Chapter 16
Danni
We file out of the bus with bags, folding chairs, and blankets in hand, the hot July sun blazing overhead. Christopher is the last to land on the sandy asphalt, weighed down by a cooler and a popup canopy. Folly Beach County Park is a narrow strip of oceanfront land, the beach steps away across a short boardwalk. My flip-flops sink into the warm sand as I head toward the shoreline.
“Here?” Violet hollers back to Christopher, referring to a wide unclaimed spot. The beach isn’t crowded yet. It’s still early.
Christopher nods and the twelve of us drop our bags and begin spreading out. Morgan, Kayla, and I make a patchwork of blankets and plop down. A few paces ahead, Chance and Drew unfurl their towels, and then Chance whips off his shirt, revealing taut, toned muscles that twitch and bulge with every movement.
“Got enough sunscreen there?” Morgan asks. I glance down. A sand dollar of lotion is puddled on my forearm. I hurriedly transfer some onto my legs while side-eyeing Chance’s wide lats and tapered waist. A sheen of sweat draws attention to every curve and line.
While I work, Morgan sits with bent knees, arms draped around her shins, gazing at Chance’s triangular back. She sighs.
Something pokes at me. “Do you want me to get your back?”
Morgan sighs again with that swoony smile on her face. “Sure.” She swivels on her rear.
A vague sense of relief replaces the poking. I scoot over and squirt sunscreen onto her back.
She shivers. “It’s cold.”
Behind us, Drew insists he isn’t hot even though he’s wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. “No sunscreen is strong enough to protect my sensitive skin.”
“You’re going to melt,” Chance says.
“I will not remove my sweatsuit between the hours of ten and four o’clock.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Ha ha,” Drew deadpans.
“It wasn’t a pun.”
“I will be the judge of that.”
“We have to put up with them all day?” I whisper to Morgan.
“No way is that sweatsuit staying on.”
“With Drew anything is possible.”
“Hup!”
We turn our attention to Christopher. He’s got a volleyball in one hand and a net under his arm. “Chance. Drew. Get over here.”
They respond dutifully, and he hands them the net.
“Team-building volleyball game,” Christopher announces.
A chorus of groans arises, including one from my throat.
“I’ll pass, boss,” Violet says as she slathers lotion onto her arm.
“Nobody passes. I already picked teams. You, Kayla, Drew, Chance, Danni, and Tanner on one side. Everyone else on the other.”
“We don’t have to be on literal teams to team build,” Juanita says.
“But when you are it’s so meta, and everybody wins!” Christopher throws up his hands. “Actually, only one team wins. For them it’s a win-win, for the rest of you it’s just good, old-fashioned beach volleyball fun.”
Behind him, Chance and Drew make quick work of the net by plunging the poles into the ground and anchoring them with stakes.
“Hup!”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Violet grumbles.
“It’s what coaches say.” Christopher tosses the ball to Chance.
“Whose team are you on?” Bruce asks.
“I’m the official.”
“That’s not fair,” Morgan whines. She lies back and stretches her arms over her head.
Christopher kicks sand onto her arm. “I’m the boss. I make the rules.”
She glares at him and then sits up, shaking off the sand. “Everybody hurry up so we can get this over with!”
Slowly, we stand and meander over to the volleyball court. I join Chance and Drew and choose a spot in the back. On the other side of the net, Juanita and Violet argue about who should stand where. Christopher finally decides for them, and Bruce pummels the ball over the net with an impressive overhand serve. It arches toward me and lands by my feet.
“Point!” Bruce hollers.
Chance peeks over his shoulder at me. “You’re supposed to hit it back.”
“I wasn’t ready.”
Morgan cups her mouth with her hand and whispers loud enough for Christopher to hear. “If we just stand here, they win and then we can get back to sunbathing.”
“Best out of three,” Christopher says from his neutral spot by the pole.
Our groans rival the sound of the crashing waves. Christopher just smiles.
With our fates sealed, we knuckle down and get serious. Bruce racks up points with his Olympic-style serves. Chance tries to rally us with words of encouragement. The next serve bounces off Drew’s head. Chance slumps. “Can I switch teams?”
“Nope,” Christopher says.
So, Chance starts running after every serve, lobbing it back before anyone else can, which is fine by me.
