The gymnasium echoed with sneakers squeaking and balls bouncing. Coach Mark Thompson stood courtside, a whistle around his neck.
"Alright, team! Let's focus on defense!" Coach Thompson yelled.
Oliver, the Co-captain, nodded intently. His gaze scanned the court, strategizing. As the teams ran drills, Maeve Brooklyn and Isabelle entered the gym as the team ran drills, their voices carrying over the din. Maeve's gaze locked onto Oliver, her expression softening. She leaned against the bleachers, observing.
Isabelle sat beside her, whispering, " Oliver's quite focused, isn't he?"
Maeve nodded; however, her eyes weren't focused on Oliver. She smiled when Mr. Thompson approached, his smile charming. "Ladies," he tipped his hat their way and went after the team, shouting commands.
His gaze had lingered on Maeve before returning to the court. As the game intensified, Oliver's determination grew. He drove to the hoop, dodging defenders. Maeve's eyes sparkled, impressed.
Julian sat nearby and noticed Maeve's interest. " Think Oliver's got game, huh?"
Maeve's response was cool. "He's always been talented."
The buzzer sounded, signalling halftime. The crowds reduced, and the players retreated. Maeve made eye contact with Coach Thompson, who winked at her before leaving the court. Maeve turned to Isabelle. " I'll be right back," she said in a hasty tone before leaving. Isabelle was oblivious to where she was headed.
Maeve slipped into the locker room, her stilettos clicking on the damp, grey tile floor, echoing off the rows of metal lockers adorned with rusty hinges and faded team logos. The air reeked of sweat, fresh laundry, and the sweet tang of athletic spray.
Fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile, flickering glow illuminating Oliver's chiseled features and the tension etched on his face like a canvas of worry.
"Mr. Thompson?" Maeve called out in a melodic, sing-song manner, her voice bouncing over the walls, resonating with a hint of uncertainty. Her emerald eyes widened in surprise as she spotted Oliver, his broad shoulders flexing beneath his practice shirt. "Oliver!" Maeve said, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath catching, her full lips parting in awe.
Oliver looked up, pulling down his practice shirt, revealing a glimpse of his defined V-waistline, his abs rippling beneath his skin like a washboard.
Maeve's gaze lingered, her pupils dilating. "What are you doing here?" Oliver asked, his tone guarded. Maeve hesitated, fidgeting with her slender fingers, adorned with vibrant purple nail polish.
"I thought...Coach Thompson was meeting me here," Maeve stammered.
Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Coach Thompson?" he repeated, his tone having an edge. Maeve nodded, her eyes darting around the empty locker room. Oliver's expression darkened and his jaw clenched in clear understanding.
"He's not here, as you can see. " He shoved his gears into the locker and with a slam locked the doors. Maeve flinched at the sound of the doors. Just then, Coach Mark entered the locker room and the look of worry in his eyes washed away as soon as he set his gaze on Maeve. Then a hint of panic when he realized she wasn't alone.
She signals to the coach to leave them be. Oliver goes past her towards the door to leave, but she grabs his arm. " Hey, Oliver, can we talk," Maeve asks softly. He pauses without turning back to face her.
"What's there to say? You made it clear this morning," He said dryly, Maeve stepped closer, her perfume wafting through the air- a sweet, floral scent. His shoulders tensed at the thought of them intimately in the morning brought a foreboding sense of anger to arise within him.
"You have been making it obvious that you have been avoiding me today," she said. Oliver's eyes locked onto Maeve's, his pupils dilating. The locker room's humidity seemed to thicken the tension. "Come on, Oliver" she shook his arm persuading him to speak to her. Oliver's resolve crumbled with a deep sigh.
"Coach Thompson's reputation isn't exactly pristine," Oliver says as he air-quotes the last phrase. Maeve's calm demeanour began to fray.
As Oliver's words hung in the air, Maeve thought Why is he bringing this up again? , her mind racing. Doesn't he trust me? She felt a flicker of irritation.
The locker room's silence seemed to amplify Maeve's ragged breathing.
"I already told you, there's nothing serious going on between us," Maeve said, trying to play it off. "It's just a bit of fun here and there." Oliver's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing.
Maeve's mind scoffed, He's so serious all the time. Can't he just relax? Doesn't he know I've got this under control?
"Think for once of the trouble it'll cause if someone catches you," He urged.
Maeve's inner voice snapped. Like I haven't thought of that already? I've handled tougher situations.
"No one knows about us except you." Maeve defended with a small laugh.
Oliver's eyes intensified. Maeve wondered, Why he always treated her like she was some fragile doll that needed protection.
"What if it hadn't been me walking in on you this morning? Someone with a grudge against you in this school? You aren't exactly the most liked around here." He said.
Maeve's thoughts flashed with annoyance. He's exaggerating. I can handle myself.
"It won't happen, and I'll handle it easily. Shutting them up won't be that difficult," Maeve said casually and with a subtle confidence. Oliver's frustration grew. His gaze intensified.
He was too invested in her actions. It was starting to seem like an ego problem from her point of view.
"I'm trying to protect you and your name, but it seems like you don't even understand," Oliver said, his voice dropping to a low, urgent tone.
Maeve's voice hardened. "Protect me?" she repeated, "From what? "
"Yourself... Your judgements?" Oliver's jaw clenched. "From Coach Thompson's manipulation," Oliver said.
Maeve's thoughts seethed with indignation. How dare he! I'm not some naive fool. I know exactly what I am doing.
Maeve's face contorted, her hands trembling. "You don't know anything!" Maeve shouted, her words bouncing off the walls. "He doesn't have what it takes to manipulate me. I make the decisions about what happens to me, not him! Instead, he begs at my feet for what I have to offer him." She says strongly.
Oliver's gaze remained locked on hers, his expression was resolute.
"Do as you please then, but don't expect me to always be there to laugh alongside your silly antics or much rather cover them up," Oliver said in a low voice, storming out of the locker room.
Maeve's thoughts flared with anger. Good riddance. I don't need him or his condescending protection.
"I don't need you," Maeve mutters to herself.