All Over Again

| Chapter Fifteen |

Ruth hadn't been dribbling the withered, sorry-excuse-of-a-basketball across the empty blacktop for very long before she realized shooting hoops just wasn't working.

Her distraction lacked a voice, a conscience, or proper company. She thought finding her love for the carefree sport again would help in relieving the urge of wonder in the base of her chest, but it did no such thing. So she tentatively listened for the advice of her grandfather in the wind, waiting for him to make the decision for her, and received nothing in return but silence. Much to her dismay, he was as silent as the stars on a midnight canvas, no brighter than the yellow bulbs painted on Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night masterpiece.

No part of her body wanted to believe that writing held no importance to her. Looking at the flyer earlier that day had reverted her back to square one and there was nothing she could do about it. It was stuck in her spiderwebbed mind and no matter how harshly she pulled and tugged, the thoughts just wouldn't give. They demanded to be devoured, digested, and forced out onto paper.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought and pushed her hands up with the ball, using the tips of her fingers to push it the rest of the way towards the hoop.

Toilet bowl, Ruth thought, watching as it fell through the net and down towards her opened palms. Way to reflect, Ruth.

"Nice shot."

Ruth froze up instinctually, alarmed at the unsuspecting voice behind her. She spun around on her heel immediately, wanting to make sure she wasn't hearing things, and was more than surprised to find an opal-haired boy with woodsy eyes as he walked leisurely towards her, both hands shoved in his pockets. The black t-shirt he wore earlier was gone, replaced by a white sleeveless shirt. His beaded necklace shimmered brightly against his warm, honey skin directly at the center of his broad chest. Her gaze greedily roams over the bronzed strain of grooves and muscles bulging under his skin and her mind stutters.

The faded blue hat laying backwards over his lengthy locks drew her back to life after invisibly drooling over the beautiful angel of a man before her. Well, it was either that or his dark brow twitching upwards.

"What are you doing here?" Ruth questioned, furrowing her eyebrows. She pressed the basketball under her arm harder against her hip. "I thought you couldn't come?"

Raffo effortlessly shrugged his bare shoulders, a faint, crooked smile curling at the tips of his lips. Her soul cracked just a little. "I found time."

His steps towards her were deliberate and slow as if approaching a startled horse than a bewitched girl. It kickstarted her heart into hyperdrive, as sensory overload flooded her body, taken by his natural intoxication. A dark, woodsy spice clung to his shirt like a second skin, his casual breaths reaching her ears next once he's near enough, and the mint tangled in the gum he chewed on touching her tongue as she inhaled sharply when he breathed close enough to her face. The sight of him was a given, but touch happened when he skillfully nudged the basketball off of her hip and dribbled it towards the basket, not once looking back to take in her reaction to his fingers brushing against her.

Unlike Raffo, Ruth's cheeks flushed to an uncomfortable warmth and she watched him stupidly as he made the basket with ease. His small smile of triumph nudged at her heartstrings and she had to remember to breathe.

"You up for a little tournament again?" he called out to her, trying to pull her from the abyss of her mind.

She blinked at him, trying to get her brain to catch up to what was going on so she'd stop embarrassing herself. He might think she was a creep if she continued to stand there watching him wordlessly, so she did her best to come back to the present.