17 Scottie
17
Wildest Dreams – Taylor Swift
We did not go back to the minivan.
Instead, we took a path down the hill towards Lindos town, the cosy alleyways lined with tiny shops selling everything from fancy soap and jewellery to cheap souvenirs. Open bars blasted music as we navigated the busy streets, swerving around groups of tourists, and dodging waiters trying to lure us in with promises of cheap food and large portions.
It was like stepping into another world. I could’ve lost myself in the atmosphere, in the buzz the crowds offered, but when I spied the green glowing cross, I turned to Nico behind me.
‘Is your knee hurting?’ I asked, looking at the pharmacy.
His face crumpled into a grimace. ‘A little, but I just need to rest.’
I nodded understandingly, looking around and spotting a bar sitting off the street, a football match playing over the screen. I sent him a charming impossible-to-say-no-to smile, gesturing towards the bar.
‘Jon said to go back to the van,’ Nico reminded me.
‘You heard him. They won’t be back for another two hours! Do you want to sit in the hot sticky van, or do you want to have a drink for the first time in weeks?’
‘Are you always this rebellious? First coffee, now alcohol?’
‘I said drink. You can have a Pepsi if you want,’ I pointed out. ‘Or you could go wild and order a diet.’
Nico paused, narrowing his eyes on me. ‘Fine, but only one.’
We found a table, sitting along the busy street, which provided us a perfect view for people watching. When the waiter arrived, placing a bowl of pistachios between us, I ordered a beer. Nico eyed me before ordering the same.
Taking that first sip almost washed away the stress and tension of the previous weeks, of the worry and gruelling labour getting my body back into the shape necessary. When I looked over at Nico, his expression was relaxed as he drank the cold amber liquid.
‘Better than a Pepsi?’ I teased.
His eyes met mine, lips pressed together. ‘It’s been a while since I had either.’
‘You don’t ever cut loose?’
‘I used to,’ he admitted. ‘Everything recently has been aimed toward recovery and keeping my body in the best condition I can.’
‘And what? One beer will destroy your entire recovery?’
He smiled. ‘That and my dietitian was a very scary person who ruled what entered my body with an iron fist.’
‘Sounds …’ I trailed off, grimacing at the memories. My life had been like that once. ‘Terrible.’
‘Are you much of a beer drinker?’ he asked.
‘It’s fine. I’m more of a cocktail person. Give me a tequila old-fashioned and you’ll make my night,’ I joked, remembering my favourite drink as a part of me began to miss my London life. But while those years had been fun and wild, and the training had been demanding, tennis was in my bones.
‘Do you watch football?’ My head nodded to the screen behind him. I reached for the nuts and deshelled one.
‘I don’t follow soccer, but I know enough to follow the rules,’ he corrected, his mouth turning up into a cheeky grin.
Forcing a terrible accent, I picked up the discarded shells and threw them playfully at him. ‘So American.’
He tossed his own shells over at me, one getting stuck in my hair and the other hitting me on the nose.
‘Such a Brit,’ he teased back, his eyes dancing playfully over my face. My fingers tried to dig the shell from my long, thick hair, but I struggled to pull it out.
‘Let me,’ he said, leaning over the small table. His fingers met mine, concentration focused on untangling my hair, his eyebrows locked. I couldn’t help but take in the line of his jaw, covered in a rough, unshaved stubble, his eyes unblinking as I took in their colour. He was so close I could smell his familiar aftershave, the scent mixing with the sweet air.
‘There you go.’ He pulled back, breaking the spell he had cast over me, the shell held in his fingers. I smiled, my mind still reeling from the close contact. Then, in an instant, the shell hit me again on the cheek as he pinged it over.
I sent him a flat look, suppressing a laugh. ‘We are children.’
He chuckled, relaxing back into his plastic chair, turning to see the screen again. I got distracted by the pull of his shirt sleeve around his bicep, eyes following his tattoo across the muscle. I took another drink, hoping the liquid would be enough to cool me down from a sudden wave of heat, before my attention moved to the opposite side of the street.
‘It looks like your friends are back.’ Lined up along the pavement sat a trio of cats, their attention squarely on Nico. ‘Did you roll in some catnip before we went out?’
He swallowed another gulp of beer, his throat bobbing. ‘It’s the same back at the villa. They won’t leave me alone.’
‘Maybe they know their power over you.’
‘Have you somehow trained a legion of cats to take me out so you can steal my hat again?’
‘Oh, that’s unnecessary.’ I smiled knowingly. ‘I’ll get it back next time you leave it lying around.’
‘It’s my lucky hat. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.’
‘Maybe I could use a lucky hat of my own.’
