Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Bea had absolutely no intention of playing volleyball.
She and Lillian had been comfortably sprawled under the umbrella, swapping stories, rating questionable dive attempts into the waves. Their books lay forgotten beside them, untouched.
One second, she was lounging in the shade. The next, Isabel was dragging her onto the hot sand, her protests lost in Naomi’s laughter.
Georgina was already tossing her a hair tie.
“You’re with Gage. Surely you have some competitive edge in you.”
Bea glanced at Lillian, who was edging her way back to the towels. “Lils, no abandoning me.”
Lillian’s face twisted in betrayal. “You know I’m Australian. We literally have ads warning about sun exposure.”
“You’re in a rash guard. You’ll live,” Naomi said, tugging her back toward the group.
Bea saw the men approaching before she heard them: Hunter, Mason, and Charles moving toward the group, easy and sun-bronzed.
But they weren’t alone. There were five of them—including Rafael and Sebastian.
Her pulse ticked up before she could stop it.
She already knew Rafael was built to be looked at. And she wasn’t about to fall into that trap again. So she focused on his friend.
His dirty-blond hair was still damp, pushed back in a way that should have looked careless but wasn’t. Pale blue eyes idly scanned the group, but Bea got the distinct feeling he was quietly assessing, waiting for a moment to turn the situation to his advantage.
“The guys have classes together,” Naomi said, like that explained everything.
Bea glanced between them. Georgina and the girls were all in the arts while the men, also seniors, majored in business, finance, and political science.
Bea’s stomach dipped. The world wasn’t just small, it was tangled. Tied together in ways she hadn’t noticed before.
“We needed more players,” Isabel added, twisting her hair into a bun. “This works out perfectly.”
Hunter stretched his arms overhead, cracking his knuckles. “Do we all know each other?”
Rafael stepped forward. Extended his hand to Lillian. “Rafael Griffin.”
Lillian took his hand. “Lillian Clarke.”
Then came the other. “Sebastian.” He shook Lillian’s hand first. “Laurent.” He extended his hand to Bea.
Their eyes met. And suddenly, she was back on the basketball courts months ago.
When he had watched as she had walked straight up to Rafael…
then bolted just as quickly. He didn’t say anything, but he smirked like he knew what she was thinking.
Bea was trapped between the urge to ignore it entirely and the ridiculous impulse to explain herself.
Instead, she shook his hand. His grip was firm.
She withdrew a bit too quickly. Not that he missed it. The smirk on his face didn’t fade.
Then Georgina clapped her hands together, snapping the moment cleanly in half. “Alright, let’s pick teams!” Georgie declared, hands on her hips, eyes scanning the group like a seasoned coach. “And no whining about fairness. This is for fun. Hunter and Rafael, you’re captains.”
The teams fell into place. Rafael, Bea, Isabel, Mason, and Naomi were on one side; Hunter, Sebastian, Georgina, Charles, and Lillian on the other. They spread out across the sand, taking their positions, the late-afternoon sun casting long shadows over the court.
Bea had only played beach volleyball a handful of times. She knew the basics, but something told her this wouldn’t be a casual game. Not here, not with this group. St. Ives never did anything halfway.
Still, she was playing. She might as well enjoy it.
On an exhale, she squared her shoulders. “Alright, let’s do this.”
Rafael turned the volleyball once in his hand. “Luck, little Bea.”
He persisted with that nickname. Where it used to be a mild annoyance, today it clung to her spine, slipping past her guard like they were closer than they had any right to be.
The game started fast. Sand flew, bodies moved, and Bea quickly realized: this was war.
Rafael and Mason were competitive as hell. Calling plays, shouting for the ball, moving like they were in the finals of some international championship.
“Got it!” Isabel yelled, lunging for a save.
The ball popped up—too close to the net—
Bea moved on instinct. She jumped, reaching for it—
Rafael was already there.
They collided midair.
Momentum sent them down.
His arm caught her waist just before they hit the sand, adjusting her on top of him so he took the brunt of the fall.
Bea gasped on impact, her back pressed against Rafael’s chest for a few long seconds.
“You good?” he murmured near her ear.
Bea pushed off him so fast she nearly tripped. “Fine.”
“Not bad for a beginner.”
She dusted sand off her legs. “You hit me.”
He bit down on a grin. “Right. My bad.”
“Just so you know, you’re not supposed to take out your own teammates,” Hunter called, deadpan.
Sebastian snorted. “Cold, Rafael. Going for the smallest player first.”
Bea scowled, brushing off more sand. She wasn’t that small. The people here were just irregularly sized.
Naomi smirked, tossing the ball back into play. “You break her, you buy her,” she said. “And I don’t think you can afford her.”
