5 Scottie
5
You’re Just A Boy (And I’m Kinda The Man) – Maisie Peters
Jon laid out the plan. Within a few days, we’d ship out to a training program he’d set up at a private complex in Rhodes. There were already a few different pros at the camp, which would give us the opportunity to play against varied competitors and would offer shared access to some of the top trainers and professionals in the sport. Then six weeks’ later, we’d make our anticipated comeback at Wimbledon. It would have been ideal to have a warm-up tournament to attend first, allowing me to ease back into that world, but since this was the first event after my ban expired, it was the only option Jon proposed.
Not to mention, Nico seemed to make it clear this was the only event he was interested in.
After I left Jon’s, I heard nothing from my new mixed partner. Not surprising, given he barely looked at me while Jon had laid out the plan, going over the names of personal trainers and nutritionists he’d involve in our training. All of them were new to me. I’d asked Jon only to use people he trusted, and more importantly, people with no connection to Matteo.
I still wasn’t sure about the plan when the travel itinerary for the trip to Greece landed in my inbox, and again, still half convincing myself as I stuffed all my belongings back into the two large suitcases I lived out of.
I stopped at the row listed on my ticket. Ignoring my assigned aisle seat, I slid into the window spot instead. I’d never enjoyed flying. Something about being sealed into a metal container that hurled itself 33,000 feet or so in the air had always left my stomach twisting into knots. The window made it slightly better when motion sickness kicked in, and so I always tried to reserve it. Hopefully the rightful owner wouldn’t mind. If they did, I’d grab the barf bag and warn them out of the splash zone.
Getting comfortable, I continued to weigh up the pros and cons of agreeing to become mixed partners with Nico Kotas. I’d been left with sleepless nights ever since Jon appeared on my mum’s doorstep, so I had resolved to use the four-hour flight time to sleep it off. Once we landed, there wouldn’t be much time for rest. We had a lot of ground to cover if we were going to get into shape in time. Placing a silk sleep mask on, before propping my head against the window, I closed my eyes and tried to relax, surrendering to the weariness and allowing sleep to wash over me.
‘You’re in my seat.’ I was almost sure I’d dreamt up the voice, but one peep from under the eye mask and I discovered Nico staring down at me, donning a cap and a face contorted with irritation.
Casting a glance at the exasperated passengers forming a line behind him, I suggested quickly, ‘Can you take the aisle? I’m a nervous flyer.’
His grim expression didn’t waver, eyes fixed to me.
‘No.’
His sharp retort hung in the air for a moment, causing me to pause and process it. His hand rested on the headrest in front, fingers tapping impatiently. Somehow, I managed a polite smile at the growing queue behind him, answering Nico through gritted teeth.
‘I’m sure we could swap.’
My stomach already began to twist, mouthwatering at the memory of jittery take-offs, violent spells of turbulence, and that one time I’d watched Cast Away.
He shook his head, his stoney unrelenting reaction not giving me any further reason to admit weakness to him. ‘If the plane crashes, we need to be in our assigned place.’
I stared up at him with a blank expression of disbelief, my lips parting in shock. What kind of sick mind brings up a plane crash while boarding? I was already beginning to wish I’d accepted that Valium from Mum. Sighing, I decided to relent, knowing when to pick my battles, and sparing myself from delving deeper into the twisted mind of Nico Kotas. Besides, from his insistence, it didn’t seem like he’d be understanding of a fear of flying. He’d probably call it exposure therapy as he relaxed into his comfortable window seat.
We’d soon all pay the price if I spent the flight throwing my guts up into a paper bag.
‘What a cheery thought,’ I grumbled, pushing myself to stand. I shuffled out of the row, and into the aisle. Nico moved, removing his backpack and began to place it in the overhead locker. I had to lean backward to avoid contact with his large body, the space between us disappearing into millimetres as his thick arms stretched upward. I twisted my neck, averting my eyes from the distracting curve of bicep.
As he stepped in front of me, the air filled with an overwhelming scent of clean soap and sharp mint. It felt like forever, but he finally passed, and I slid down next to him.
Being forced to sit next to him in economy was entirely on Jon. ‘Team building’, he’d call it.
Pulling the eye mask back down, I tried to settle again, attempting to find some semblance of comfort in the less desirable aisle seat, his knee already bumping against mine as we both tried to stretch our long legs out. Leaning back, I attempted to rest my arms on the shared armrest, only to have my arm abruptly pushed off the side. I pulled away the mask and turned to find Nico settled in his seat, his tree trunk arm occupying the entire middle armrest. My eyes lingered on the intricate black design of the tattoo wrapped around his arm, following the straight geometric ink that started under the cap of his sleeve.
‘Excuse me,’ my voice sliced through the air, my narrowed eyes fixed on him.
He begrudgingly looked my way. ‘What?’
‘You’re taking up the entire armrest.’
He sighed exasperated, ‘So?’
‘So?’ I repeated, a little louder than I should have in such close quarters. ‘Everyone knows the aisle gets the middle armrest.’
He stared at me for a moment, confusion furrowing his brows. ‘You’ve made that up.’