He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his grey eyes teasing. ‘We could get you another hat.’
I met his gaze, arms folded over as I sat up. ‘But I’m quite attached to yours.’
We stayed like that, staring straight at each other, waiting for the other to look away or blink. Anything. But instead, his teasing look turned deeper, and his eyes a little darker. I couldn’t look away. At that moment, I found the curve of his face and the sharpness of his jaw the most fascinating sights in the world
Did he have to be so damn handsome?
His eyes were similarly assessing me, but I couldn’t read what he saw in my face. It was as if he was marking each freckle splashed across the bridge of my nose, connecting them with invisible lines.
Then the table shuddered as a waiter squeezed past us with a tray full of food, and we found ourselves disconnected again. Nico cleared his throat as we both took a drink, washing the moment away.
He moved on. ‘When did you visit France?’
‘Last year. I watched your US quarter-final there.’
‘Against Oliver Anderson?’
I nodded. ‘You were still good then.’
He laughed, the noise loud and bright, catching my insult.
‘I mean,’ I added, ‘for your age.’
His attention switched from the TV back to me, the cheap plastic of the chair underneath him creaking. ‘I remember your French open semi, what was it? Three years ago?’
It was my turn to laugh before I took another sip of beer to drown the sting of that match. ‘Yeah, I lost.’
‘You almost had her,’ he added. I took another sip, still attempting to drown the memory. I was about to beat her in straight sets when I fell, injuring my leg. She saw the weakness, exploited it, and won. That was the injury that snowballed into—
‘Who were you playing again?’
I blinked, trying to pull myself back. ‘Dylan.’
‘Seems you two don’t get on very well.’
‘Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong. We have sleepovers every night, plaiting each other’s hair while we gossip about boys.’
‘I would pay to see that.’
‘She’d probably chop my hair off in my sleep.’
‘At least I’d be guaranteed to get my money’s worth.’
The moment lulled as we turned back to the TV, watching the cute men in tiny shorts kick a ball around a field for fun. Half of the bar cheered when the striker scored while the others grumbled about the goalie before taking a long sip of their drinks.
I started to eye the food menu, and turned to the only section I was interested in: burgers, flame-grilled and served with crispy onions, a fresh slice of tomato, and a brioche bun.
‘Hungry?’ Nico asked before finishing his beer.
I lowered the menu, smiling evilly at him. ‘When in Rome,’ I said, returning my attention to the limited burger section. It was a choice between one cheesy patty or two. The waiter returned, and ignoring a rather disapproving glare from Nico, I ordered us two more beers and a burger for myself.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’ I asked him.
‘No, I’m fine,’ he said, smiling. The waiter was about to leave when I caught him, deciding to test Nico and see how far I could push him.
‘And two shots of Fireball, please.’ The waiter nodded before disappearing.
‘You’re trying to get us into trouble.’
‘What’s wrong with a little trouble, Nico?’ I waved away his concerns. ‘It’s just some shots.’
‘And a burger and two beers. You could’ve had Elena make you a burger back at home.’
I squished my face. ‘It would’ve been made of beans or mushrooms. No, thank you. I’ve had enough diet burgers for one lifetime.’
‘I feel like I’ve been on a training diet my entire life.’ His face straightened, wiped of the previous joy. ‘My previous coach had me on a plant-based diet. No meat, nothing that came out of an animal, nothing that could’ve been near anything that once had a face. I can understand it if you’re against animal cruelty, but my own mother didn’t know what to feed me when I visited. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what I could and couldn’t eat.’ He leaned forward, a serious look on his face. He said the words in a whisper, as if he was revealing the nuclear codes. ‘Did you know Oreos are vegan?’
I laughed, not sure what I was expecting to hear.
‘And don’t get me started on what that type of diet does to your stomach,’ he added.
I clutched my middle, all the while hating how much I could relate. When I collected myself, I shared my own memory. ‘One time, my trainers decided I had put on too much weight over break and put me on a week long liquid diet cleanse. I think I passed out twice during practice.’
He blinked at me, his mouth parted as if he was processing what I’d told him. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
‘That’s not normal,’ he said. ‘Don’t think that’s normal.’
I shook my head, finishing my beer in one mouthful. ‘I don’t anymore. Extensive therapy helped with that. A lot of the shit that happened wasn’t normal.’
I almost told him what Matteo had done, the secret buried just beneath my skin. The one that cost me everything but let me escape. Led me to Mum. Took me halfway up a Greek mountain and to this tiny, packed sports bar.
