String the Player

1.

Will I be cancelled if I pretend to have an anxiety attack on live television?

At the rate this is going, I don't think the pretend factor will be necessary.

I was already drenched in sweat. My jersey, hair, and underwear stuck to my skin in varying degrees of uncomifiness thanks to the Australian heat. Now, under the probing lights of cameras, even my hands and feet turned sweaty. A fine layer of perspiration coats my palm, and the mic is about to slip from my fingers for the millionth time. I switch it over to the other hand, only for the process to repeat. The next dude who holds this mic better apply a nice layer of chalk to his hands lest he wants to look like a grade-A idiot.

Who even makes such smooth handles on mics? I'm not paying for this shit if I drop it and it breaks.

"Aki, mate, you with us?" Liam says, his hand subtly nudging mine.

And I am dragged back to anxiety-inducing land.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm right here," I reply, shooting a shaky smile at one of the cameras. I can't look him in the eyes. Not in those blue ones. Not in those ones that are so pretty when filled with—Nope, not going there.

"So what do you think?"

"What do I think about what?" I cringe immediately. The words flow out so smoothly that I don't even have the time to stop and think it through.

I sneak a peek at Liam. His handsome smile tears across his face, dimples and all, but his eyes scream Focus, Arya!

"I think we're keeping him from the celebrations," Liam says, facing the camera.

And I shoot his profile a grateful smile for the save. If we're on for the night, I don't mind dropping down—No, still not going there.

"Just one last question, Aki. I promise I won't keep you longer than that." His words sound sugary sweet, but his eyes say Fuck this one up, and you're on your own.

"Go ahead," I say and get lost in the black lining surrounding his ocean-blue pupils. It's like a border containing the waves that threaten to spill into the white. I can't help but stare at the way his eyes turn wider, and that gives me an even better view of how perfectly proportionate his pupils are. Not too big that he looks like an alien and not too small that he looks cross eyed. Just perfect.

...And something painful shoots up my thigh. Liam's nails are digging into my skin through my tracks, and his ever-present smile turns clipped. He's not even able to hide his grimace when I just blink blankly at him.

See, this is why I don't look into people's eyes. It's too distracting. There are just so many secrets fighting to spill out that it's difficult to focus on the words trying to cover them all up.

Liam's almost pained expression brings forth a phantom of a question I must've missed when I was too busy admiring his eyes.

Now that you've undoubtedly proved yourself in T20, do you have a game plan set for next year's ODI World Cup?

"Nothing set in stone," I say, vomiting out the generic answer Yashica makes me memorise before every match "I'm just going to focus on my fitness, improve my batting and hope for the best."

Liam's shoulders drop in relief, and his fingers release my thigh. "Thank you for your time, Aki. And apologies for keeping you for so long. Congratulations on the win, and here's to a night full of celebration." He holds out his hand.

I stare at it. Then at him. A shit-eating grin tears through my lips. I slap my hand in his and give it an enthusiastic shake before squeezing it. "Oh, we're celebrating the entire night. Trust me."