Page 5 of Game Point
‘I was going to go with fucking terrible, but that works just as well.’
He held his hands up in innocence. ‘I didn’t want to make any assumptions.’
I hummed in agreement, readjusting my position onthe sofa. His thick arm grazed mine, bare skin meeting as he moved, his head leaning slightly closer to my ear as a familiar face passed us, a friendly, flirty smile sent my way.
‘Ryan?’ Oliver asked, his eyes following Ryan to the back of the room. A night I had failed to forget from a year ago replayed in my mind, a very regretful mistake after the last US Open. I shook my head.
‘Been there. Done that.’ I turned to meet Oliver’s dark gaze. ‘Never again.’
‘Okay, well, this is impossible. I give up.’ He threw his hands up in defeat.
‘You give up? Already?’ I laughed. ‘Am I that much of a terrible prospect?’
‘Far too picky.’
‘I think you overestimate your wingman capabilities.’ I rolled my eyes at him, ‘You only gave me three options. All of which were unsuitable.’
‘One was perfectly fine before,’ he pointed out. ‘What’s wrong with a repeat performance?’
Blunt honesty bit at my tongue. ‘Yeah, we just were … not a good match.’
Oliver sent me a look of slight confusion, his eyebrow raised in question.
‘In bed,’ I added, trying to answer his silent question. His gaze only turned more burning; the question was still apparently unanswered. A small smile threatened at my lips, the truth a little scandalous. I held his gaze as I told him the truth, watching his confident expression crumple. ‘The man failed to make me orgasm. He was averyselfish lover.’
Oliver’s cheeks burned a gorgeous shade of red as hisgaze shot across the room. He swallowed down a mouthful of his drink, his throat bobbing before he spoke. ‘Okay then. Not a reasonable choice.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And women are definitely out?’
‘Trust me, mate. I wish.’
He sighed, seemingly tapping back into his endless well of positivity. ‘Okay, different game plan. Follow me.’
I weighed up my options, wondering if I should take a second look around for Inés, or even take the opportunity to leave. After all, I had been dragged to the party, and then unceremoniously abandoned.
But then I considered my empty hotel room. A small replica runners-up trophy sitting in its box on my dresser. I hadn’t even been able to open the lid. When they’d given it to me after the match, I’d forced myself to smile, refusing to look bitter from the loss. I knew what they said about me, how they whispered about ‘always the bridesmaid never the bride’ Dylan and my inability to close out a fucking final.
But what they didn’t see was the Friday evening before. When I spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to find any relief. My mind played over and over the last run of finals I’d managed to make, picking apart all the lazy mistakes, all the stupid returns I should’ve run faster for, cursing myself for not training enough because obviously if I had, I would’ve won by now.
I’d arrived that morning at the arena with little over a couple hours of sleep, a jittery anxious mess. And I’d walked off empty-handed. Somehow, being alone with these thoughts felt marginally less appealing than spending another few hours here.
I followed Oliver as he led me across the apartment to the dining room, where a little white net separated the table into the two halves.
‘Table tennis? Really?’ I looked to Oliver, unsure if this was supposed to be a joke. ‘Isn’t this a little too on the nose?’
He laughed, that damn smile of his breaking out again. I had to stop with this champagne, it was making me delirious.
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But the excellent thing about table tennis is …’ He found the tiny net that was set up in the middle of the table and pulled at the knots that kept it in place, the net turning slack. ‘It doubles as an excellent surface for beer pong.’
I had to fight down my own smile that grew across my lips at the sound of the words ‘beer pong’ in his rich and heavy English accent. ‘And this is supposed to get me laid how?’
‘We are in a room full of competitive athletes, Dylan,’ he answered. ‘Competitive athletes, with one night off. And we’ve got a drinking game.’
Maybe the man did have some good ideas in him.‘Guess we should get some beer then.’
Turning, Oliver caught the attention of one of the waiters, quickly ordering a few bottles of beer and cups.
