Page 59 of Spin The Bottle
He lets out a laugh, running his hands over my waist. “Tell me how huge I am again,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against mine. “Fuck. I’ve missed you.” He has? Before I can say anything, he plants another kiss on my lips.
I hum, pulling back. “You need to practice.”
He shakes his head, nuzzling his lips against my neck. “I need to kiss you.” His lips trail to my jaw, leaving soft kisses before making his way up until he’s back on my mouth. God, this man can kiss. Just the brush of our tongues together makes me weak, lightheaded. He does things to me I don’t even know how to explain. It’s like I’m alive with him, like my every one of my bones vibrate whenever he’s around.
“No,” I say, attempting to catch my breath. “I’m not letting you waste time with me.”
“Worth it,” he mumbles, kissing me again. “You’re the best kind of distraction.”
I let out a laugh, pushing him back again. “I’m serious,” I say, giving him a smirk. “From what I saw, you need all the practice you can get.”
He laughs again, tightening his hold on me. “You bust my balls more than Coach. Come on then, baller,” he says, grabbing the ball from the ground and holds it up against his chest. “Let’s see what you got.”
Okay, I might have underestimated how easy it is because when Aiden throws the ball to me, I flinch, watching as it rolls outside the court.
“What the hell was that?” he asks in a fit of laughter, curling up.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I wheeze. “That came at me way too fast.”
“What happened to ‘you could do better?’” he asks, still laughing. “Not as easy as it looks, is it?”
I shake my head, determined to prove him wrong. “Let me try again.”
He shakes his head, grabbing another ball. “Come here.”
“Throw it to me. I can do it.”
“Leila, gorgeous, I say this in the most respectful way possible, but you can’t catch a ball to save your life. Come here before you hurt yourself. I’ll teach you.”
I raise my brows. “You’ll teach me?”
He nods, pulling on my arm until I’m standing in front of him, circling me with his arms as he holds the basketball in front of me. “Hold the ball.” I do as he says, grabbing the ball and hold it out in front of me, and he covers my hands with his. “Good,” he says, his breath hitting my neck and my body very aware of how his groin presses against my ass. He lets out a shaky breath. “Focus,” he says.
“I can’t.” It’s hard to concentrate or do literally anything else when he’s so close to me, whispering in my ear, his deep, gravelly voice making me feel a little dizzy. Fuck, is it hot in here?
“Look at the basket,” he whispers. I turn my head, focusing on the basket in front of me. “Now bring the ball closer to your chest, like this,” he positions our hands so the ball is pressed against my beating heart. “Now shoot.”
He drops his hands and I throw the ball, watching as it hits the backboard and falls to the ground, not going inside. I turn my head, frowning at him. “Okay, fine,” I concede. “Maybe it’s a little harder than I anticipated.”
He laughs, twisting me around and bringing his hands back to my waist. “You did good. For a beginner.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, his blue eyes pinned on me, making me feel dazed, feeling unsteady on my feet. “You’re so talented.” I let out a sigh.
His brows furrow. “That’s the first compliment I’ve ever heard from you. Are you okay?”
I nod, looking up at his beautiful face. God, why is he so beautiful? A strand of his brown hair falls onto his face, little beads of sweat coating his pale skin. “And you’re so pretty.”
He lets out a scoff, rubbing his thumb over my cheek. I love when he does that. “You’re the pretty one.”
I shake my head, wincing when I feel the room spinning when I move my head. I blow out a breath when I open my eyes and look up at him again. He’s so handsome, and so nice. Why did Aiden have to be so nice? Why couldn’t he have been a hot asshole? It would have made this so much easier.
My knees buckle and I stumble against him, Aiden’s hand gripping my waist. Why do I feel so dizzy? When I look up at him, he’s frowning. Why is he frowning? I want him to smile. I love when he smiles at me.
“Leila,” I hear him say. I can’t see his face properly, though. He’s all blurry, fuzzy. Are those stars? “Leila. What’s wr—”
My eyes flutter open when I start to regain consciousness, a foggy haze coating my blurry vision as I try to move. A heavy grogginess weighs me down and I struggle to shake it off, my head throbbing painfully when I do.
I blink slowly, trying to make sense of blurry surroundings, my vision gradually starting to clear, a dull ache pulsing through my skull when I attempt to sit up, realizing I’m in some sort of clinic.
