Page 109 of Game Point
‘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?’
He raised his hands, weighing the options. ‘It’s more of a now or later situation.’
‘I could say later and just distract you …’
‘True.’ He pushed himself up from his chair, replying with a determined tone. ‘Let’s do it now.’
I threw my head back, eyes closed as I grunted in disapproval. Cracking an eye open, I found Oliver holding a small pocket notebook, a pencil in the other hand.
‘What happened with your ankle?’ he asked, not pulling any punches.
I swallowed down my anxiety, instead replying in a flat tone. ‘I fell.’
‘Do you think this is the same injury from Brisbane?’ he pressed.
‘Of course it’s the injury,’ I snipped. ‘But it’s fine.’
‘How can you say it’s fine?’
I rubbed my palm over my face. And as much as I felt the lingering weight of the anxiety, the potential it had to crush me, I also felt … hopeful?
‘Because it’s incredible that I’m here three weeks after a sprain like this. Which is, of course, a credit to your amazinglyattentivecoaching skills,’ I said, sending him a look. ‘But it’s going to come up, and we were prepared for this, remember? This is why you were on your knees massaging my ankle just now.’
The stress etched across his face smoothed out, relenting as he shifted closer, his tone low and flirty. ‘Couldn’t I have been on my knees for another reason?’
‘Yes,’ I crooned, before my eyes flickered to the room around us. ‘But there are other people around so I assumed it’s option A.’
Carefully he leaned back over into his own seat, the space between us heavy and electrified. I needed him as badly as I needed a shower.
‘Who would’ve thought you’d be the one talking me down?’
‘I know. It’s almost like all that mental-health witch-doctor crap you put me through wasn’t for nothing,’ I joked, but there was an edge of understanding to my words because even if I’d gone into his training apprehensive, the work we had done had obviously paid off. My mind felt prepared. Like all the toxic habits I carried with me into a competition could be managed. I still felt them, but I didn’t engage. Maybe it was having him around, a distraction, something else todothan spiral.
He grinned with pride, revelling a little in the knowledge that his master plan had succeeded. ‘How’s the head?’
‘I’ve had no complaints.’ He laughed softly. I continued, ‘It’s fine. It’s on straight, I promise.’
Oliver looked at me with an expression I wasn’t sure I could quite read. Then it melted away as his tone turned flirty, his body stretching out, knee touching mine. ‘I think I should stick around tonight, make sure you get the full required eight hours.’
I hummed, pretending to take my time considering his offer. ‘I do like my coaching hands on.’
I looked out into the ocean of hungry reporters and sighed. I hated this part. The dissection of a competitor’s soul served up for lunch. It had been a few hours since the match, and I’d cooled down, stretched and showered.
‘You recently had to pull out of Brisbane because of an injury,’ one reporter said, the clicking of a dozen cameras breaking the hush over the room. He held his phone out to me, recording my every word. ‘Do you feel ready to play in this tournament?’
