Page 34 of Clean Point

‘I could go back with him,’ I offered, my heart skipping. ‘Make sure he gets back to the van. Find some ice to take down the swelling.’

Jon appeared uneasy, looking between the both of us suspiciously. The moment was long and tense as the gears turned in Jon’s brain. I was sure he was about to tell us to put on our big person pants and suck it up.

‘Fine,’ he relented. He dug through his shorts, throwing the minivan keys to me. I caught them, trying not to look too relieved we’d been excused. ‘It will be another two hours, so I don’t want to hear any complaints that you had to wait for us.’

I didn’t need to be told twice as I turned around and stormed down the hill. Nico, still feigning injury, hot on my heels.

Jon yelled as he became but a tiny figure in the distance. ‘Go straight back to the minivan!’

17

Scottie

Wildest Dreams – Taylor Swift

We did not go back to the minivan.

Instead, we took a path down the hill towards Lindos town, the cosy alleyways lined with tiny shops selling everything from fancy soap and jewellery to cheap souvenirs. Open bars blasted music as we navigated the busy streets, swerving around groups of tourists, and dodging waiters trying to lure us in with promises of cheap food and large portions.

It was like stepping into another world. I could’ve lost myself in the atmosphere, in the buzz the crowds offered, but when I spied the green glowing cross, I turned to Nico behind me.

‘Is your knee hurting?’ I asked, looking at the pharmacy.

His face crumpled into a grimace. ‘A little, but I just need to rest.’

I nodded understandingly, looking around and spotting a bar sitting off the street, a football match playing over the screen. I sent him a charming impossible-to-say-no-to smile, gesturing towards the bar.

‘Jon said to go back to the van,’ Nico reminded me.

‘You heard him. They won’t be back for another two hours! Do you want to sit in the hot sticky van, or do you want to have a drink for the first time in weeks?’

‘Are you always this rebellious? First coffee, now alcohol?’

‘I said drink. You can have a Pepsi if you want,’ I pointed out. ‘Or you could go wild and order a diet.’

Nico paused, narrowing his eyes on me. ‘Fine, but only one.’

We found a table, sitting along the busy street, which provided us a perfect view for people watching. When the waiter arrived, placing a bowl of pistachios between us, I ordered a beer. Nico eyed me before ordering the same.

Taking that first sip almost washed away the stress and tension of the previous weeks, of the worry and gruelling labour getting my body back into the shape necessary. When I looked over at Nico, his expression was relaxed as he drank the cold amber liquid.

‘Better than a Pepsi?’ I teased.

His eyes met mine, lips pressed together. ‘It’s been a while since I had either.’

‘You don’t ever cut loose?’

‘I used to,’ he admitted. ‘Everything recently has been aimed toward recovery and keeping my body in the best condition I can.’

‘And what? One beer will destroy your entire recovery?’

He smiled. ‘That and my dietitian was a very scary person who ruled what entered my body with an iron fist.’

‘Sounds …’ I trailed off, grimacing at the memories. My life had been like that once. ‘Terrible.’

‘Are you much of a beer drinker?’ he asked.

‘It’s fine. I’m more of a cocktail person. Give me a tequila old-fashioned and you’ll make my night,’ I joked, remembering my favourite drink as a part of me began to miss my London life. But while those years had been fun and wild, and the training had been demanding, tennis was in my bones.

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