Volleyball Fiasco
Volleyball, huh?
You can probably hear the excitement in my voice… Yay …
“Please, please, please ,” I begged Jo, “don’t make me do this…”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” she said with a cheerfulness that made me want to scream.
“Fun? Clearly we have very different definitions of fun,” I muttered, already dreading the inevitable embarrassment.
Jo’s gaze softened slightly. “Look,” she said, “just give it a shot, alright? For me?”
“But…”
“And if you’re really that bad, I’ll personally escort you off the court,” she promised with a wink.
I let out a long sigh. “Fine…”
“Thank you!” She beamed, giving me a quick hug. “I owe you one.”
“A big one!” I muttered with an eyebrow raised.
“Now, come on,” she said, grabbing my hand, “let’s go meet some of our friends.”
I let her drag me towards the volleyball court, my heart pounding in my chest. This was going to be a disaster.
And so, mesdames et messieurs, I met Louis.
If my memory doesn’t betray me, he was an underwear model my sister met in France during her summer escapade in Toulouse.
Well, I truly hoped there was a funny story behind it, but as it appeared, it was disappointingly mundane.
Still, I was absolutely looking forward to seeing his… portfolio.
Then there was Francine, with a blonde buzz cut, bold red lipstick—a little too provocative for my mother’s taste, if you asked her—and an adventurous spirit.
Skin sun-kissed and fresh off her trip from Bali, she had just returned from her yoga retreat.
The first thing she told me was, “I feel so zen right now,” and because I never felt zen, I knew right then I wouldn’t exactly be the yin to her yang.
And finally, Chantelle. She was the one I was most looking forward to meeting.
Her thoughts went straight from her brain to her mouth, no matter how inappropriate they were, and I wasn’t sure that was such a bad thing.
I had a hunch she was just as thrilled about this volleyball fiasco as I was.
Her demeanour said it all. She often smiled and her smile was so bright it could practically blind you.
God, those white teeth, whoa! A leggy brunette who also just happened to be friends with Miles.
Hmm…we hadn’t exchanged more than a few words but that was definitely next on my agenda.
***
The warm sand under my feet, the bright, scorching sun was burning my shoulders as I was gliding the sunscreen across my body.
My eyes slowly roamed over the beach until they landed on a tall figure.
Fingers brushing through sleek blond hair, brows slightly furrowed, gaze relaxed, travelling into the vast horizon.
The white, thin fabric dancing with the cool sea breeze, his shirt—thank you very much—unbuttoned.
Miles leaned in to grab a pear from the tray; throwing it from one hand to another, he lifted it to his face and then…
he inhaled deeply before taking a large, juicy bite, a few drips almost escaping his sucking lips.
God…practically choking on my own drool gurgling down my throat, I took a gulp of air, feeling a tad overwhelmed.
“Oh, boy.” Chantelle’s soft murmur startled me from behind. “If he savours a pear like that just imagine what else that mouth could devour with such enthusiasm.”
Caught clearly off guard, I smiled nervously. “Um…huh…”
Swiftly shaking my flustered expression off, I glanced at her with a protest. “No, I wasn’t…”
“Oh, relax.” She rolled her eyes playfully then curled a small, brown strand of hair around her manicured finger. “A little fantasy doesn’t hurt anyone, does it?”
“Well.” I pressed my lips together in a thin line. “I suppose…” I mumbled, burying my hands into my back pockets, the denim fabric of my shorts stretching around my fists. “So…you two…ever?” I stared at her questioningly.
She stared back, gaze narrowing at me, then, with a sudden realisation a chuckle erupted from her. “Oh! No, no, we didn’t, nothing like that, unfortunately.” Unfortunately? “We are just friends,” she added quickly with a smile.
“Lore? Chantelle?” My sister’s voice stretched across the beach, interrupting. “You coming?”
And while I preferred we stay on the topic, sadly, we’d have to resume at a later time. “Yeah!” I called out to her.
***
Within half an hour I was exhausted, sweaty, and still very much unimpressed with sports.
The temperature of the day was reaching its peak, burning the exposed skin on my body, and I was ready to call it quits any second now.
“Mine!” called Blake, heading for the ball.
He tossed it over the net in my direction.
At that exact moment, sending a spray of sand flying, I pushed my feet off the ground, hands in the air.
Suddenly, mid-jump, someone else, another body, diving for it too, collided with me.
A sharp elbow thrusted in my face. For a brief moment, everything went dark, and then I knew I was falling…
“Ouch!” I heard someone gasp. “That must have hurt!”
