Page 1 of Beach B!tch
1
The young girl dragged her feet along the sidewalk, heading home from school, backpack loaded down with homework. She was a super active girl most days, darting here, running there, but nothing could make her pick up her pace and reach her destination any earlier than she absolutely had to. Her reluctant pace, along with her drooping shoulders and downcast eyes, were all clear signals that the worst part of her day was about to begin.
Schoolyard bullies were of no consequence; it was the bully at home that made her heart pound in fear. She never quite knew when or how the bully would appear, but appear he would, with no mama at home to deflect his anger. Funny how someone can change so dramatically, crumbling down into a different person when someone dies. This little girl had lost her mama when she was just a baby, but she'd also lost her dad. The man remaining in her house still held the title of father, but he resembled none of the types of dad she'd seen on television.
Grief and anger had led to finding oblivion at the bottom of a Jim Beam bottle for her father. But his love of whiskey for drowning out his sorrow also wiped away his capacity to take care of the little girl. No horsey rides around the living room or cozy bedtime stories about that cute, little dog named Biscuit at night. The most she could hope for was that he'd just leave her alone in his drunken stupor and, at best, left some of their dwindling monies for her to buy food to live off the rest of the week.
On the bad days, she could do no right. He'd yell at her, he'd throw things against the wall and rage all night while she huddled, hungry and alone, in her bed. She'd squeeze her eyes tight and picture what her life would look like once she was old enough to leave this house and leave this man behind. Contrary to what he told her all day, every day, she'd find success, she'd make something of herself. And then she'd know.
She was worth something.
She was lovable.
She was worthy.
Someday.
Present Day - Brinley
The sun was blistering, the lack of a damn breeze making every minute a test against the elements. Sweat trickled down the small of my back, down into my swimsuit bottoms. Sand plastered to every square inch of my sun soaked skin, making me irritable, momentarily making me forget my love of this game. I leaned forward and put my hands behind my back, signaling to my partner, using my fingers, to point out which opponent to serve to. The whistle blew and my body tensed, ready to spring into action.
The volleyball flew over the net with a solid bump, set, spike return to our side of the net. My partner dove to the ground, popping it up. I gave her a nice, high set-up at the net, giving her time to scramble back to her feet and get to the ball for a brutal spike. The opponent dug it out of the ground, back to our side of the net in one hit. I bumped it to my partner, she set it and I smashed it down with all the strength and speed I'd been training my whole life for, relishing the loud smack, knowing they had little chance of getting this one back in the air.
Game point for us. Match won. Only four more match wins needed before we qualified for pro status in the IVP, the most elite beach volleyball league in the U.S. That overwhelming yearning feeling clawed at me, making those wins feel like they were within my grasp. If sheer desire was enough to propel me to pro status, there's no doubt it would happen.
The smattering of applause and cheers from the stragglers surrounding the court was meant to be encouraging to the players, and honestly, I was grateful they were even there, but it was also straight up disheartening. This didn't feel like success. This felt like desperation. Yes, I was at the beach, playing the game I loved out in the warm sun every day. There are worse workplaces, for sure. But I wasn't successful at it yet, and the clock was ticking.
I dreamed of the grandstands filled with fans, stomping their feet and yelling my name. The calm ocean breeze carrying itself across the court as a constant reminder of our paradise location. The DJ pumping out fast beats as the cameras waited to catch an athlete interview between games. I wanted that crazy energy to bounce off the sand and hit me in the chest as I fought for first place on the court. Big wins, big crowds; that was success. And it would be mine, mark my words.
My partner, Autumn, slapped me on the back as we grabbed our gear together on the side of the court.
"Nice work out there, BB. We kicked some ass today!" She was grinning and pumped up with the post-win high. "There's a group of us meeting at Freddie's. Want to join us for a quick beer?"
I glanced up and flashed her a grateful smile. "No, I'm good. Thanks for the invite though. I'm going to take a quick dip in the ocean and then head home. Got some early classes tomorrow." I continued to pack up my bag and then straightened up to head out. "Nice teamwork today, lady. We just gotta stay focused for the next four games, yeah?"