It’s finally our turn to serve. Kayla goes for the underhanded approach, swings her fist and misses.
“Oops,” she giggles.
Chance claws at his hair. I gaze at his chiseled torso for a moment too long. He intercepts my eyes. Instead of calling me out for ogling his abs, he leans toward me reassuringly. “You can do this. Just fold your hands together like this.” He demonstrates.
“I know how to play volleyball,” I say with a sneer.
“Are you sure? Because I noticed—“
“I know what I’m doing.” I bend at the waist and fold my hands into a wedge, anticipating Juanita’s serve.
She lobs the ball with the force of a thousand fists. It soars into the stratosphere like an unidentified flying object. As it descends, Chance stretches his arms out to make room. Not willing to give him this victory, I prance around on the sand trying to position myself to prove I know what I’m doing. My eye still on the ball, I realize I pranced too far left, so I dive to the right. My cheek hits something rock hard. I ricochet off and hit the sand while Chance hovers over me rubbing his pecs.
“You okay?” His body is blocking the sun.
The sand feels relatively comfortable, and the view isn’t half bad, so I say, “Yeah.”
“Out!” Christopher yells.
The other team cheers. I hear the slapping of high fives. “Take that, you crybabies!” Juanita yells.
Chance offers me his hand. I don’t take it. I might not be good at sports involving projectiles, but I’m not an old lady. I run every morning.
“Thanks,” I mumble once I’m back on my feet.
Chance looks at me curiously, brushes my shoulder. “You’re covered in sand.”
“Imagine that.”
“It’s on your nose.”
I rub my nose with my sand-covered hand, which obviously negates the effort.
He reaches out to help.
I step back so fast that his hand flutters in the empty air. “Time out! I need to rinse off!” I holler as I bound toward the waves.
The cool water bites against my sunbaked legs. Twenty-five yards out, I lay back and let the gentle waves rock me as the saltwater rinses my hair. Before standing, I brush my legs and arms to remove the remaining sand while lamenting the fact that I have to rejoin Christopher’s sick idea of fun.
When I hit dry land, I’m so focused on moping that I don’t notice Drew. I just hear “Move!” right before he plows into me. His raspberry-red face is inches from mine as we fall to the sand. He lands on me, gasps noisily in my ear, and then crawls to the water.
“Gross,” I mutter, feeling violated. And I’m covered in sand again. I sigh, watch the clouds for a moment, and then roll over to hoist myself up. Chance is hovering over me, his hand outstretched. “Need help?”
“Drew landed on top of me.”
“I saw that.”
“It was disturbing.”
“Wanna rinse your eyes out with salt water?”
“Yes.” I grab his hand, noting the grittiness between us, but also the heat. Now my brain needs to be rinsed out with salt water.
We repeat the drill, wading to our knees, and then dropping down. As the gentle waves buffet us, I look over at Chance. “Why is Drew wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt?”
“SPF 100 isn’t strong enough. He still burns.”
“Yeah, I heard that whole conversation. But why sweatpants? Why not linen?”
“Linen doesn’t block out enough sun.”
I lean my head back and rinse my hair. “Why are you justifying his weirdness?”
“Because. I’m a nice guy.”
I frown at him. Before I can argue that he might be overestimating himself a smidge, Christopher calls, “Hup!”
I groan.
Chance grabs my hand without asking, sending a jolt up my arm. He grins. “I got this. Just let me hit the ball.”
I squeeze his hand for leverage as I stand, and then I pull away, putting several feet between us. “Fine by me.”
We pass Drew on the way back to shore. He’s still wallowing in a pile of soaked cotton/polyester blend.
“You gonna be okay there, buddy?” Chance asks.
Drew gasps. “I will be in five minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Tell Christopher to restart without me.”
“Will do.”
Chance and I walk side by side to the volleyball court, his arms swinging in a confident swagger, tempting my hand to grab on for the ride. But my brain is in control and it’s way smarter than that.
I think.
Chance
After single-handedly losing three volleyball games, I’m exhausted and famished. I tried to overcome my sorry excuse for a team, but one man can only do so much. It was like playing beach volleyball pairs, except no one was helping me and the other team was a sextuplet. Oh well. I got in my exercise for the day.
