Page 3 of A Whole New Play

Bastard.

I dive forward. Sand flies up all around as my body hits the ground, but my fist misses the ball by inches.

“Point!” Megan cheers. She and Dane high-five.

I stand and brush the sand from my chest where it sticks to the sunscreen I applied earlier.

I glance at Valerie and say, “Don’t worry, we’ll get the next one.” My competitive nature rears its head.

She scoffs. “We’ll see.”

It isn’t until five points later that I understand her doubt. Valerie isn’t the worst volleyball player I’ve ever seen, but she’s pretty bad. She can read the ball well, but her hand-eye coordination is sub-par which means she doesn’t always bump the ball properly. Sometimes it hits her fists. Sometimes her forearms and sometimes her biceps.

At least half the time, the volleyball veers in unpredictable directions and I have no hope of intercepting it even with my agility and length. My competitive nature fades away and is replaced with the charming jokester I’m known to be.

Valerie moves to the baseline to serve after I managed to tip the ball over the net and score our first point.

I turn to look at her with my hands on my hips, panting from the effort of chasing down her hits. “You know, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been hustled by your friend.”

She dips her chin. “Your feelings are valid.”

“I knew it.”

She cracks a smile. “Sorry I’m awful, but I did try to warn you. If we play a second game, we can switch partners.”

“No, thanks. I don’t want to switch.”

“Why not?” She tosses the ball in the air and catches it in her hands easily.

See what I mean?

Not the worst player I’ve ever seen.

My lips curl into the smile that earned me “Best Smile” as my senior superlative in my high school yearbook and say, “Because I need this time to charm you so you’ll agree to have dinner with me.”

Valerie drops the ball in the sand. She bends down and fumbles slightly as she tries to pick it up. When she rises, her cheeks are flushed. “Excuse me?”

I tap into confidence I haven’t utilized for the better part of a year and say, “Have dinner with me.”

Her eyes are wide. She looks like she’s not used to men hitting on her, but I find that hard to believe. “I don’t even know you,” she sputters.

I’m undeterred. “Then get to know me at dinner.”

She shakes her head and huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Does this sort of thing actually work for you?”

“What sort of thing?”

“This.” She motions over my body. “Approaching women without your shirt on and asking them out on a date without knowing anything about them.”

“That’s what talking over dinner is for,” I say pragmatically. “But if you’d rather we get to know a bit about each other first, that’s fine. I’ll kick things off. What’s your favorite color?”

“Are you going to serve sometime today?” Dane hollers from the other side of the net.

Valerie jolts back and adjusts her hold on the ball. Muttering something about muscular playboys under her breath, she settles into a serving stance, tosses the ball in the air, and hits it over the net. The ball almost skims the top of the net before it travels downward. Dane lunges forward. One knee hits the sand as he extends his arms and bumps the ball a little too hard. The ball soars over to the other edge of their side, and Megan can’t get to it in time. I hoot in victory as the ball hits the sand. Another point for us.

My friend grumbles about bruising his knee, earning some good-natured ribbing from Megan about being a grouch before he picks up the ball and tosses it back over to Valerie. The dark-haired beauty sets up to serve again.

Before she can, I stand in front of her, blocking her view.

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