‘You know, after everything went down with Wimbledon.’ The word was almost strangled in my throat, but I continued. ‘The first normal meal I had was a burger. It was in an airport. You know how they always have a Burger King in an airport, but it’s always the worst Burger King you could ever eat? Well, I ordered a double Royale with cheese, like in that movie. And they asked me if I wanted fries …’ I trailed off, seeing the image in my brain. I could still smell that Burger King, could still see the cashier’s face perfectly. ‘And there was nobody to stop me. So, I did. I had the burger and the fries. And then for a drink, I had regular Pepsi. Not diet, not that zero crap they market to men. The one with all the sugar. And an ice cream. Then I sat in a corner, and I ate every single bite. I felt sick after the burger because, like I said, airport Burger Kings are the worst. But I ate it all.’
He looked at me for a moment, trying to read me. There was a moment where I became concerned he might have missed the point I was trying to make telling that story. That despite what they had done to me, to my body, to that young girl who was trying to impress her fucking father, I had still escaped and gained control of myself, once and for all.
With or without this competition, all this training, I would still retain that control of my body. Nobody would ever take it away from me. No one could control me ever again.
Then he reached out, grabbing the attention of a hurrying waiter. ‘Hey, sorry – can I order a second burger for the table? Hold the tomatoes.’
‘Welcome to the dark side.’ I smiled. ‘But removing the healthy part of the burger? However will we explain ourselves to Jon?’
‘He can never know.’ His hand stretched out to me. I took it, his fingers wrapping around mine, the calluses of his palm brushing against my skin.
‘It’s our secret.’
We lost track of time, ordering another round of beers (this time, minus a scowl from Nico) and eating our burgers in peace, taking time to enjoy our first comfort meal in a while. But when the final whistle blew on the football game, we realized we might have forgotten one important thing.
The rest of the group, who thought we’d be back at the van.
We paid the bill, rushing to make it back to the parking lot where we were supposed to be when the sky split open with heavy rain. The streets emptied, shops pulling out awnings to run the rain away from the entrance, while bars closed shutters over their windows to keep the water out. Very quickly, the small alleyway street of Lindos turned into a river, and with a quick glance at Nico, I’d known we didn’t have time to sit this one out. If the group wasn’t already back at the van, they would be soon.
Whether it was driven by need or the three beers I’d drank, I hadn’t thought twice as I grabbed Nico’s hand, our fingers interlacing, and dragged him out into the warm rain. It was like we jumped fully clothed into a shower, our clothes soaked through to our skin as we ran through the streets, attempting to dodge the worst of the rain by jumping from cover to cover.
Reaching the end of the tourist area, we surpassed the last awning and heavy rain pelted down on us. Any concept of the word ‘dry’ was washed away. Halfway up the street, we found a doorway to give us some shelter but not larger than for one person. We stood face to face, our bodies pressed together, squeezing into the tiny space.
He was as soaked as I was, strands of his hair stuck down on his forehead, shirt clinging to his frame, accentuating every muscle of his arms and chest; a hard chest that was pressed against mine.
Without the lights from the shops and restaurants, night time blanketed the streets. But as I looked up at him, his eyes darkened and wandered over every inch of my face. Just like before. I tried to ignore the feel of the length of his body against me as it rose and sank with each breath, the humidity in the air making it warmer and harder to inhale.
My chest tightened as my gaze caught a raindrop rolling down his cheek, and acting on an instinct I didn’t know I had, I raised my hand to his rugged face and wiped it away, enjoying the feel of his unshaven stubble against my fingers. If the action was unwelcome, he didn’t let me know, unmoving under my touch.
His stormy ocean eyes caught mine, the firm line of his jaw slackened into an expression that I couldn’t quite decipher. It was like the water had washed away his armour, stripping away a veneer of control he held onto, and instead, he was vulnerable and exposed.
The pounding rain faded into a distant murmur as the tension between us, always simmering beneath the surface, now hung heavy in the air, like an electric charge waiting to ignite. Rain continued to pour, but it was as if the world had narrowed down to the two of us, locked in an unspoken conversation. His eyes held a hint of vulnerability, one that matched my own.
The pounding of my heart in my ears replaced the noise of the rain as I hesitated, my hand still resting against his cheek, our faces mere inches apart, his eyes searching mine.
And then he moved backward, and my hand fell to my side as he slid from under the porch and out onto the street, the rain continuing to pelt down. It took me a moment to process everything, watching him as he looked back at me. With a silent nod of his head, he gestured for me to follow him out. His vulnerable expression was gone, his guard back up.
As I followed him, the downpour washed away that one meaningful moment in the doorway. Where, for a second, with my hand on his cheek and his eyes burning into mine, I’d wondered if Nico Kotas could ever be more than my doubles partner.