading over to the other side of the room to start her preparation for the match ahead of her.

‘See, now that’s how you should act,’ Oliver said, shifting from the floor in front of me, sliding into the seat beside me, his work with my ankle done for now.

On instinct, I crossed my legs, bringing my ankle over my thigh, my own fingers gently assessing the tender injury, the skin still cold where the ice pack had been.

I looked up at him. ‘I should be at your beck and call?’

‘A good player would be.’

‘Are you saying I’m not good?’

‘Well, you definitely aren’t well behaved.’

‘Nope,’ I grinned playfully, ‘and you knew that coming in.’

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. I tracked the movement, fascinated by the stretch of his muscles, his T-shirt sleeve pushing up, revealing biceps. ‘I should’ve run while I had the chance.’

‘Like I’d let you get far.’

That evening in the car came to mind. When he told me he was leaving. When I’d made him stay. My fingers ached to feel his interlaced with mine, the physical ache to remind myself he was really here. That he had never left.

‘So,’ Oliver started, looking a little uncomfortable. ‘Should we talk about things out there?’

‘On court?’ I asked. Oliver nodded. ‘You mean I have a choice?’