Christopher insists that we continue to team build, this time by pulling our chairs under the canopy and eating his turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches as a group. I pluck one out of the cooler, grab a bag of chips, and look for a chair to collapse into. The one next to Danni looks perfect. I take a seat.
She squinches her eyes at me. “Morgan is sitting there.”
I stand, cross in front of her, and fall into the chair on her opposite side.
“Kayla is sitting there.”
I glance down at my chair. “Is she? I don’t see her.”
“Ha ha.”
“You can talk over me.”
She pinches her mouth to the side, rolls her eyes skyward, but doesn’t argue.
“How’s the sandwich?” I ask when I notice her picking at the bread.
“Christopher put mustard on it.”
I lift my bread to check. “Mine has shredded lettuce and mayo.”
“Lucky.”
“You want mine?” I offer it to her.
She shrugs, snuggles her can of pop into the chair’s drink cozy, and then slides away. I’m afraid I chased her off, but she returns with a new sandwich and two little ducklings named Morgan and Kayla. They take their seats and we settle in for a quiet lunch free from Christopher’s overbearing enthusiasm. During our volleyball tournament, he was official, cheerleader, and coach wrapped up in one small, surprisingly loud package.
“There’s sand in my sandwich!” Violet huffs on the other side of the circle.
“I will eat it,” Drew says, snatching it out of her hand. He stripped down to his boxers mid-tournament and slathered his body with chalky titanium dioxide, which attracted a layer of sand. Now he looks like raw chicken covered in Shake ‘N Bake.
Violet glares at him. “Did you put your grubbies on all the sandwiches?”
“I do not like mustard.”
Violet jumps from her chair, marches over to the cooler, and sticks her head inside.
“Good thing we got ours before Drew put his grubby paws everywhere,” Morgan mumbles.
Christopher walks to the center of the circle and claps his hands together. We all groan before he speaks.
“Can we just eat in peace?” Juanita says.
“Of course. While playing…” After a long pause, Christopher glances over his shoulder. “While playing…”
Bruce grunts. “Oh. Sorry.” He holds up a box.
“Would You Rather, Campfire Addition!”
Several people balk. Violet points out the obvious. “We don’t have a campfire. Fires aren’t allowed on this beach.”
“That’s why we have an imaginary fire!” Christopher says enthusiastically. He grabs the game from Bruce and takes a seat. “Morgan,” he says after pulling out the first card. “Would you rather go glamping or backpacking?”
Morgan scowls. “Neither?”
“You have to pick one.”
“I’d rather stay in a Holiday Inn Express.”
“Not one of the options.”
“Fine. Glamping. But there better be a working shower.”
“This game is lame,” Juanita quips.
“How do you know?” Christopher asks. “We’re just getting started.” He pulls another card.
“Hup!” Juanita says, raising a hand.
“That’s my line.”
Juanita flashes him the quiet coyote sign and then grabs her phone. We wait while she searches something up.
“Would You Rather, Adult Edition.” She shows us her screen. “Drew, would you rather be blindfolded or gagged?”
“No.”
“Would you rather have the lights on or the lights off?”
“No.”
Juanita purses her lips before trying again. “Would you rather wear the same underwear for a month or a stranger’s boxers for a week?”
“No.”
“Christopher,” she whines. “I think your golden boy is broken.”
Christopher waves her comment away. “Ask someone else.”
She scrolls before stopping on the next question. “Oh. This one is for Chance. Would you rather watch nothing but Hallmark Christmas movies or John Wayne westerns?”
Easy. “Hallmark Christmas movies.”
A bunch of “ooo’s” bubble up from my coworkers.
Danni lifts an eyebrow at me.
“What? I like sweet romances.”
“Nothing,” she says and then pops a chip into her mouth.
She’s wearing a bright pink short-sleeved tankini with matching boxers in a tropical print. It’s modest, but it’s more skin than I’ve ever seen on her. My eyes trace the feminine curves of her tan thighs. In the background, Juanita rattles off more questions.
“Would you rather have spaghetti for hair or sweat maple syrup?”
“Would you rather have your life narrated by Homer Simpson or Gilbert Godfrey?”
The answers don’t interest me. Danni’s smooth, delicate arm does. The thought of trailing my fingers along her soft skin makes me break into a sweat.
