Page 57 of Clean Point

‘What about the mistakes I made?’ he argued. ‘Do you want to see me beating myself up over them?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘And do you know why you won’t catch me doing that?’ My focus pulled to him, those grey eyes on me. ‘Because it’s not worthwhile. A million things can go wrong between the start of the match and the final bounce of the ball, and about ninety-nine percent of them are out of your control. The mistakes you made, out of your control. Just don’t get …’ Something in his voice changed, the firm line of his jawline stiffening. ‘Don’t get distracted.’

The word hung in the air between us, like a secret code between us. Distracted.

Did he feel it too? I’d seen how he looked at me, it was getting hard to pretend I hadn’t. It was even harder to pretend I didn’t do my own fair share of looking. See: my eyes fixed on his instead of trailing down the hard line of biceps that had been teasing me. But he’d given it a name, and I couldn’t argue with it, not with everything that was already on the line.

Distraction. We were walking on a knife edge, trying to keep ourselves upright before the hardest three weeks of our lives. Anything new, any move unconsidered, could put that balance at risk.

‘Yeah.’ The word croaked out of me as I nodded my head, looking away from Nico, and instead down at the gritted ground of the court, rubbing the sole of my trainer into the grass. I shook my head. ‘Of course. You’re right. We’ve got to focus.’

I knew what this would take. For us to get anywhere, to win, I had to stop with the flirting and the staring and the constant thinking about how hard the muscle of his thick thighs must be, how they would feel under my hands.

All of that had to wait. Or better yet, disappear entirely. That would be easier. Cleaner.

‘This next bit, it’s all about confidence,’ he began again, the tone changing as the tight air loosened around us. ‘Trust me, if something went wrong, Jon would be over here kicking your ass about it. But he wasn’t. He was busy chewing Inés out for her mistakes because they were avoidable.’

I looked across to where they had been standing, finding that they had dispersed, Jon finished with his complaining for the day. Then, catching me off guard, Nico’s hand slipped against mine. The contact almost had me flinching until I released it was supposed to be harmless, but my heart pounded all the same.

That tightrope came into view. A balancing act between staying the course, keeping our focus, and falling into whatever had been building between us. But he spoke again, and I would’ve taken a pair of scissors to the rope if it meant I could keep feeling how he’d made me feel.

‘There is not a single shred of doubt in my body over being your partner, Scottie. I trust you implicitly.’ A caress of his shoulder against mine threatened to be overwhelming. I was quickly learning that anything that seemed simple about Nico was in fact the opposite. Instead, he was layered and nuanced, and I was beginning to grow addicted to every scrap of closeness I could gain from him.

‘Whether we win or lose, we do it together,’ he finished, and I could see it in my mind’s eye. The result of our work, standing Centre Court on a summer’s day in London. Standing with him. That was beginning to feel like it would be enough of a reward.

All I could do was nod because words were beyond my capability as I watched the bob of his throat before tracing the curve of his comforting smile. When we arrived six weeks ago, I wasn’t even sure he could smile. He was just grumpy. All the time. Now, all he seemed to do was smile.

‘Together,’ I echoed, trying to return his smile. With one last squeeze, his hand slipped from mine, and he stood up and helped me to my feet. Looking around, we found the court empty, everyone else having disappeared.

‘We better head inside before they send out a search party for us,’ he said, but there was still a reluctance in my bones, telling me I wasn’t quite done.

‘You go ahead. I’ll save Jon a job and clean up here.’

‘I can help.’

‘No, it’s fine. You should probably hit the shower.’ I winked, trying not to protest too hard. He narrowed his eyes in mock disdain before lifting an arm and taking a strong whiff. And judging by the twist of disgust that appeared across his features, he didn’t disagree.

‘Okay, maybe you’re right,’ he conceded, before reaching for the hat atop his head. I tried not to feel the well of emotion opening up inside of me, the soft twist of my gut, the begging of every nerve end to touch him as he stepped close, and placed the hat on my head, adjusting it so it sat snugly.

He took a step back, analysing his work. ‘It looks better on you, anyway,’ he admitted. The squeeze of my heart was a cruel and beautiful thing. A reminder that he was forbidden. At least, that’s what I had to keep telling myself.

‘See you inside.’ Nico slung his bag over his shoulder and left me alone. It took me a moment to collect myself. My fingertips ran over the stitching on the edge of the cap, trying not to read into his actions, but failing. I shook my head and set up the ball machine, then grabbed my racket, and redid what I had messed up during practice until I got it perfectly.

Each ball I hit, I put something of myself into it, this ballooning feeling that’s grown too big for my chest. I needed to vent it before it overtook me, before it knocked me from my balance.

Before I did something stupid.

26

Nico

hoax – Taylor Swift

I had been feeling good about my knee, experiencing less and less pain after practices and making sure I kept up with my physio’s recommended exercises.

Only to get taken out by a cat.

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