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“And I don’t think I need to see it to make an accurate assessment.” Placing her hands on his shoulders, Whiplash shoved off the bottom of the pool and put all her weight into pushing Houdini away, and as he slipped under the water, she started laughing. “Go back to your corner, little boy.”
“There ain’t nothing little ’bout me. All you have to do is look.”
“Right, because it’s so believable when it comes from the source itself.”
“Okay, if you’re done shooting Houdini down for the five millionth time,” Gucci said from beside me, “can we start sometime soon? If we don’t, my balls are gonna end up looking like raisins.”
“Fuck, TMI, man,” Phantom called out from the other end of the pool. He tossed the ball in the air and caught it. “All right, girls—no offense, Whiplash.”
Whiplash shot him the finger.
“First team to eleven wins.”
We all moved into position. On my team, Whiplash and Houdini guarded the net while Gucci and myself took the back corners. Over on Solo’s side, Phantom and Alphabet took the back two corners and Utah and Solo stood by the net.
I was grateful that I’d kept my Aviators in place, because with Solo standing only meters from me, his dark hair glistening with water and his tanned skin looking good enough to lick, I found it difficult to look anywhere but at him.
The last thing I needed was for one of these assholes to catch me and call me out for staring, because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do shit to deny it.
Like he could feel my gaze on him, Solo glanced in my direction, and it didn’t escape my notice the way the water clung to those long lashes, reminding me of that day after the gym where he’d gone to his knees and—
“Mine!” Whiplash called out in front of me, pulling me from the delicious memory, and when she launched herself out of the pool to smack the ball back over the net into the water between Utah and Solo, Houdini hollered out at the top of his lungs.
“Fuck yes. Is there anything you can’t do?”
Whiplash aimed a killer smile Houdini’s way. “No. I don’t believe there is.”
As she turned away from him, Houdini clutched at his chest and mouthed, Sweet mother of God. He was a goner for her, not that she was giving him the time of day. If only she knew that made her even more appealing in Houdini’s eyes.
“One. Zero,” Gucci called out, pointing at Solo. “Loser.”
Solo narrowed his eyes on his friend, whose turn it was to serve. Then he raised his hand and gestured in a bring it on way.
Gucci chuckled, then tossed the ball in the air and smacked it across the net. The hit was fast, and as the ball soared toward the back of the pool, Alphabet saved it from the water and then sent it to Solo, who managed to lob it back over the net.
“I got it,” Houdini called out, and as he went for the dive—and missed—Gucci let out a groan.
“Aww, man. Do you suck at all sports?”
Houdini turned on his teammate, indignation written all over his face. “Maybe I do. But at least I don’t suck when it counts. You know, in the air, when I’m kicking your ass.”
“Oh for the love of— Rotate!” Whiplash called out, saving us all from having to witness yet another alpha smack-down between mine and Solo’s BFFs.
As we all shifted positions, I found myself in the server’s spot, and Solo was still in my eyeline opposite the net.
Fuck he was gorgeous. Wet, dry, it didn’t matter. As long as he was there and I could see him, my mind automatically went there, and like he knew exactly what I was thinking, he slicked his tongue over his top lip.
Tease.
“You gonna serve sometime today?”
I spun the wet ball between my fingers, then decided that two could play at his little game and nodded. “I’m just checking out my competition.”
Phantom scoffed as though I was full of shit, but when Solo lowered his eyes over me in a similar fashion, I knew he got my message loud and clear.
I tossed the ball in the air and smacked the leather hard, sending it flying between Solo and Alphabet and hitting the water.
“Score, motherfuckers!” Gucci belted out, then turned around to high-five me. “That’s how you do it, my man. Recovering my ass.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh, and fifteen minutes later, Gucci and Houdini finally found something to bond over—talking shit to the losing team.
We all climbed out of the pool and grabbed our towels, then wrapped them around our waists and headed back to the loungers.
Everyone settled in with a drink and a handful of chips or nuts, whatever was left over on the bar in the pool area, and once we were comfortable Houdini said, “So Whiplash, you got a hot date for this ball coming up, or what?”
