Clean Point

18 Nico

18

The Walls Are Way Too Thin – Holly Humberstone

Shorts and a sports bra. That’s all she was wearing. Black shorts that cut off mid-thigh, rising up her waist before revealing a canvas soft skin that no amount of Greek sun seemed to be able to tan. A matching sports bra that sent my brain into such a spasm I couldn’t even begin to form the words to describe it.

A ball bounced into my side of the court, but I was too mesmerized to even move, watching the stretch in her arms as she returned the ball to me. We’d been in practice all morning, an extra hour added on which I’m sure was Jon’s personal punishment for not returning to the van.

‘You should’ve hit that!’ Jon shouted at me from the sidelines, and my brain scrambled all over again from the double entendre.

Her face close to mine, droplets of rain running down her freckled cheeks, blonde hair stuck to her face from the rain, the length of her entire body pressed against mine as we hid in the small alcove from the sudden downpour.

Another ball smacked me in the face.

‘What are you doing, Kotas? Daydreaming?’ Scottie grinned from opposite the court, my hat on her head. Again. I fought the urge to storm over and steal it. Distance was what I needed from her. Distance made up of miles, countries and continents, and maybe then I’d forget the sweet scent of her shampoo on the rim of my hat.

Vanilla and orange. I wondered if my hat would smell of her again when I took it back.

Trying to keep my concentration, I bounced the ball and served, using as much of my strength as I could muster. Scottie’s forehand return sliced through the air, the ball skimming the net before landing inside the baseline. She moved with grace and precision, her footwork impeccable, and so the rally began. We chased each other around the court, and even when I thought I finally had her, she surprised me, making a race across the court look too damn easy for these old legs to catch up. Scottie won the point, her smile a triumphant ray of sunshine, and she mouthed the running score to me, so Jon didn’t notice.

For a while now, we’d been keeping a tally across our morning practice, and up until now, I’d been winning. Not by a lot, but enough to taunt her with. She’d pretend she was fine with it, tossing her hair into a messy bun at the end of practice, refusing to make eye contact. I could feel the heat of internal rage burning her up. Neither of us liked losing. You had to hate losing more than you love to win to stay in this game.

But with my brain buzzing on what I was certain was the pebbling of nipples under her sports bra, I was falling behind. And in need of yet another cold shower. Maybe this had been her plan all along. The shorts and the bra and the soft bare skin on display was a trojan horse. If it was, it was working.

‘Keep it up, Nico. She’s handing you your ass.’ I was sure that was Jon’s way of trying to motivate me, but when she won – again – I grew only more flustered. Was I seriously getting more turned on by her winning? What kind of sick masochist had I become?

Sarah had hung around earlier, taking up precious time trying to get shots of us while we did our warm-up routines, getting Scottie to do some moves with a jumper on and off, sometimes wrapped around her waist. I was already sick of this so-called partnership with them. Didn’t they know we were supposed to be in bootcamp?

When Jon finally called practice, she was an entire game up and I was completely ruined.

I headed over to my gym bag, taking a long cooling sip from my water bottle and rested a little from running back and forth in the baking morning sun.

‘How are you holding up, old man?’ Her grin was a wild thing as she marched over, grabbing for her own water bottle. ‘You look tired.’

‘Some of those balls were out,’ I argued. ‘I know it’s been a while for you, but that video referee will bite you in the ass.’

She shrugged me off. ‘Fine. Want a rematch?’ The challenge hung in the air for a moment, my overheating, over-stimulated body screaming in horror at the idea. But I couldn’t let her know.

‘No more today. You’ve still got the rest of your practise,’ Jon cut in, squashing Scottie’s offer. My body relaxed with relief. We still had a gym session left, and then laps in the pool to continue the rehab on my knee. Truthfully, I was doing a lot better, Jon’s plan paying off. Despite my performance, I was faster than I had been in months..

I looked up at Scottie, finding her sending Jon a look of disappointment for spoiling her fun. I knew she was partially to thank. Our games kept me on my toes, both of us taunting each other with our hunger to beat the other. I had wanted to do this alone, but now, I wasn’t sure I could imagine it any other way.

Pushing myself up from the bench, I stretched to my full height, her eyes engulfing mine. With a swift motion, I snatched my hat back, placing it backwards on my head.

I was right. The scent did transfer.

My lips stretched into a satisfied smirk as she narrowed her eyes at me, strands of her blonde hair in disarray. Her hands went to the top of her head, delicate fingers flattening and pushing it back into place. Even with her messy hair, a flush of pink across the freckled bridge of her nose from the exercise, she was beautiful. If anything, the more undone she became the more beautiful she was.

‘Stop stealing my hat,’ I said, leaning down to pick up my gym bag. She took a swipe at my head, trying to take it back, but I caught her, moving out of her reach.

Her eyes switched from the hat, rolling back as if to say, ‘whatever do you mean’. She sealed it with an innocent shrug of her shoulders. ‘Maybe stop leaving it lying about.’

I grumbled, ‘I only took it off for breakfast. Elena hates when I wear it at the table.’ If I did, she would attack me with the wooden spoon until I relented. My knuckles learned that lesson the hard way.

‘And I picked it up,’ she chirped, shouldering her own bag and heading for the path back through the gardens to the villa. I chased after her, only allowing my eyes to dip south for a couple of torturous seconds. Damn those shorts. Damn that ass.

