Chapter82 -Call me Sister
The sun caught on the sweat sliding down his neck, glinting off the delicate red mole beneath his eye—a single drop of color against his pale skin. Beautiful, devastating, dangerous.
At the basketball court, Clarissa had just arrived when she heard her name called from behind.
“Clarissa!”
She turned—and saw him.
Atticus was running toward her, his jersey clinging to his lean, toned body, the smile on his face bright enough to melt ice. The intensity in his features had softened; in that moment, he looked young again—vibrant and alive, like spring had cracked open inside him.
She walked forward to meet him, her expression somewhere between amused and fond. He was dripping with sweat, clearly having sprinted from god-knows-where.
She didn’t scold him for being loud. Didn’t tease him for being sweaty. Instead, she reached into her bag, pulled out a fresh wet towel, and gently wiped his face.
“Why are you sweating so much? Weren’t you supposed to be playing?” she asked, her voice soft with concern. The towel glided across his cheek, down his neck.
Atticus leaned down slightly, letting her soft, slender fingers gently wipe away the sweat on his face. Her touch was cool and delicate—he couldn’t help but savor it.
“There was a small accident before the game. It delayed everything by about two hours,” he said casually.
“Oh?” Clarissa’s brows furrowed. “What kind of accident? Was it serious?”
Atticus’s tone stayed calm. “Not really. Someone tampered with the court. Thaddeus broke his leg.”
Clarissa froze. “You call that not serious?”
Thaddeus was one of the team’s key players. Without him, all the pressure would fall squarely on Atticus. But the boy just shrugged, his lips curving faintly.
“He’s at the hospital now. It doesn’t look too bad. I’ll take the center position in the second half.”
“You need to be careful,” she said, frowning. Her voice was laced with worry.
Three years ago, Atticus had been a skinny, awkward teenager. Now he towered over her, tall and athletic—broad-shouldered and full of restless energy like a wild stallion barely held in check.
She looked at him, the sunlight catching on the sweat at his temples, and something stirred deep in her chest. Pride, yes—but something warmer. Deeper.
He wasn’t a boy anymore. She finished wiping his face and smiled softly. “Sorry I was late. Something came up last minute. I didn’t think I’d make it.”
Her voice was sweet, soft—like a spring bubbling over warm skin, washing over him, soaking into his bones.
Atticus smiled, genuine and warm. “It’s fine. I’m just glad Clarissa you came.”
“You’re getting disrespectful. You should call me sister,” Clarissa scolded, eyes narrowing.
He didn’t answer. Just gave a noncommittal curl of his lips.
Before she could press the issue, he reached for her hand and tugged her gently toward the bleachers.
“Sit here. You’ll get the best view from this spot.” He glanced down at her clothes and frowned. Without a word, he took off his warm-up jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Why are you dressed so lightly? Your hands are cold.”
“I just came from university,” she replied. “The car and buildings had the heat on, so I didn’t notice the cold until now.”
Atticus didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on her hands for a beat too long.
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I rushed over right after finishing things up. I didn’t want to miss your game.”
Something in that answer made his lips lift again. A spark flickered behind his eyes, though he didn’t say a word.
Just then, another boy jogged up to them.
“Atticus! It’s time to get on the court,” Benedict called out. His gaze flicked to Clarissa and lit up instantly. “Oh, she’s here too. No wonder you’re playing like a madman today.”
Before he could take more than two steps closer, Atticus’s arm snapped out like a barrier. “That’s close enough.”
Benedict stopped, blinking. “What? I’m not even within a meter of her.”
Atticus didn’t flinch. “Still too close.”
Benedict rolled his eyes with a dramatic groan. “Seriously, man? We all know you’ve got a gorgeous sister, but guarding her like she’s national treasure is a little much.”
Atticus ignored him completely. “Didn’t you say it was game time? Go warm up.”
Benedict made a face but left, muttering under his breath.
Atticus’s gaze shifted sharply to the team assistant standing nearby.
The boy flinched. “A-Atticus… I—I—”
“Go to the store,” Atticus said flatly. “Buy snacks and drinks. Whatever looks good. And remember—she’s the most beautiful girl on this court. Make it enough to match. I’ll pay you later. But if I find out you tried to flirt with her…”
The assistant paled, nodded frantically, and bolted.
A few minutes later, he returned, red-faced and out of breath, carrying a huge bag of food. Without daring to look Clarissa in the eye, he mumbled, “A-Atticus asked me to give you this…”
Then he turned and sprinted away like his life depended on it.
Clarissa opened the bag, and her eyes widened. It was full—bubble tea, milk, soda, sandwiches, snacks of every variety.
She couldn’t help laughing softly.
She was, honestly, a little hungry. So she pulled out a sandwich, took a small bite, and watched the court with full attention—eyes locked on the boy who stood taller, fiercer, and more captivating than anyone else out there.
It was the first time Clarissa had seen Atticus play basketball—and he was dazzling.
Under the bright lights of the court, the boy moved like a force of nature. His white jersey clung to his sweat-slick skin, his black hair flying wildly with every sprint, every leap. His features—handsome, cold, almost cruel in their perfection—were like something chiseled from stone. All sharp lines and shadowed intensity.
This boy… this was the same boy she’d watched grow up? By the end of the game, he’d practically dismantled the opposing team by himself. One against five—and he made it look easy.
As they were walking back together, she glanced at him, his chest still rising and falling, his body soaked in sweat.
“You sure you don’t want to shower before we head home?” she asked.
Atticus turned to her with a crooked smile. “Why? Do I smell bad?”
“Of course not. I’m just worried you’ll be uncomfortable. It’s a bit of a ride home.”
“I feel fine,” he said, eyes lowering to her face. “Actually… I feel great right now.”
His gaze lingered for a moment too long, dark eyes unreadable.
Clarissa didn’t catch the look. She was busy pulling a handkerchief from her bag. She reached up to gently wipe the sweat from his face.
“There. Much better,” she said softly. “You have an award ceremony later, right? Can’t be showing up looking like you just walked out of a war.”
Atticus’s lips twitched. “I’m skipping it. Benedict can accept it. I just want to get out of here.”
“You’re not going?” Clarissa frowned.
“It’s nothing important. I’ve had enough attention for one day.”
Clarissa sighed. “I wanted to ask your teacher about how you’ve been doing lately.”
Atticus looked at her for a long second before nodding. “Alright. I’ll get changed first. Wait for me at the flower bed.”
As he walked off, Clarissa wandered to the edge of the court and found a seat on the low brick wall surrounding the flower beds.