The basketball player

Scored My Heart

Fast forward a few days, and Aiden invited me to his basketball match held for the bank's sports day. He played for Team Red, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to see him in action. He had sent me the match details via email, attaching the official posters like it was just part of the job—but we both knew better. There was an unspoken excitement in his words, like he couldn't wait for me to be there. I felt the same.

When I arrived at the indoor stadium with Tia, Reese, and Nathan, I instantly scanned the crowd for Aiden. I spotted him, and the moment he saw me, his whole face lit up with a grin that nearly took my breath away. "You came!" he called out, making his way straight to us, or rather, straight to me. There was something in the way he moved, the way his eyes found mine across the court, that sent a shiver down my spine.

Aiden looked different that day—dressed in his team's red jersey, exuding this effortless confidence that made him even more attractive than usual. Seeing him out of his usual work attire, in this sporty, carefree setting, was like unlocking a whole new side of him. He quickly came over, and without wasting a beat, sat down next to me on the steps—so close that I could feel the heat of his body. His scent, a mix of cologne and sweat, enveloped me, and I couldn't help but notice how comfortable and natural it felt.

He leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing against mine as he started pointing out who was who on the court. "That's Chris from corporate finance," he whispered, and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my ear. He showed me around, explaining the rules of the match, even though I pretended to know more than I actually did. It was endearing how patient he was, walking me through the plays, pointing out who to watch for, and cracking jokes to keep me entertained. It was as if he wanted to make sure I felt included, like he was showing me his world, making sure I was a part of it.

And then, with a soft chuckle, he turned to me, almost as if it had become routine, and said, "By the way, how was work today? Did you eat yet?"

His question caught me off guard, but in the best way. The fact that he remembered—amidst all the excitement of the game, with everything going on—that small detail made my heart skip a beat. I smiled at him, trying to ignore how my stomach fluttered, and nodded. "Yeah, work was okay. Grabbed a quick lunch earlier."

He smiled, satisfied with my answer, but I could feel his attention on me, even when the game started. Aiden sat close—closer than friends usually do—and we spent the rest of the time with our sides pressed together, sharing a quiet closeness that neither of us acknowledged, but we both felt.

As the match began, my heart raced—not just from the game, but from being so close to him. He would lean in every now and then, brushing my arm as he pointed things out on the court, or comment on the plays, his voice low, like it was a secret meant just for me. The air between us felt charged, like every little movement carried weight.

When it was finally his turn to play, he stood up, pulling his team's jersey over his head in one swift motion, revealing toned arms and a lean, athletic build. I wasn't ready for that, and I had to remind myself to breathe as I watched him head toward the court. I had only ever seen him in suits at work, so this version of him—sweaty, competitive, and completely in his element—was both thrilling and distracting.

As the game unfolded, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Every time he made a shot, I felt this electric jolt of excitement. He kept glancing over, making sure I was watching, and I couldn't help but grin every time our eyes met. He fell several times during the match—some of the falls were hard, others more graceful—and I began to realize that he was hamming it up every time he noticed me looking. It was as if he was playing for me, his every move exaggerated, just to make me laugh or catch my attention.