Page 32 of Let the Games Begin
“So, the footballer was able to escape, and the kidnappers were caught. But then every international sporting organization sent their athletes to a mandatory kidnapping prevention and survival course.”
“That sounds like something from a movie,” she said.
“Right? It felt like it. We all did self-defense training, an actual real-life escape room class, learned how to hold our breath, and…” he gestured to the elevator.
“Learned how not to get claustrophobic in small spaces,” she finished with a nod.
“Exactly,” he said.
As Olivia moved around to get more comfortable on the floor, a waft of the perfume she was wearing mixed with the paint and vanilla drifting his way. She smelled so good he had to hold his breath to stop himself from leaning toward her.
“So, I was painting Arlo in the nude, but why were you in the building?” Olivia asked.
“So, I was painting Arlo in the nude,” Zeke mimicked, “is a great way to start a sentence.” He paused. “I was in therapy… and I hate therapy.”
“Hate it?” Her face and tone were gentle.
“Truly hate it. Don’t get me wrong, I can talk about my feelings,” he said—though he never had to Fiona—“but there’s just something about talking to someone knowing that they’re going to analyze everything I say that makes me close off.”
Olivia nodded. “I get that; it doesn’t really feel like a natural conversation.”
“Yeah, it feels like a weird treasure hunt. Like,what trauma, insecurity, or anxiety can we uncover today?”
“An emotional treasure hunt? Sounds like my idea of a good time,” she said, making him laugh a little. “I love talking about things.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah, the more I talk about something, the clearer my thoughts on it become,” she said.
“Oh, I’d rather sit in silence and come to my own conclusions,” he said.
“You like sitting alone with your thoughts?” she asked. “Sounds like my personal idea of hell.”
“It’s the best. You can just sit there and eventually, if you wait around long enough, you clear away everyone else’s opinions and the things you think you’re supposed to think until all that’s left is what you truly want and feel,” he said. Plus, coming to his own conclusions meant he could avoid hearing questions he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers to.
“But then I’d have to actually listen to what I really want, not what I’ve told myself I want,” Olivia said with a nervous laugh. “And truly knowing myself terrifies me.”
“And having someone question the things I tell myself to make life easier? That terrifiesme,” he said, looking at her with a self-conscious laugh.
After a few moments, they both went quiet. As if worried they’d revealed too much. The silence grew louder until all Zeke could hear was the gentle hum of the elevator.
He looked over at Olivia and whispered, “Is this the silence you hear in your nightmares?”
Olivia shook her head and smiled. “Careful, go long enough without speaking and I’ll start asking you questions about the meaning of life.”
Zeke faked a shudder and they both laughed. Thirty minutes passed as the two of them talked about all the weird but wonderful things they’d seen so far in the Village. Olivia told Zeke about some of the strangest walkie-talkie calls she’d had, and Zeke told Olivia about some of the wildest training accidents he’d seen. Giannis the lift technician called to tell them it wasgoing to take another thirty minutes for him to reach them. So they took it in turns to put their phones on shuffle and see who could guess the song first until they reached a draw. Then, Zeke showed Olivia the photos he’d taken of the exclusive athlete-only areas of the Village. After that, they played a game where they took turns saying random dates and scrolled through their camera rolls to see where they’d been and what they’d been doing.
“March twenty-ninth?” asked Zeke as they both scrolled.
“My cousin’s twenty-first birthday party,” said Olivia, turning her phone to face Zeke, who nodded and then turned his to face her.
“Camping,” he said, showing her a photo of him camping with Anwar and Frankie on a rainy day in the middle of Wales. “June seventh?” he asked as they both scrolled.
“My master’s graduation.”
“You look good in a cap and gown,” he said. He could hear the flirtation in his tone.
“That’s what my grandad said before trying to convince me to do a PhD,” she said jokingly. “How about you?”
