Out on the Serve (Out in College 7)

Braden shot a puzzled frown at me. “That’s not a thing. Do you mean an ace?”

“Nope. It’s a figure of speech.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Sure, it is. I made it up. It means you’re done-zo before you even get a real shot. The human equivalent of an ace.”

He grinned. “You’re weird.”

“I am.” I nodded in agreement. “Hey, come by the beach when you’re done at the theater. You’re gonna need some sun after being cooped up all day.”

“Maybe I will, but um…” Braden bit his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. “Last night…shouldn’t happen again.”

I hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

I didn’t know what else to say, so I gave him a thumbs-up, dropped my towel, shook my bare ass, and closed the door. I grinned as Braden’s laughter floated in the air behind me. That went better than I’d hoped. It wasn’t ideal by any stretch—there was definitely something between us, and I knew he felt it too. But if friendship was all he was up for, I’d find a way to convince myself that was all I needed.

The beach was my playground when I was a kid…and a teenager. I used to hang around the basketball and volleyball courts with my friends before and after school. We’d talk about sports, video games, and girls while we shot hoops or bumped a ball over a sagging net. I was a good athlete, and I’d always been a little competitive, but truthfully my friends were the main draw.

There were five or six of us, depending on the day, but I was closest to Colby and Tucker. Maybe because they understood how it felt to be part of something but not really connected. Colby was still reeling from his dad’s death and a cross-country move while Tucker’s uber wealthy folks were too busy making money to remember he was around. And me? I was a latchkey kid with a colorful mom who struggled with addiction. What can I say? I gravitated toward misfits…like myself.

Being a freakishly tall kid with a wacky parent wasn’t how I wanted to stand out though. I wanted to be really fucking good at something that was all mine. I chose volleyball. Or it chose me.

Volleyball was my ticket to self-confidence, self-realization, and self-respect. It gave me purpose and a sense of belonging. I wasn’t defined by the holes in my Vans or my mom’s issues while I was on the court. I was someone new.

The idea alone of playing my favorite sport professionally was mind-boggling. It was a dream come true. Don’t get me wrong; the AVP wasn’t the NBA. Only a few elite players made serious cash. But the money didn’t matter…not yet anyway. I was twenty-three. This was the perfect time to go for it. If it didn’t work out, I could get a boring desk job. But for now, the beach was my office. How cool was that?

Well, it would be cooler if I liked my partner a little more.

Gus was six five with sandy blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a bronze, toned body. Personally, I thought he was a little full of himself. He never said so aloud, but I couldn’t help thinking I was a placeholder until his previous partner either miraculously recovered from his blown Achilles tendon or until someone better came along.

Honestly, I wondered if our personalities were compatible. I was a hard worker, but I liked to have fun too. Actually, I was pretty sure there was a law somewhere stating it was mandatory to have fun at the beach. But my idea of a good time ranged toward slapstick silly pranks while Gus was all about showing off and impressing the ladies. He wasn’t necessarily a conceited dickhead, but every once in a while, I really wanted to stick an ice cube down his shorts…just because.

I tossed the ball in the air, nodding while he went on about approach shots and angles as I scanned the beach. It was busy for late afternoon, but that was the norm for June now that school was out and summer had officially begun. A gaggle of girls in barely-there bikinis were camped out on a blanket nearby, and a few teenage boys were sitting on the sea wall, watching our practice. They were volleyball groupies. And on this row of courts, where professional athletes from around the world came to hone their skills, it was a badge of honor to draw a crowd. I usually stopped to say hello ’cause it was good business to have the fans on your side at any given match, but I was over it today. Or maybe I was over Gus.

“I think we need to come up with an angle,” he said out of nowhere.

“For what?”

“Ty went to the Olympics, so he and I always had that. Something so the fans automatically root for us.”