My breath caught in my throat the second I landed on the sand with a loud thud, but it wasn’t the sand after all. It was me, palms flat against Miles’ chest, sprawled onto his…perfect body. My eyes widened, slowly travelled up to meet his, then momentarily went wider…
“Oh!” I muttered, noticing a few drops of blood across his lips. “You are bleeding?” My hands instinctively reached for his face, gently examining if he was alright.
“Florence?” he said, shaking his head.
“God! I’m so sorry I hit you.”
“Florence?” This time his fingers curled around my wrists, snagging my attention to him.
“What?” I finally looked at him.
“It’s not me. You are the one bleeding.”
“Oh!” I glanced down, noticing the red spots down my top; the fabric of his white shirt too was covered in blood.
“Shit!” I realised it was indeed me who actually got elbowed in the face.
I tilted my head up, my hands quickly flying to my nose, my body pulled back to sit up.
“Shit!” I muttered a second time, realising I was still sprawled across his lap, straddling him.
Jesus Christ! For a fleeting moment my terrified eyes locked with his, but just as quickly, I looked away, wishing I could bury myself underground.
“God! Are you okay?” Jo, and, well, pretty much everyone else towered over us.
“Yeah,” I breathed awkwardly. “Um…give me a hand, will you?”
“Oh. Sure.” She quickly helped me stand. Miles got to his feet next.
“Are you alright?” Blake asked, staring at me. “Does it hurt?”
“Maybe she should sit down?” Francine offered.
“I’ll get some tissues,” said someone else.
And suddenly I found myself surrounded by people, bombarded with questions, when all I wanted was to be left alone so I could get rid of the blood off my face.
“Um…guys.” I took a large step back, forcing a smile. “I really am okay.”
“Darling, Lore,” Blake began, but he was immediately cut off.
“Now back off, everyone!” my sister rasped. “No one has died!” She swiftly turned me away from the rest and led me to the side.
“God, thanks!” I muttered.
“I got you,” she winked, handing me a few napkins. “Here. How bad is it? Do we need to book an appointment with Blake?”
I chuckled at once. “I doubt I need plastic surgery. Though, I always wanted it to be a little smaller,” I mused, considering an idea. “What a great excuse for a nose job.”
“You are joking, right?” She raised her eyebrow at me.
“Of course, I am,” I laughed. “I’m fine,” I sighed. “Really. Nothing is broken. It will probably swell, but I’m sure it will go away within a few days.”
“Well, good! I need your nose to look perfect in my wedding photos,” she declared with a playful smile.
***
The moment I got home, I headed straight for the bathroom, my hand instinctively reaching for my nose.
Water was running down the sink when I finally dared to glance into the mirror.
The swelling wasn’t as bad as I’d feared and the bruise was barely noticeable; I sighed with relief.
Just then, I heard a knock on the door. Who could that be?
“Come in,” I called out, wiping my face with a soaked towel. “It’s open.”
With a few heavy steps approaching, a low rumble cut through the air. Miles.
“Hey,” he said. He leaned against the door frame, his hands folded in front of him.
“Hey.” I glanced at his reflection.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
“It’s fine.” I turned to look at him. “I think I’ll live.”
“Well.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line, staring back at me. “I’m glad.”
“Yeah.” I breathed. “Um…sorry about your shirt.” I glanced at the red stains on it, then at what was underneath it. Then, back up to his face.
“God, Florence,” he snorted with a short laugh, taking a few steps forward. “It’s me who should be apologising. Why are you sorry?” Not knowing what to do with his hands, he clenched them tightly then released them again.
“So,” I said, tilting my chin up defiantly, “this is it? Your grand apology?”
“Well…yes. Is it working?” He glanced at me with a smirk.
Pressing my lips together in a smile, I nodded at him. “It does.”
His gaze shifted, following the contours of my face, lingering down my lips. “Because I am,” he barely mouthed, “truly sorry.”
“Miles,” I murmured with a whisper, “it’s fine—”
“You missed a spot,” he said, his voice rumbling softly as he gently took the cloth from my hands. “Right here,” he breathed, slowly brushing it against the side of my neck.
“Um,” I felt like there was no air in the room. “Thanks.”
“Pears…” he inhaled deeply. And suddenly, he was too close, or was I? We both stood way too close to each other.
“What?” Confused, I glanced at him, taking a quick gulp of air.
“You smell pears…”