“This one’s for Danni,” Juanita says.
“No thanks. I don’t want to play.”
“Would you rather date a coworker, or date someone thirty years older than you?”
My stomach flutters. I toss a chip into my mouth and chomp down on it, trying to act casual.
“Is the coworker thirty years older than her?” Drew asks.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Juanita’s eyes narrow. “Because I said so.”
“Because if the coworker is also thirty years older than her,” Drew continues, “the question does not make sense.”
Juanita mutters something in Spanish.
“The question should be, would you rather date a coworker your age or someone thirty years older.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Bruce huffs. “Answer the question, Danni.”
“Bossy Bruce is back,” Violet singsongs.
“I want this game to be over so I can take a nap on the beach.”
“What is it?” Juanita bats her eyes at Danni.
Danni shifts in her seat. “I don’t date coworkers, so the other one, I guess.”
My molars grind together as I process her answer. Danni doesn’t date coworkers. Why doesn’t Danni date coworkers? And is there anything I can do to change her mind?
Juanita rattles off several more questions, but all I hear is a buzz of static as my mind replays Danni’s words over and over.
The game finally ends, and Christopher sets us free, telling us to fill our remaining two hours however we see fit. Danni and her friends lie down to sunbathe. I can’t sit still, so I walk along the shore lost in thought as I plan my next steps. There must be a reason Danni doesn’t like dating coworkers, so I need to not be that reason. Whatever it is. The walk doesn’t give me any grand ideas, but it calms me down some, puts things in perspective.
This is a problem. I solve problems for a living. Sometimes it just takes a little trial and error.
As I return to my towel, Morgan stands and grabs her change purse.
“I’m getting a Push-Up. Anyone want anything?”
“No.”
“Nope.”
Morgan shrugs and takes off toward the Snack Shack, her footprints leaving a trail in the sand.
I hustle over to my bag, grab a five-dollar bill, and then follow Morgan’s path. The sun beats down on my shoulders as I fall into line behind her at the counter. I clear my throat, and she looks over her shoulder, eyes scanning me up and down.
“Hallmark Christmas romances, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I never would have pegged you as a romantic.”
“I never would have pegged you as a nerd.”
“I’m not. Obviously.” She flings her hair over her shoulder, the scent of coconut wafting toward me as she refocuses on the menu board.
“That was a fun game,” I say.
“Volleyball or Would You Rather?”
“Would You Rather. I learned a lot about everyone. Like, Bruce would rather eat earthworms than locusts, Tanner would rather sleep standing up than ride a bucking bull, and Danni would rather date someone thirty years older than her than a coworker.”
Morgan turns slowly. The sun hits her blue eyes, making them glow like tropical lagoons. She smirks.
Dang. She knows what I’m up to. I was trying to be subtle.
“She said that, didn’t she?”
“Yup.”
I try to think of a way to tone down my line of questioning, make it less obvious.
Forget it. I’m going all in. “Why do you think she said that?”
Morgan crosses her arms. “Maybe you should ask her yourself. You sit right next to her.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Or you could ask her out and see what she says.”
“Why would I do that?”
The line moves forward as a red-headed kid runs away with a Bomb Pop, his bare feet kicking up sand.
Morgan looks me up and down again, considering something. “She dated a guy back in Indiana. They worked together and it went really sour. She doesn’t want it to happen again.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Makes sense.” Internally, I’m reeling. It was so bad she’d rather date a dad than me? I want to know details, but Morgan turns her back to me. She’s done. But I’m not.
“You’d rather jump out of a plane without a parachute than be stranded on a deserted island with the Teletubbies?”
Her shoulders bounce as she laughs. “Absolutely.”
I smile at the back of her head. She orders her Push-Up, and I buy a Snickers bar out of necessity. Got to keep up the rouse even though Morgan knows what I was getting at.
As we walk back to our group, the wheels in my mind turn. Will she tell Danni that I asked? Do I mind if she does? Nope. Not one bit.
Some problems require you to whittle away at them, debug each line of code individually, layer up the logic until you build a seamless solution. And that’s my specialty. The sand shifts under my feet, but my resolve is firm. I’ve got a new project now, and her name is Danni.