"You know it! Don't stress, Brin, we got this," she assured me. She smiled, patted me on the shoulder and turned to leave.
I watched her go, wondering if her commitment was high enough for what I hoped for. I knew I was a bit intense, and that I was laser focused on getting into the pros. But this was a two-man sport. I needed her to be equally as committed in order for this to work. We'd been over this so many times, I didn't want to bring it up again. She already knew I wouldn't be happy with anything less than a pro spot this season.
At this point, there wasn't anything else I could do. I needed to stay focused, put in the work, and hope I'd made a good choice earlier this season when I paired up with her. We got along well and she tolerated my near obsession with my volleyball standings. And she was a good player too, well-suited for rounding out my weaknesses.
As she left with a group of fellow players, I felt a pang of jealousy that she got along so well with everyone else. She had easy friendships while I struggled to chill out enough to remember to be friendly. I should have taken her up on the happy hour offer. That would have helped ease my way into the group dynamic. But it was true, I had classes to teach early the next morning, and I needed plenty of sleep tonight to recover from the game. No injuries, baby.
I turned toward the ocean and took a deep breath, trying to release all the tension I was carrying from the game as I gazed at the sun lowering in the sky. The evenings weren't my favorite time of day. I loved the hues of color as the sun set over the ocean, but evenings always made me uneasy. Something about the impending darkness made my stomach drop. I'd never liked the dark. Nothing good ever happens in the dark.
"Come on, Brinley, keep it together," I mumbled to myself as I dropped my bag in the sand and walked toward the surf.
Not many people were left on the beach as it wasn't quite summertime and it was a Thursday night. Mostly locals and a few random people on vacation. That meant I had a nice patch of surf to myself, the almost private space enabling me to relax.
I walked into the water, loving the shock of the cold water running over my feet, up my legs. I kept going until I was knee deep, bouncing over each wave as they rolled in. Between waves, when the water was still, I bent my knees and dipped down till my shoulders hid under the surface. Delicious goose bumps broke out over my skin as the cold water cooled me down and washed away the aches and pains left over from the game. I kept my eyes trained on the next wave to crash, making sure I was high up enough to jump over them. The wave jumping and the constant backtracking when the undertow tried to pull me out further kept me warm on the inside, even though the water was still a chilly sixty-two degrees.
Once I felt myself going from delightfully cool to painfully numb, I walked back up the sand to my bag. Using my beach towel, I dried off, finishing by tying my towel around my waist. I reached up under my towel and took my swim bottoms off, stuffing them into the netted compartment on the side of my bag. I yanked a pair of cutoff jean shorts up my damp legs and buttoned them, all while staying covered under the towel. My public changing tricks came from watching the surfers back when I was in high school and would escape to the beach every day before school started. Years of practice left me proficient and in no danger of flashing innocent beachgoers.
I whipped my towel off and went to stuff it back in my bag when I noticed a tall lifeguard standing on top of his tower just up the sand from where I stood. He was far enough away I couldn't see his exact features, but close enough I could tell he was gorgeous. His upper body was on full display without a shirt on, and holy ab muscles, was that a nice sight! Muscles for days, abs chiseled into his front, and then the formfitting red trunks that set off his bronzed skin perfectly. His black hair was cut short and I could have sworn he was looking right at me. His gaze never shifted, so if he was looking at me, he was definitely staring.
I felt my cheeks heating, along with a zing of awareness that shot down through my body. My mouth watered as if preparing itself to make a meal of this man. My mind played out exactly what parts of him I wanted my mouth on first. Time seemed to stand still as I stared back at him, envisioning how his skin would feel as my fingertips ran down his torso, exploring those hard pecs and cut abs.
A kid shrieking further down the beach snapped me out of my daydream. I reined in my wayward mind and shook my head to clear the sexual fog I was lost in for a moment. I peeled my eyes away from his body leaning against the tower, making a mental note to file away that picture somewhere in my brain for later when I could pull it back out, relax and enjoy it without the danger of doing anything about it.