Rafael leaned in, voice dipping so only she could hear. “I’d pay double.”
Fire licked up her neck, swift and traitorous.
She ignored him. But her ears were burning.
The score was tied.
Both teams were breathless, sweat-dampened, and determined.
Naomi served—fast, sharp—
Mason set it up—
Rafael jumped—
And slammed it straight into Sebastian’s chest.
The ball hit the sand with finality.
A beat of silence.
Then—
Naomi threw her arms up. “Yes!”
Bea grinned, breathless, hands on her knees as Naomi and Isabel fist-bumped her.
Sebastian groaned, flopping into the sand. “I hate playing against Rafael.”
Lillian sighed. “I should’ve stayed under the umbrella.”
Bea was brushing sand off her legs when she noticed him watching.
“You’re little,” Rafael said. “But you did better than I thought.”
Bea pinned him with a look. “Excuse me, I exercise sometimes.”
“Yeah, like what? Pilates?”
She blinked, suspicious. “How’d you know that?”
The amusement in his eyes sharpened. Before he could say more, his gaze roved past her shoulder.
Bea heard Georgina’s voice. “And there’s the King.”
She turned, scanning the beach. Gage stood at the edge of the volleyball court, watching. The dimming sun cut across him, catching every chiseled line of his body. Sunglasses hid his eyes. He wore only navy board shorts, low on his hips, all muscle and control.
Bea brightened, jogging toward him.
“You made it!”
Gage didn’t say anything at first. He reached out and slid his hand around her waist. A slow, deliberate pull, enough to moor her against him before he brushed his lips to her temple.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“Yeah. I actually didn’t suck.”
“Knew you wouldn’t.”
“We even won the first game.”
His other hand came up, tracing lightly over the damp fabric of her one-piece.
“This is what you wore today?” he murmured, dipping his head closer, amusement in his voice.
Bea glanced down at herself. “What’s wrong with it?”
His mouth brushed her ear. “Nothing, sweetheart. You just look sweet.”
Bea flushed, half from heat, half from his tone. “It’s practical.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Bea started to reply, but another voice cut in.
“She did well,” Rafael said conversationally. “I wouldn’t mind having her on my team again.”
Gage turned his head. The tension pulled taut.
Rafael was standing by the cooler, sweat still drying on his skin from the last game.
Gage didn’t take the bait. He ran his hand down Bea’s back, the touch deliberate. “She’s good where she is,” he said smoothly.
“King.” Hunter waved him over. “You in? We need one more. Lillian’s sitting out.”
Gage’s gaze flicked to the court. Then to Bea. “Who’s with me?”
The teams were remixed.
Gage, Bea, Georgina, Hunter, and Naomi on one side.
Rafael, Sebastian, Isabel, Charles, and Mason on the other.
Apparently no one at St. Ives took a friendly game of beach volleyball lightly. Of course that included Gage.
From the moment the ball was in play, he took control.
“Got you,” he offered, stepping in to set her up.
When Rafael’s team scored, his only reaction was a slow tilt of his head. Calculating. Adjusting. Making sure it didn’t happen again.
Bea scrambled to return a fast spike—almost missed—but Gage was there. Fluid. Unshakable. Catching it clean before pounding it straight over the net, scoring instantly.
“Good save,” she breathed, grinning.
His mouth hitched up. “Faster next time, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome for the set-up,” she said, sticking her tongue out.
And then—match point.
Bea set up the play. Gage caught it perfectly. A sharp, decisive spike.
Game over.
Their team erupted in cheers. Naomi threw an arm around Bea.
“Not bad,” Gage said.
Bea beamed, holding up two fingers. “Two wins for the newbie.” Which, to be honest, felt like a miracle.
The others were already resetting to play again, but Gage shook his head. “You’ve earned a break,” he said to Bea, already turning. “Walk with me.”
The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, waves rolling in a slow, rhythmic pull against the shore. The sun dipped lower, painting the horizon in soft golds and muted rose. Behind them, the beach hummed with laughter and the occasional smack of a volleyball against open palms.
Gage led Bea farther down the shoreline. Their steps were unhurried, the wet sand cool beneath their feet.
“You didn’t even pretend not to care about winning, huh?”
“Why pretend?”
“Not everything is a competition,” she said wryly.
He shot her a look. “That’s exactly what someone losing would say.”
She scoffed, nudging his side with her elbow. “You’re actually insufferable.”
He caught her hand in his. “Your birthday is in two weeks.”
“You remember?”
He gave her a look. One that said, obviously.
Bea wet her lips, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I mean, yeah, I guess it’s coming up…”