‘Use one of the hats ELITE sent. I’m sure they would love to have their name plastered all over your head,’ I suggested.

She let out a laugh that sounded like it was made of pure gold. ‘Should I offer to have their name tramp stamped on my lower back while I’m at it?’

It was a chore not to think about black ink tattooed into her skin. If she had one hidden under what little clothing she was wearing today, what would it be?

‘I could get one matching,’ I joked. ‘They’d like that.’

‘I’ve always wanted one.’

‘A tattoo?’ I asked, and she nodded. ‘Why haven’t you gotten one?’

She was silent for a moment, glancing at the path ahead. She didn’t need to say it for me to be able to read the answer. Her father. I wasn’t sure what had given him this power over her, stretching over her like a dark cloud, even if she insisted he wasn’t in her life anymore. What had happened there was a question I was dying to ask again.

I’d always hated him. He’d been cocky and arrogant back when I was coming up the ranks those fifteen years ago. Unbeaten for too long, he’d convinced the world he was a god.

That was, until I, unseeded and accepted in on a wildcard, made it to that final. And in one gruelling match, I dismantled an empire.

It was clear to everyone that Scottie had been his second chance at success. That he had her pick up his mantle while he pulled her strings. The question remained, how tangled up had she become before everything fell apart?

‘I almost got one in Ibiza last summer,’ she admitted, smiling at me. ‘It was three in the morning, and I was drunk. We’d had bottle service at the club, and nothing had ever been a bigger mistake. I thought it was a great idea to get a tattoo half out of it; I told him what I wanted in some lame cursive they had and passed out in the chair. I came to with the man this close.’ She holds up two fingers a centimetre apart. ‘Then I threw up on him and they kicked me out. Thankfully. It did not look hygienic there, even before all the sickness.’

I smiled at her memory. She had so many stories of her last two years, and none of them sounded anything less than carnage, chaos, and a hell of a great time. Just like she was turning out to be.

Curiosity got the best of me as I asked, ‘What was it?’

‘What?’

‘The tattoo?’ We were almost back at the villa, the glass doors leading to the kitchen in sight. ‘What terrible mistake were you going to get on your body forever?’

She made a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. Her gaze looked straight ahead while her arms crossed in front of her. I was certain she was nervous when she answered, ‘It said “clean”.’

‘Clean?’ I repeated, and she gave me the smallest nod. My brows pressed together. ‘Like not …’ I trailed off, and before I could say another word, she clarified.

‘Like “Scottie Sinclair is fucking clean”. Or at least, I remember trying to get the tattooist to write that, but he refused, said something about it already being dumb enough getting a tattoo drunk, never mind a curse word along with it.’

I didn’t know what to make of it. What any of it meant, but one look at her and I knew it was important, the emotion in her eyes, the set of her jaw. I knew not to question, not to push. If she wanted me to know, she would tell me.

‘I like it. It’s bad ass,’ I said, trying to comfort her. She sent me a nervous smile, and I opened the door to the kitchen. The AC cooled air made it feel as if I’d stepped into an icebox. I held the door open for her, watching as she slipped by me, a single shiver as she faced the cold.

‘It was dumb,’ she said as I closed the door.

My shoulder rose on a shrug. ‘Better than getting an ELITE tramp stamp.’

She laughed, the noise warm as it prickled under my skin. ‘At least they’d pay me to do it.’

An idea bloomed, and before I knew it, the words tumbled out of me. ‘I know a good artist in London. We could go together.’

‘To get an ELITE tattoo?’

‘No. I mean, in general. If you still wanted one.’

Her eyes narrowed playfully at me. ‘Why? Do you enjoy watching people wither in pain?’

‘I thought I’d distract you through the pain, but now that you mention it, it could be an unexplored kink.’ Scottie’s eyes grew wide for a moment, her pink lips parting before she pulled herself together.

‘Funny,’ she said as we reached the break in the hallway where we would go our separate ways. ‘I might just have to take you up on that.’

I raised my brows in surprise. ‘That so?’

‘I meant the tattoo, not the kink,’ she replied, patting me cheekily on the shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to figure that one out on your own.’

My cheeks burned red with embarrassment as I nodded, gaze avoiding her. I was getting too close to her, too open. If the moment in the doorway had taught me anything, it was that. We said a quick goodbye before heading to our respective rooms to wash up. I continued to beat myself up the entire length of the hallway. This was supposed to be a professional relationship, with professional thoughts and not an entire training session distracted by the curves of her body or how she looked bending down to pick up a ball.

Scottie Sinclair might as well have had the words ‘bad idea’ tattooed in block capitals on her forehead. The absolutely opposite type of person that I would normally let myself get close to. Too impulsive, too wild, too young.

And yet, here I was, offering to take her to my favourite tattooist and hold her hand. Keep her distracted while she got her first ink because when she opened up to me, allowing me to peer into the real Scottie, things aren’t adding up.

She wasn’t impulsive or reckless. She was hurt and growing through that. She had some wild moments, but to me, it sounded as if she had gone out and had some fucking fun for once. Whatever happened two years ago with the doping, I wasn’t sure. But it didn’t sound like the Scottie I’d gotten to know.

In fact, just the opposite.