String the Player

3.

I'm quite unremarkable looks-wise. In cricket, too. Up until recently, at least.

"What's your name?" he asks. The more he talks, the more I find myself liking his voice. Strong. Confident. And he doesn't care that it borders on grating. Fuck. He can use that voice to speak dirty things to me all night. If he's into it. It's hard to tell what he's thinking behind all that impassiveness, especially when he's not looking at me.

"Why?" I answer.

He shrugs. "Call it curiosity. I want to find out if your name is as daring as the rest of you." He faces me, and I see it. The slight push of interest peeking through the cracks.

"Arya." I don't mind telling him my name. I know he doesn't recognise me. If that accent is anything to go by, I'd say he's American. And if that slow dragging at the end of his words is any indication, I'd further narrow it down to the West Coast.

A small smile tilts his lips. Those dimples pop out again.

"What's the verdict?" I ask, strangely holding my breath in anticipation.

"It suits you perfectly."

Pride swarms my chest, and really it's stupid. I didn't choose that name. Most of the time, people don't even get the pronunciation right.

"Thanks," I say and raise my eyebrows.

"Dan." He angles his hand towards me, and we shake. His hands are mostly smooth apart from the callouses at the top of his palms, right below his fingers. A stark contrast to my roughness.

When I pull back, his hand still sticks out, and he looks at me expectantly. Maybe he wants to cop a better feel? I slowly shake his hand again, but then his eyebrows scrunch up in a confused manner. Which in turn makes me confused.

Then, with his hand still in mine, he points to the side. I follow his finger and almost facepalm but then realise my hand is occupied.

"Right," I say and hand the bottle of Gin to him.

He takes a long, super long sip and doesn't make any move to show how acidic tasting it is. He can't possibly like the taste. For my ego's sake, I tell myself he's not emoting because he's being polite.

"So, Arya," he says, licking his lips, and other than appreciating that little movement, I also appreciate how he says my name. Properly. "What brings you up here?"

I glance at the large gap between my feet and the ground below. "Needed some air. Didn't expect I'd need help in that area, but it is appreciated."

He tucks his chin to his chest, almost bashfully. "I didn't really think you were going to jump," he says, playing with the bottle label. "But I did panic when I saw you pacing back and forth. You could've slipped."

I bark out a laugh. "The only time I could've slipped was when you caught me off guard."

A blush covers his cheeks in pink. Fuuuck. He's blushing. Why's that so adorable?

"My appreciation still stands, by the way," I say. "You never know what ideas I might've gotten. I'm known for my daring spirit."

A soft, almost flirty smile engulfs his entire face, blunting his sharpness. "So, you do this often? Climb up ledges on roofs and give others a heart attack?"

Now that the initial shyness is gone, we've reached a quiet confidence that shows he's a man comfortable in his own skin. Confidence I value a lot since it mostly extends to other areas.

"Yes." I sit up straighter and bring my legs up to cross them. I angle my body slightly towards him, leaving my knee over the edge. His eyes dart towards that, and if I'm giving him another heart attack, he doesn't mention it. "Adulting has made me realise having my head up in the clouds is better than having it attached."