Page 66 of Clean Point

‘In Greek,’ he added, unnecessarily. I had paused for a moment, looking ahead at the rolling ocean waves, before returning, my brain a stalled engine.

‘Cockroach,’ I repeated.

He nodded.

‘Like … the little bug with all the legs. The disgusting, garbage thing?’

I knew what a cockroach was, what I didn’t know was why the man who almost had his head between my legs last night was calling me one.

‘I didn’t mean it,’ he said, as if that was supposed to be a comfort. ‘At first.’

‘At first?’ I shrieked in confusion, really not sure how to take it. How was someone supposed to react to being called a gross trash bug in a different language?

‘Look, yes it’s a bug, it was a mindless insult I promise. But it … worked? They say if there was ever a nuclear winter, like world ending shit, that the cockroaches would survive.’

Another shriek. ‘So?’

‘That’s you.’

A single eyebrow pushed up. ‘I’m a bug?’

‘No, you’re strong.’ His words caught me off guard, if still recovering from the true meaning of the nickname. ‘You went through hell and survived it. You’re a force to be reckoned with. On and off the court. I don’t know how, but you survived the unimaginable, and came back. I don’t think many people could do what you have.’

‘Okay, well …’ I trailed off, still very unsure of this. ‘I think there was a compliment in there. Somewhere. But I still don’t appreciate it.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘Maybe I should come up with a meaner nickname for you,’ I teased, trying to move on.

‘Because calling me ancient wasn’t mean enough?’

‘It was “old man” actually,’ I corrected. ‘And at least it wasn’t a literal bug.’

‘True,’ he admitted, still looking rather guilty. ‘How about I come up with another nickname?’

I paused, lips pressing together. ‘How about just use my name?’

‘But where’s the fun in that?’

I couldn’t help but laugh, hating how effortlessly I had almost forgiven him. ‘You’ll have to make it a really good nickname.’

He opened his mouth to reply, when a cat from the villa pushed in between us, rubbing its head and neck against Nico’s arm.

Nico tsked. ‘What do you want? I don’t have any food for you.’ But instead of shooing the cat away, he rubbed its head, giving in to its little feline demands.

It wasn’t until he had the cat scooped up into his arms that I interrupted, ‘What happened to hating the cats?’

‘Annoying,’ he admitted. ‘They’ve clawed their way to my heart.’ Then he smiled at me, a self-satisfied look spread wide across his face. ‘Almost like somebody else I know.’

29

Nico

Lullabies – CHVRCHES

‘Nico, how has your game play changed since your recovery?’ A reporter in a sea of many inched forward, his phone held out in his hand to capture my words. The hush over the packed room continued, the only noise the incessant clicking of a camera intent on capturing every moment.

I adjusted uncomfortably in my seat, squirming again under the spotlights of the press conference. ‘I … worked on my movement and footwork, making them more precise and efficient. We’ve also done a lot of work on my serve, adapting my playing style to be more strategic.’

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