2

[JULIAN]

I stood there in disbelief, watching the white ball return over the net. My teammates were shouting things at the other team, things I didn't bother paying attention to because something else had my attention or should I say someone?

The game was over but it didn't mind. I didn't look so out of place among my team members who were still glaring over the net at the other team. The fact was I wasn't glaring I was staring, staring at the person who had returned the last shoot. The shoot I made. That was impossible no one ever returned my planned shoots. How did he do that how did he manage? No one had ever done that, ever. But what surprised me more was I wasn't angry in fact I was far from it. I was intrigued.

"Hey."

I heard a deep but not raspy masculine voice filled with enthusiasm wash over me. I blinked once or twice before coming to the realization that the person in question was speaking to me and had his body pressed flat against the volleyball net. His bare chest was covered in sweat. How did he do it? Yeah, I was still cut up on that but I still can't believe he returned my shot.

"Nice shot," he suddenly said, winking before he smiled and I soon found myself smiling too. What was wrong with me I was supposed to be furious, mad but here I was smiling and rather impressed? Maybe it was his smile. It seemed so infectious.

"Thank you," I barely mouthed. I watched him raise a brow at me. He watching me. I watched sweat run down his chin—his chest. His dark hair looked slick at the roots, probably from sweating. He suddenly grinned, and I felt a funny flip in my stomach.

The spectators were still shouting and I just realized we were the only ones left in the court. Usually, a mini get-together came right after a neighborhood match. It had probably started.

"See you then?" he asked, looking towards the crowd. I suddenly felt empty. Why was he going—wait, why did I even care?

He slowly heaved himself off the now bouncing net taking a few steps away before turning and smiling.

I could feel my face heat up from a sudden rush of excitement—anticipation. Why was I behaving like a child? He probably wasn't smiling at me, why am I so confused. I wonder how at twenty-six I couldn't act mature. He wasn't someone I knew. He didn't owe me anything. Then why did a sudden feeling of losing something overwhelm me when he disappeared into the crowd?

I had somehow managed to squeeze myself into the filled-up room that smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. The room was illuminated by glow lanterns hanging from the ceiling, bar chairs, and side tables scattered carelessly about the bar. I was sitting on one of those random chairs a glass between my entwined fingers. I watched the wine through the transparent glass questionably. My thoughts were not with the crowd but with him.

I shook my head furiously. Why was I feeling this way? What is he doing to me? I questioned myself setting the glass down on one of the battered side tables around me. The room was stuffy and I was drowsy with wine. Where was Linda? Wasn't she meant to embrace me after the match? Wasn't that what wives did?

I must be really drowsy because I couldn't quite pin down what was happening to me. Why was I feeling this way? Where was he? Why did I even want to see him? Thousands of questions ran through my mind with no given explanations. My mind was becoming a dizzy void.

I felt a spark of electricity run through me feeling a hand on my bare knee. My mouth opened slightly, letting out a silent gasp. Looking up I saw him smiling at me—sitting next to me. Where had he come from? But it didn't matter, did it? I just wanted him to be here—here with me.

"Hello," I heard his voice say. It was so—sensual. It had a hint of foreign accent French? Was it Greek, both maybe?

"You've been drinking haven't you?" he said quietly. I squinted at him admirably. His voice was the only thing I could hear in this pit of noise. I nodded opening my mouth to say something but I only gasped.

"I'll get you some water," he said, removing his hand from my knee. I suddenly felt empty. My eyes began to feel watery. Why was I feeling this way? I didn't even know his name. Heck, I knew nothing about him. I felt tears cloud my vision. Why was I crying? Why was I being a baby? He was going to come back. He said so, didn't he? But somehow this didn't stop my sobbing. What was wrong with me? Why was I acting like this? Tears began to roll freely down my cheeks as I sobbed silently. I think the alcohol was getting to me.

"So, you're one of the emotional ones when not sober, aren't you?" I heard somewhere between the scraping of a chair on the tiles beside me and a thump that meant it was occupied.

I felt unnaturally happy when I felt his hand on my face, his thumb outstretched to wipe my tears. My face heat up from the simple contact. I sighed in protest from the simple lose of it.

"Drink," he said, helping me close my palms over a bottle.

A sudden thought crossed my mind and I blushed. I looked up at his expectant eyes and let my gaze fall to his lips. They were glittery and wet. He must have taken a whiff of the water considering the bottle didn't feel full.

I felt my stomach ache with a sudden feeling... want? Need? I am not so sure. I looked from him to the bottle and back at him again, unconsciously licking my lips. What is wrong with me?