Page 83 of Game Point
She grabbed a plain blue notebook, her fingers flicking through the pages, ‘I am not an anxious person.’
‘That’s not what Amy said,’ I said, taking the other one, a pink fluffy thing I bought as a joke. I pulled the attached pen from its holder, looking at the plastic unicorn at the top.Should’ve known this is the one she’d leave me when I bought it.
‘Amy doesn’t know shit.’
‘Sure, let’s ignore her twenty years of experience and doctorate degree.’
‘Yeah, to tell me what some mindfulness Instagram page could tell me.’ She glanced over at me, her eyebrow raised.
‘Well, quit your complaining because we are going to do fifteen minutes,’ I said, unlocking my phone and scrolling to the clock app.
‘Fifteen?’
‘A full quarter,’ I nodded.
She sighed, picking up a pen from the table, inspecting it as if she expected something more interesting like my fancy unicorn pen. ‘I don’t think I have enough thoughts to fill a full fifteen minutes.’
‘From the length of time you have spent complaining, I’ll be surprised if you can fit it all in,’ I joked.
I set the timer, placing it on the table between us. ‘Okay, remember what she said, write it down. It doesn’t matter what you want to do, a stream of consciousness, focus on a topic and explore it. Buttry.’ I said, looking over at her. The reluctance was clear across her face, her displeasure at the task. ‘Fifteen minutes, then we can do something fun.’
‘Fine,’ she ground out. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
I beamed over at her. ‘That’s the spirit.’
Before she changed her mind, I reached over, pressing start on the timer. I watched as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, moving to sit at the opposite side of the table, her dark eyes glued to mine as she clicked her pen loudly, before turning her attention to the diary.
‘Dear diary …’ she said aloud as she scribbled onto the page. I paid no attention, instead letting go as I focused on getting some of the thoughts out of my own brain. Most of it was tennis, going over some game play tactics I had been thinking over, some training schedules I had been planning. But then it switched to Dylan, starting with a recap of the week we’d had together, how I’d seen her progress, some of the weaknesses I hadn’t dared to bring up – yet.
I glanced up at her, expecting to see her bored out ofher mind, doodling or some shit. But instead, her head was propped up on her hand, her elbow resting against the table, still writing on the page.
She looked lost in the moment so I dared to look at her for a little longer as she absentmindedly pushed an escaped strand of glossy brunette hair behind her ear. I’d seen her do it before, that night we weren’tsupposedto think about, but all Ididwas think about it. When she was strutting all over that goddamn court and I had to force my eyes not to check out her perfect ass. When she brushed against me, and I instantly remembered how her skin felt against mine.
My pen hovered over the page, every word pushed from my brain, and leaving me with only thoughts of Dylan. I didn’t want to write any more about her, afraid of what would come out. I couldn’t even bring myself to write her name, as if committing it to paper would make what we did real, permanent somewhere other than in my memory.
The alarm from the phone saved me from having to come up with anything else.
Dylan slamming her diary closed, her pen clicking again. ‘Thank God that’s over.’
‘You don’t want to read it out?’ I joked, a nervous edge to my voice.
‘Nope.’ She pushed back to sit up on knees.
‘You seemed really into it.’ I playfully raised an eyebrow. ‘Like you had a lot to say there.’
‘I started debating which film I was going to make you watch after this was over and then I wrote the same thing over and over.’
‘Somehow I don’t believe you.’ I shook my head at her, opening a side drawer of the coffee table, placing my notebook in there. I looked at her, watching as she reluctantly picked up her journal and placed it next to mine.
‘Too bad you’ll never know,’ she said as I slid the small drawer closed. ‘What did you write down? All your hopes and dreams?’
‘I was coming up with new ways to torture you on the court.’
‘I honestly wouldn’t put it past you,’ she said, her pursed lips catching my eye, reminding me how good they had felt against my skin. How much I wanted to feel that again.
When she’d suggested the idea of having one night – andone night only– to get over whatever this was between us, I’d jumped at the opportunity. To have the privilege of feeling her against me, of being able to touch her, even for a few hours, had been too tempting an offer.
I’d convinced myself that this was the only answer, the only way we could keep our friendship and train, while satisfying the craving we both had. I woke up that next morning still starving for her touch. I was trapped, feeling like every inch of skin she’d touched had been tattooed with ink only I could see. I was left, covered in the memory of her.
