Page 4 of Game Point
My hand slid into his, his palm cold from the icy glass of his bottle. His well-earned callouses meeting my own. There was something in his touch, an intention to the firmness of his hold.
‘Dylan.’ I held his gaze, the dark colour of his eyes hard to place in the low light of the apartment. For a moment, I forgot to let go of his hand.
He smiled as if he knew. ‘Nice to meet you.’
I took a sip, trying to wash the moment away, the one fact I knew about Oliver trying to coordinate itself with the bareness of his fingers.
He was supposed to be married. The tan line on his left fourth finger, beneath his knuckle seemed to confirm it.For safety, I told myself,he took it off in the shower, left it in the bathroom.
‘Have you seen Inés?’ I asked, turning my attention back to the room, the density of the crowd somehow increasing with every moment that passed. ‘I’m in need of my wingwoman.’
‘Inés Costa?’ he asked. I only nodded in reply. His teeth pulled at his bottom lip, and I swear this man blushed as he stumbled for the right words, a pink tinge heating his cheeks.It was annoyingly cute.‘I think she might be … somewhat indisposed.’
I rolled my eyes, somewhat acknowledging I couldn’t be mad at her. At least one of us was getting laid. ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’
‘Some trainer, I think. A blonde?’
‘That’s her type alright.’ Inés might be sweet, one of the best friends you could ask for, especially consideringthere were girls on the tour who would gladly stab you for a boost in their ranking (myself included). But if you were blonde, and open to sleeping with the same sex, you were her type.
‘Guess I’m on my own here,’ I added, before realizing that with Inés suitably distracted, I could slip out with nobody noticing. I doubted anyone would actually miss me.
‘I mean, I could step in,’ Oliver offered. He casually took a sip from his bottle, the tan line on his finger catching my attention again.Dangerous proposition, my friend.
‘In for Ruari?’ I asked slowly, trying to work this man out. What did he want from tonight? I wasn’t interested in being a homewrecker.
‘No,’ he said quickly, and I pushed away the slight sting of embarrassment. ‘I’ll step in for Inés. I’ll wingwoman you.’
‘I think you mean wingman?’ I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. ‘Don’t you have better things to do?’
‘Normally, yes,’ he said, ‘but I lost today, so I’d like to at least help somebody else score.’
‘Commiserations.’ I stretched out my arm, my glass meeting his bottle. ‘To the second-place losers in the room.’
He looked at me a little funny as the neck of his bottle met my glass, clinking together. ‘Second place isstillsecond place.’
I forced a smile and took a drink of the champagne to clear the roughness in my throat, but the bubbles still burned as I swallowed.It’s funny how Veuve Clicquot tastes like defeat.
‘It’s not first.’
He blinked, his eyes not moving from me, as if he wastaking a moment to try and understand, to really see me. I did not like it. Not for a moment.
‘Come on then, wingperson,’ I said. ‘Where do you suggest we start? Who’s single?’
His shoulders pulled back as his attention shifted away from me, and instead he looked around the room. We surveyed the other party goers, and I could practically hear both of us mentally crossing people from the list.
‘Have you met Alexei?’ I followed his line of sight across the luxuriously appointed apartment where the controversial blond player was laughing obnoxiously.
I scrunched my nose, looking back at Oliver with horror. ‘You mean the asshole who claimed the women’s competition was easier?’
He reeled back, obviously remembering the unfortunate headline from a year ago. ‘That’s true. I’m not sure who invited him.’
‘I suspect he snuck in.’
Oliver laughed. ‘What about Léna Nagy? She’s nice.’
I sighed, almost resigning myself to the disaster of a night. ‘Unfortunately, like many, I have been cursed with heterosexuality. I have considered on many occasions making the switch, after all the male species are …’ I struggled to find the word, so many descriptors coming into my brain all at once.
‘Pretty awful?’ he suggested.