My head tilted as I tried to figure out if he was deliberately being obtuse or if he was just an idiot. A smirk curled onto his lips, and I got my answer. A crackling voice filled the cabin, interrupting the growing tension between us, as the flight attendant made an announcement.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize on behalf of the airline, but we are being held up by the luggage loading. We are looking at a forty-five minute delay and will update you when we have more information.’
‘This just keeps getting better,’ Nico muttered, his voice tinged with sarcasm. He relaxed back, his arm remaining on the armrest.
‘I don’t know why you’re complaining; you’ve got the window and the armrest,’ I grumbled back.
‘Yeah, but I’ve got to sit next to you.’
I stifled a laugh, deciding I’d had quite enough.
‘I’m not looking at a much better situation here, buddy.’ I lifted my arm, sharply nudging my elbow into his, forcibly removing it from the coveted armrest and claiming it as my own.
‘I am not your buddy,’ he snapped back, shoving his arm, trying to push mine off.
I spoke back through gritted teeth. ‘Old man then.’
We struggled, our arms battling against each other like children. Neither of us willing to back down. All the while, our bodies inadvertently pressed closer together with each passing moment. I couldn’t help but notice the stiffness of his muscles as he fought my grip, his strong forearm flexed with determination. I felt the heat emanating from his body, the subtle smell of his clean scent mingling with the cabin air.
Was this really the person Jon wanted me to train with? Mixed partners have an unspoken understanding, an ability to anticipate the other’s movement, and either compensate or get the hell out of the way, perfectly in sync. So far, all we were in sync over was the need for a window and the occupation of the middle armrest. The flight attendant’s cheery voice broke through the tension, announcing the issue with take-off had been resolved early.
‘Fine. Take the damn armrest,’ he finally relented.
It was impossible not to feel smug as my arm reclaimed the space. It was hardly the comfort of the window seat, but a win was a win.
The feeling was short-lived. As the plane began to taxi, I tried to imagine the jolted movements as gentle waves rocking my imaginary boat, lulling me to sleep. Instead, the anxiety continued to build, the cabin getting smaller and smaller.
‘Do you have to do that?’ Nico blurted.
My full lips parted inquisitively, the anxiety tightening in my chest. ‘What?’
He motioned a hand toward my leg. ‘Shake your leg like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm?’
I looked to my legs, noticing the shaking I’d been doing, before gazing across to his still, tanned skin, thick thighs exposed by shorts. Did he ever wear full-length trousers? The question faded when I noticed the dark reddish scar running down the centre of his right knee – a visible reminder of his recent operation.
‘Sorry,’ I apologized, willing my legs to still as I grounded my trainers onto the floor, all the while trying to remember the box breathing technique I had learned in yoga class. Was it one breath in, three out? That felt like a recipe for asphyxiation.
‘Does Jon normally do this?’ Nico asked as I strangled out my sixth exhale. I looked at him for a moment, trying to figure him out, at least a little.
‘I guess it’s supposed to be team building.’
He paused for a moment. ‘I meant, make us fly coach.’
I couldn’t be sure, but judging by the raised eyebrow and slight smirk combo, which was supposed to be some sort of joke. I hummed in quiet agreement, a fragile truce settling between us. The plane movement changed to a gradual turn as we reached the start of the runway. With my hand on the armrest, I tried to relax. This was the worst part, and I doubted many people were fans of take-off. But with deep calming breaths, I focused my mind on the serene stony beaches of Rhodes, imagining the way waves crash against the shore, envisioning the vibrant hues of a sunset as the engines roared as the plane began to pick up speed.
The aircraft jolted upward with a violent bump, causing the entire cabin to shake. Panic gripped my body, my heart pounding fiercely in my chest. Instinctively, I clung onto the armrest, seeking any sense of stability.
The cabin emitted two beeps, and the seatbelt sign flashed, reminding us of its crucial importance. The plane shuddered once more, intensifying the anxiety coursing through my veins.
‘Scottie?’ Nico’s voice pierced through my anxiety as the shaking of the plane began to subside. I look up at him, my heart still in a frenzy.
I responded hesitantly, my voice betraying my apprehension. ‘Yes?’
For a moment, there was something about him. Maybe it was the panic of the moment, but I took a second to look at him. My gaze trailed around his face, tracing along his sharp cheekbones, across the line of his strong jaw. I was briefly hypnotized as I watched him swallow, the pronounced ball of his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Then he spoke, and his words hung in the air, slowly registering in my mind, their impact sinking in.
‘That’s not the armrest you’re holding onto,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
My gaze dropped involuntarily to his lap, and my horror intensified. The turbulence during take-off had bumped my arm from the armrest, and instead, it had landed on his crotch. My hand held onto the very top of his thigh, fingers almost grazing what I could assume was not tennis balls stuffed in his pocket.
Mortified, I yanked my hand away, recoiling as if I had burned myself. Even without a mirror I knew my cheeks were stained a deep shade of crimson. I attempted to form an apology, but the words tumbled out in an incoherent jumble. I was unable to bring myself to glance at him, the thought of looking at him and seeing his no doubt obnoxious face was too much.
I didn’t dare to touch the armrest again.