Page 15 of Love Game

“Ready to start?” Dane says.

The other team agrees without smiling.

The match begins. It’s tightly contested, like I expected. The older guy isn’t the fastest but he’s super wily, with an array of drop shots and trick shots that really piss Mia off. Not as dopey as he looked, then. His teenage partner takes care of the running, covering for him at the back of the court. A few times she reaches a shot that I was sure was impossible. But Mia and Dane are on top form. Mia is a pain in the ass, but she can play. And Dane seems elevated to a higher level than I’ve ever seen before. His serves are harder and deeper, and his trademark backhand zips down the line to win the point time after time. I want to tell myself that it’s my support that’s driving him to greater heights. A possessive, proud part of myself speaks up every time he kicks ass.Mine. He’s mine.

So much for not getting carried away in my feelings. I can’t help it. He just looks too cute with his mouth all hard with determination, his blue eyes raking the opposite court for any opening, and his athletic body pouncing to finish off point after point. It’s nice not to be the target of that wrath for once. To feel like I’m on the same side. When he wins an important point he runs his hands through his sweaty hair and looks right at me in triumph. My stomach flipflops.

Dane and Mia take the first set. I clap and meet Dane’s gaze, clenching my fists in celebration without yelling out loud. I’mmaking sure not to get too demonstrative, mindful of the fact that I’m just here as a “friend”.

It’s in the second set that things get unstuck. Mia makes a line call that the other team disputes. There’s a small argument, but Mia gets her way. I’m pretty sure she made the call correctly this time, ironically, but it turns the watching crowd against her and Dane. Suddenly all the neutrals stop cheering for them. Dane tightens up with nerves. When he hits a double fault, there’s an almost audible gloating murmur from the onlookers. The opposing team’s coach glares right over at us, looking aggressive.

“Asshole,” I mutter.

“Let it go,” Malachi says to me, his eyes fixed on the court, where Dane is trying to regain concentration. “Don’t make things worse for them.”

He’s right, of course. I wonder if he’s baffled by the fact that I’m suddenly in Dane’s corner. If so, he doesn’t say anything.

Mia and Dane are rattled now. They go down a break of serve. Dane’s eyes flicker right to me. It seems instinctive. Like he needs my help.

“Focus,” I shout. “Remember Cloughey.”

I’m hoping he remembers the move he used to win against another team a few weeks ago. I was there watching, a lot more sourly than I’m watching now. He starts to smile; he gets the message. I hold my breath as he and Mia get into the “I” service formation. The other team snickers, like Mia and Dane are getting above themselves. Not many people use the I formation at our level. It could seem like a pretentious move. But it works. It confuses the opposite team. The teen girl can’t cover the whole court as Dane and Mia use the formation to send her the wrong way. It helps them to win the first three points of the game. By the time the other team regroups, they’re too far behind. Dane and Mia win the game. The momentum helps them take the next two games as well. Dane regains his confidence, winning acouple of points in real style, slamming vicious smashes into the corners of the court. The opposite team loses focus and starts to blame each other. It’s not long before Dane and Mia are very unpopular winners. The supporters from our club clap and cheer, while everyone else looks pissed off. Dane looks right at me and mouthsthank you.

**

Dane and Mia have left the court to shower and change. I stay and chat with Malachi and the others for a while. Eventually, I glance at my watch: Dane must’ve finished his shower by now. I have a sudden urge to see him all clean and fresh and vulnerable. Run my hands through his wet blond hair and push it back and kiss his forehead. I excuse myself, saying I need the toilet, and head for the changing rooms. I knock cautiously on the door.

“Anyone in there?” I call.

“Just me.”

It’s Dane’s voice. He sounds pleased that it’s me. I put my hand on the door handle. Anticipation prickles at the tips of my fingers. Butterflies group in my stomach like little soldiers getting into formation. I slip through the door and close it behind me. Dane stands in the middle of the empty changing room, just looking at me. His wet hair is plastered to his forehead just like I imagined. His broad shoulders are bare and there’s a towel wrapped tightly around his waist, falling so low it reveals a scattering of light hair leading downward. His blue eyes still hold a glint of triumph from the win. Even under the sickly changing room fluorescent lights, he looks like a Greek god. My chest tightens and my mouth gets dry. I take a good long look and let him see me watching. Usually we fuck so fast and furious, barely looking at each other, as though we’re afraid to admire, afraid to admit we like what we see.

I walk toward him, and he walks toward me. We meet in the middle of the changing room like challengers. But when heraises his hand, it’s to run his thumb lightly along my jawline, raising goosebumps all over my body.

“You played well,” I say, voice inexplicably hoarse. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He sounds equally choked up.

“You deserve a reward for that performance.” I drop to my knees.

His pupils dilate as he looks down at me. But a nervous, involuntary flicker runs through his fingers. He shoots a quick look at the door of the changing room.

“Scared?” I say.

“A little.”

“Want me to stop?”

He shakes his head, eyes darkening. I reach for the towel around his hips. As I brush his skin, he shivers. He places his hands on my head. Desire curls deep within me. Then the changing room door opens. Dane drags me to my feet so fast my head spins. He pulls up his towel and holds it tight as Malachi comes in. My heart rattles in my chest, but I try to look innocent. Malachi glances between us, forehead crinkling.

“I-I just came in here to congratulate Dane,” I say.

My cheeks feel flushed. Dane is worse: he looks like a red stop sign. His eyes are downcast and his arms are crossed across his chest now like he’s trying to keep the whole world out. It’s not like Malachi even saw anything incriminating; Dane dragged me upright so fast I almost got whiplash.

“Are you two speaking again?” Malachi says. “I thought you’d fallen out.”

There’s an awkward silence. Dane looks like he wishes the floor would swallow him up. My heart drops with disappointment: maybe Mum was right about him. Why do I keep letting him treat me like this? Like an embarrassment? A dirty secret. I wait for him to tell Malachi that not only arewe friends, but we’re considerably more than that. I’ll give him one final chance to step up. But Dane just stares at the floor. A bead of moisture from his hair runs down his neck. If he’d let me, would’ve licked that off his bare hot skin and remembered the taste for days. But now my stomach is clenching because he’s making it so obvious that he’s mortified. He’s practically pleading with me to cover for him. His hands are tense and he’s looking anywhere but at me. I suddenly realize there’s a little dirt from the changing room floor on the knees of my jeans. Malachi’s gaze flicks to it, then between Dane and me again. Dane notices too, and gets even redder, if that were possible. Like he’s having some kind of medical attack. He still says absolutely nothing but he looks miserable, like he’s ashamed of me. Like he wishes I would just vanish into thin air.