Page 125 of Game Point
‘Draw her in, get her frustrated,’ I added, spotting the American in the distance, no doubt her coach going through their own tactics for Dylan. My heart lurched at the sight of her competition: she was tall with long, strong legs, her dark skin contrasting with the neon-orange dress she was wearing. But one look at Dylan and I could read the confidence in her face, her own brunette hair twisted into delicate plaits.
I stopped, not quite ready to close the distance between us and Aisha.
‘I played her in the US Open,’ she said, not looking too irritated by my reminders. ‘She is easily irritated with delays.’
‘Use that,’ I said. ‘But don’t take the piss, you don’t want to cool down too much,’ I quickly added, rethinking my advice, trying to make sure she understood the line she had to walk. And of course she did, she’d been playing competitively for years. She knew her body better than anyone.
But every time I thought I was pushing too hard, worrying too much, she only smiled, nodding as she reminded me, ‘Don’t worry. I can do it.’
‘I know you can.’ I matched her bright, comforting grin. ‘You’ve got this.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, a genuine smile on her lips. My arms practically ached to pull her into my body, but one glance either way of where we were standing reminded me of how many people were around us. I knew how much it meant to her that we didn’t serve as a distraction from the competition.
The drama it could cause if it got out that we were seeing each other while I was her coach – I couldn’t imagine the chaos in the press room. Never mind among the other players.
I shifted uncomfortably, unsure how else to rid my body of this ache for her. ‘Did you check the racket? The grips?’ I asked, my eyes floating from her to her competitor’s team behind us. They were talking to an official, her coach throwing her hands in the air. The room had grown quieter as the competition continued and other players had been eliminated from the competition.
‘The rackets are fine, Oliver,’ Dylan pressed. ‘I’m ready.’
And she really was. She was prepared, and had the knowledge and self-assurance to know she had this, andthe plan to guarantee it.But why did my stomach still ache at the sight of her ankle taped up?
I tilted my head, and said, ‘I can’t wait to watch you win.’
Her gaze softened, the dangerous look of the on-court Dylan Bailey melting away to a different woman. Still every inch the woman I adored, but not looking at me like she was about to attack me with her racket.
‘Dinner tonight?’ she asked.
‘Isn’t it a little early to celebrate?’
She rolled her eyes, the delicate curve not slipping from her lips. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure my coach will make sure I get an early night.’
I laughed, still somehow managing to lose myself in her. ‘Sometimes I’m not sure who is in charge here.’
‘Oh, it’s definitely me,’ she smirked. ‘Were you under the impression that it was you?’
My cheeks burned from a smile that I could not control or fight as I playfully shrugged my shoulders. ‘I mean … yes.’
‘Men, I swear,’ she said. ‘You’re a cute little puppet I pull the strings on with sex and lodgings.’
‘And here I was worried about an abuse of power,’ I muttered under my breath. The inches between us felt as uncomfortable as miles had. Once I got close to Dylan, any distance felt unbearable.
‘Oh baby,’ she crooned, her voice hushed, ‘You were neverthatworried.’
‘Excuse you, I’ve had many sleepless nights tossing and turning over it.’ She threw her head back in delight, her laughter obnoxiously loud, but I wanted to capture each noise to remember how it sounded, even minutesbefore one of the biggest matches of her life. I opened my mouth to speak again, only to find myself cut off.
‘Dylan Bailey?’ We both turned, finding an official standing behind us, a clipboard in his hands. I wished I’d paid attention to whatever had been happening with Aisha Thompson’s team.
‘Yes,’ Dylan answered.
The official cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, there’s been a delay with the match.’ He stepped to the side, his arms stretched out to guide us. ‘Can you come with me?’
I pressed ahead of Dylan. ‘Where are we going?’
He held out a calming hand, tucking his clipboard under one arm. ‘I’m with the International Tennis Integrity Agency, we are doing a spot test at the tournament before the semi-finals.’
My anxiety heightened at his words. ‘Is Thompson being tested too?’
Testing was random, sometimes held after matches, but being asked to perform one before a match was something I’d never experienced. And while I knew that Dylan had nothing to worry about, I could still feel my blood pressure rocketing, my palms growing sweaty.
