“You do look tired,” she comments.
“Thanks for the compliment.” I bow. She chuckles.
“I have this important match coming up.” I add. “So, I’m just stressed about that. I don’t usually stress over all this, but it will decide our position in the tournament, so it’s a very significant match.” I sigh, running my hands through my hair. “Hey!” I exclaim, all my focus on her. “Why don’t you come see this match?” I offer.Please say yes, I pray.
Her eyes widen. “You’re inviting me to your match?” she asks, pointing a finger at herself. I nod. She scrutinizes me for a second and then leans back against the bench, her fingers idly playing with a loose thread on her sweater.
“I’ve got a lot of studying to do,” she says.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “You can take a break for a few hours, Anya.” I shake my head in disappointment.
She avoids my eyes. “I don’t know a single thing about basketball. I won’t understand a thing, so it won’t be fun for me honestly,” she mutters. Ah, sothat’sthe problem.
A small smile appears on my lips. “Who said you need to be a basketball expert to enjoy a game?” I lean in a little towards her, trying to catch her gaze, but she keeps avoidingmy eyes, her head bowed down.
“It’s like saying you can’t enjoy a movie because you don’t understand the intricacies of filmmaking,” I say. My voice is soft. “Watching a game isn’t about the technicalities; it’s about the experience. But—” I stand up. She finally looks at me. I grin at her. “Come with me.” I extend a hand towards her, indicating she should take it.
She looks at my hand carefully and raises her eyebrow. “Where?” she asks.
“I will teach you the basics of basketball,” I reply, my enthusiasm evident in my tone. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Why?” she asks, eyes narrowing in confusion. I step closer to her, my hand still held out.
“Why not?” I shrug. “I think you’ll be a quick learner.”
“Why would you do that?” she whispers. “I am sure you must be busy. Let’s leave it.”
“Come on. It will be a practice session for me. I swear if it isn’t fun for you, we will stop.” She relents and finally takes my hand, her slender fingers brushing against mine. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the contact. As I help her up, I note how well her hand fits in mine. I look into her eyes and her breath hitches. That’s how I know she feels it too.
“There’s a basketball court nearby. It’s usually empty. Let’s go there.” Unwillingly, I let go of her hand before she becomes awkward about it. We make our way to the basketball court. I keep glancing at her every few seconds as she talks about the book and the mystery unfolding in it. I listen intently to her every word, hanging onto every detail of the story she’s describing. As she talks animatedly about the book, my gaze drifts from her animated expressions to her lips, the words flowing effortlessly from them. It’s like music to my ears, and I realize I could listen to her talk about anything and never get tired.
As we arrive at the basketball court, Anya looks around. I take a moment to appreciate the crisp, cool air the late evening has brought. The soft, orange glow of the setting sun paints the trees around us in hues of gold and amber. I glance at her. She looks so divine. The familiar sight of the court—worn and well-loved with its faded painted lines and the faint scent of sneaker rubber—fills me with a sense of comfort, my mind already adjusting to this space.
I take a ball from the storage shed near the court, bouncing it from hand to hand. I turn to look at her. “You ready?” I ask with a cocky grin.
“Okay.” She rolls her eyes. “I am learning from the Dr. Dunkalicious himself.” She smirks.
I wince. “I have no idea who came up with that name but God help them if I ever find out.” I exhale sharply. She laughs. She freakinglaughs. I don’t care if it is because of me or at me, but if I get to hear that laugh, I will gladly accept that stupid nickname. Maybe tattoo it on my head. I am sure she would find that amusing too.
“What? Are you just going to stand there and gawk?” she questions, folding her arms.
“Yes, I am,” I say truthfully because her mouth opens and a blush creeps up her cheeks. She jiggles her leg. She’s too cute for my heart.
“We-well stop it.” She fumbles. “You look stupid,” she says, her eyes not meeting mine. I chuckle at her flustered self.
“Okay, fine. Now I am not going to go into too much detail.” I dribble the ball as I walk toward her. “Let’s just learn the game process, no technicalities for now, okay?” I ask, and she nods. As I walk closer to Anya, the ball bouncing effortlessly in my hands, I can’t help but appreciate the way her eyes follow its movement. She may be stubborn and snarky, but there’s an eagerness lurking within her that’s hard to miss. “First and foremost, the aim of the game issimple: score more points than the other team,” I explain, passing the ball to her. She fumbles with it and looks at me, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “There are five players from each team on the court. The job is to aim for the hoop.” I aim for the hoop and shoot. “Like that, and the players from other teams have to stop it. That’s all,” I explain. “Well, that’s all you need to understand,” I add.
“Now, your turn,” I say, passing the ball to her again.
“No, I am not doing it. I am telling you I am going to be very bad,” she says, shaking her head.
“Let me help you,” I say as I stand behind her, my chest brushing against her back, my hands settling on her wrists. I move into her space, wrapping my arms around her to adjust her grip on the ball. I can feel her stiffening up a little as I settle behind her, but I continue. “Relax your shoulders,” I murmur, my lips dangerously close to her ear. I can feel her breath hitch as my words register to her. “You need to loosen up a little,” I say gently, my fingers guiding her wrists to the correct position.
“Now, just follow through with the motion,” I say, my words just above a whisper. “You should feel your arm moving forward and extending as you shoot.” I move closer, my body pressing against hers. The warmth of her back is strangely comforting.
“Don’t overthink it,” I murmur, my chin resting on her shoulder. Her skin is soft, the subtle scent of her perfume filling my nostrils. “Just focus and follow through.” I adjust her wrists slightly, my fingers lightly brushing against her hands.
“Just trust yourself, okay?” I murmur, my breath teasing her ear. She swallows, the rise and fall of her chest more pronounced, and there’s a slight tremor in her hands. She gives a short nod in confirmation.
