CHAPTER 42
Troy
“YOU’RE NOT GONNA be on my team, absolutely-fucking-not.”
Brennan shoves a gawking Conrad toward the other side of the net. He just traded him for Louis as Andre’s beach volleyball birthday match is about to kick off.
“But Louis sucks at volleyball,” Conrad complains.
“Yeah, but you suck even more,” Brennan says.
Louis just shrugs.
“Fuck you,” Conrad yells at Brennan, as Mason and Xavier laugh. He strides toward Dimitri, giving him a firm nod. “We’re kicking their asses, got it?”
Dimitri nods in agreement. Though I know what that nod means. He doesn’t take our annual beach volleyball showdowns seriously at all. And now with his girlfriend, Perla, in attendance, he honestly could not give two shits about the outcome of this game.
We’re finalizing our teams when my gaze lands on the neon red of Ana’s bikini.
She’s heading toward us on the sand. Except I only caught a glimpse of the fabric earlier at the party.
Now, the bottom of her bikini is revealed, exposing almost all of her smooth skin.
My cock jumps with heat, demanding for attention.
Like the plenty I already gave it after seeing the blissful glow on her face knowing she probably came just seconds before I reached her door the other day, wasn’t enough.
Fuck. It’s messed with my head big time.
Both of them. Glancing on the thin string of her bikini, I realize that I don’t remember the last time I saw Ana wearing a two-piece. Maybe, I wanna say, two years ago?
Ana leans forward to hug Conrad (who, apparently she’s suddenly friends with, the hell?).
I watch as her skin collides with his bare chest, and a pinch of electricity runs through my veins. It’s not until they break apart from the embrace that I realize my nails are digging into the volleyball that’s in my palm in annoyance.
“Oh no…” Louis’s voice drags my attention back at the sight of Ana, who now faces me with a mysterious smirk on her lips.
“Protect yourselves, everyone,” Brennan announces, curling his fingers into a microphone.
“Already cupping my balls,” Mason replies.
“Forget that, I’m covering my face,” Xavier says.
“Surprised you’re here after last time,” I coo at Ana, spinning the volleyball in my palm as she leans closer to me from the opposing side of the net.
Looks like the teams are:
Brennan, Xavier, Mason, Louis, and me,
Vs. Andre, Dimitri, Conrad, Perla, and Ana.
The last time in question was last summer. When Ana and I had a beach volleyball match last Fourth of July weekend. We—of course—beat her team 45-40, even with Lauren participating, the volleyball superstar who was on her side that day.
“You mean, when you cheated?” Ana replies, mocking.
“When I won,” I correct.
“After you cheated.”
“No proof, no case, Petrov.”
She rolls her eyes at me as I take a step back to hit the first serve.
Being the volleyball co-captain for Team USA for two consecutive years, Brennan’s usually the most competitive participant during these matches. But when Ana Petrov is concerned, it might as well be my sport because I turn into the most competitive person.
The volleyball somersaults in the air before I smack it hard in the direction of our enemies. I mean, opponents.
Ana lunges forward, determined, passing the ball toward Andre. He sets it high in the air for her, before Ana jumps, angled toward the net, spiking the foamy sphere aggressively in my direction.
“Karma always finds cheaters, sweetie,” she chides, her eyes locked on mine through the net.
Did Ana just call me, “sweetie”?
Is my chest supposed to be fluttering?
Because it is.
It’s her turn to serve. The ball tumbles in the air, impressively rapidly. But, it’s just an inch too low, colliding right into the net.
“Nice attempt!” I holler at her.
Ana grumpily shimmies across the sand to her updated position as Mason prepares his turn to serve.
“We can’t all be good at multiple sports, Ana,” I say. “Don’t be discouraged.”
Her eyes narrow at me. “Yeah, you’re right. Some of us aren’t even that great at one.”
“You can be such a brat sometimes.”
At my words, her cheeks blush.
“Perla. No,” Conrad says, walking up to her. “You throw the ball in the air, and then you hit it.”
When Andre notices Conrad begin to demonstrate the serve for Perla, he snorts out, “Look who’s talking…”
“You guys are crazy,” Conrad says. “Look at this.”
He spikes the ball right onto Dimitri’s foot.
Andre’s eyes shoot up. “And what exactly are we looking at?”
Conrad rolls his eyes. As the game resumes, Ana and my gazes remain glued to each other’s faces.
There’s a shore full of athletes currently participating in this match, but the game between her and me takes precedence.
Whether it was during a bowling meet, a swim race, a cherry stem tying contest, or a skate, all our games since we were kids, they’ve always been one-on-one. One winner. And one loser.
“Ugh, pay attention!” Ana yells as the ball crashes onto the sand near Conrad’s feet. I laugh.
“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” Brennan bumps his chest with Xavier.
When it’s my turn to serve again, the ball ricochet’s right toward Ana. Determined, her joined hands touch the high speeding object, before she pouts when it slips from her fingers.
I walk over to her to retrieve the ball, and bait, “Remember, it’s all in the knees.” She rolls her eyes. “Go down. Then really bend them low.” Ana’s pupils dilate by my instructions, rosiness glazing her cheeks.
“I hope you wore your sunscreen today, dearest,” I say. I laugh when she scowls as I leisurely walk backwards for my next serve.
Fifty spikes later, and the score is tied.
One more point and Ana can gloat all she wants. Not if I have something to say about it.
“Okay, focus, people,” she hypes up her team. “This is it. All or nothing.” Facing me, her lips move just inches from the net as she purses them shrewdly. “Ah, we meet again…any last words, Larsson?”
“You look really hot in that bikini,” I tell her.
Ana’s eyes twitch before blinking back and forth rapidly.
Like those were the last words she expected to come out of my mouth at this point in the game.
It might seem like the compliment was disguised as a distraction, the final chess move she’d never anticipate that would cost her the win.
But, it’s how I felt in the moment, and she looks really great in it.
I divert my attention back to our potentially final round as Ana goes in for her serve.
This isn’t the time to daydream about how flushed she looks right now. This is the moment where her and I tease, torment, and lure the other to the point of the grand finale, where only one of us comes out the winner.
I’m prepared. All my guards up. Ready.
While waiting for the ball to toss into the air, my gaze drops to the soft curve of Ana’s waist, trailing down to her hips.
My chest sinks when I see it. A scar. On Ana’s right hip. A thick stripe that’s stretched from the start of her hipbone, expanding to the middle of her lower abdomen, and partially covered by her bikini bottoms.
I go still.
The hot sand loses its heat. The sunny day turns foggy. All noise cancels out. And a pit starts building in my stomach.
“Ha, you lose! We win!” Ana’s voice slaps me back to reality. “How does it taste now, Larsson, huh?”
“What the fuck, man?!” Brennan whines to me, while Conrad starts hollering at him, rubbing in their team’s unexpected win.
Ana’s right profile was turned away from me earlier.
Then I was focused on the game.
And I didn’t see it.
I didn’t fucking see it.
How long has it been there?
What’s it from?
It looks painful.
She was in pain?
She. Was. In. Pain.