Page 66 of Game Point
Oliver’s hand met his for a quick shake. ‘That’s why they call me the best.’
Dad turned, almost pushing Oliver inside the house, as if he was going to make a run for it while he still could.
‘Nobody calls you the best,’ I teased, following them inside.
He was spared a single moment, looking over his shoulder at me as he winked. ‘I have fans. Stalkers too.’ And then he was completely lost to me, the hoard of family members descending on him. My sisters Lennon and Tessa crowded in, my mum behind her, my nieces at their feet, all welcoming Oliver and me.
‘Everyone, this is Oliver. He’s a friend,’ I shouted, trying to get everyone introduced at once, but my voice was drowned out by the voices.
‘Is this Dylan’s boyfriend?’ I heard Tessa asking Mum.
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I shouted out, Oliver’s head swivelling towards me, that smile, once confident, now turning a little panicked.
I saw Lennon leaning in to Tessa, her voice loud enough for me to hear. ‘Isn’t he staying with her?’
‘He’s in the spare,’ I yelled.
Lennon’s brown eyes met mine, a flash of a cocky expression sent my way. ‘Last time I checked there wasn’t a bed in the spare.’
I sent her a scowl, the hoard slowly moving with us, through to the much wider kitchen. ‘There’s a blow-up bed in there and you know it.’
‘Awfully touchy, isn’t she?’ I saw Tessa looking rather pleased with herself, and I was about to say something I’d regret when Mum cut through the chaos.
‘Everyone out!’ she shouted, her voice unwavering, ‘You can meet them when they’ve had a moment to breathe. Everyone in the yard.’
My sisters grumbled a similar command to their children, the hallway quickly emptying as Mum pulled me in for a hug.
‘How you going, bug?’ she said into my shoulder. ‘It’s good to have you home.’
I really,reallysqueezed her back, taking a proper moment to enjoy the hug. I loved my dad, but there was something about that first hug from Mum that got me, that said ‘you are home, relax’. When I released her from my grasp, I introduced her to Oliver, him earning his own hug from her.
‘It’s nice to have you.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I hope Dylan’s feeding you well. She’s not much of a cook.’
He looked at me, as if to joke ‘who knew?’ While Mum had her back turned to me, I held my middle finger up to him, hiding it as she turned around.
‘She’s doing just fine.’ He smiled politely.
‘Well, there’s a barbeque outside,’ Mum said to us both, taking my hand, her fingers running over my palm. ‘We’ve got some burgers and sausages going; food won’t be long.’ She turned to me as she released my hand. ‘Everyone is in the yard when you are ready.’ Mum left us, heading into the kitchen.
Oliver let out a low whistle, taking a moment to look around. ‘The childhood home of Dylan Bailey.’ He rubbed his palms together, a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘What will we uncover?’
‘Probably a lot of tennis trophies.’
‘All second place, I assume,’ he jabbed.
I mocked fake offence. ‘You are rude. I welcome you to my home, I feed you –’
‘We almost set fire to the house,’ he interrupted.
‘And this is how you repay me?’ I couldn’t help the stupid fucking grin across my lips. Having him around was unexpected from the moment he’d appeared beside me on the plane. And despite his first instances being annoying (read: persistent and unwanted helpfulness), he’d grown on me. It had taken me over a week to visit my family because for the first time in months, I wasn’t painfully lonely.
And because I wasn’t ready to face my sisters calling him my boyfriend without my cheeks going a particular bright berry shade of red. He wasn’t anything close to a boyfriend. And I was growing painfully, horribly aware of that fact. Mostly because I had to keep reminding myself of it.
We headed through to the yard, my dad working the grill, eyeing Oliver suspiciously as he menacingly rotateda sausage. We sat down next to my sisters, Oliver instantly getting acquainted with them and their husbands, the handshake into a hug combo working overtime. Two minutes in the door and it was like he was already at home.
Oliver continued to bear up well under the third degree, batting away all my relatives’ questions while my two older nieces dashed about, running circles around his seat. Meanwhile, Oliver looked at ease in a navy shirt, a pair of stone-grey shorts, and Ray-Bans. He fitted into the Australian climate better than me.
‘I’ll go get us a drink. I’m sure Mum’s already on it.’ I excused myself only when I was sure Oliver could hold his own against my relatives. He smiled confidently back at me, my brother-in-law going in again to ask him about what shoes he wears on court, and if he could have a signed pair to sell on eBay.
