“Gregory, her name is Ellie. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubtagain, but it’s getting hard not to be offended by your constant forgetfulness.” He is stern and straightforward without being bad-mannered, and it’s fucking hot.
I weave my fingers through Patrick’s, and we start to walk past him. I can’t help myself as I pull out my customer service voice and give a big fake smile, “Good to see you, Gregory.”
Keeping his voice low, Patrick leans close to me. “It scares me how good you are at faking that.”
“Yeah, you probably should be scared, but don’t worry, I promise I won’t fake anything with you.” He gets stiff for just a moment, but quickly returns back to his typical self.
I have no idea where that came from, but it’s fun watching Patrick squirm. Maybe it’s the flashback to this morning’s snuggle session where I could feel him hard against me. Maybe it’s payback for his flirty comment earlier. Or, maybe I’m becoming truly unhinged.
Past the entrance of the park, I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of the set up. This is an event for coworkers and their families, but it shocks me how much they have to do. There is a face painter with a line of children, and a cacophony of little shrieks come from a huge inflatable bounce house. There are about fifteen picnic tables in a shaded area with two food trucks parked next to them. They have a traditional BBQ truck and a custom salad truck. My stomach churns, so I avert my eyes. If I start thinking about food anymore, I’m going to throw up.
I truly overdid it at breakfast, but who can say no to bacon and waffles and made-to-order omelets. It would’ve been offensive if I did not partake in the delicious varieties. I don’t want the breakfast foods getting jealous of one another, so I showed my love and appreciation for each and every one of them.
Patrick starts leading us to a less congested part of the park where I see Wes tossing a volleyball with Tom, Natalie, and a few of their other coworkers. They are standing in a rectangle of sand with a volleyball net in the center, but it doesn’t look like they are actually playing a game.
I realize that I spoke too soon when Tom shouts over to us, “Patrick, hurry up! We need two more people for our team!”
“What do you say?" He looks down at me as we walk. "Are you in?”
The question is so simple, but it feels like cement is filling my stomach. I am content with hanging out, chatting with Patrick’s friends, and being the perfect fake girlfriend, but the idea of embarrassing myself trying to play a sport in front of a multitude of people,includingPatrick, is my worst nightmare. While there is already the added misfortune of getting all sweaty and gross, I definitely don’t want to reveal how out of shape I am. My free time is filled up with reading, writing, and standing in front of an espresso machine. Not that I want to doubt myself, but I quite literally lack the abilities needed for extraneous physical activity.
Patrick tilts his head slightly when I laugh a little too hard at his invitation. Trying to talk my way out of it, I begin to ramble. “Oh, god. I couldn’t. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I wouldn’t even know where to start! Also, I don’t know if you can tell, but I’ve never been a ‘team sports’ type of person—”
He squeezes my hand, pulling my attention back to him. “Why don’t I teach you a couple of things while they’re warming up, and you can try? If you completely hate it after a couple rounds, we can find someone else and you can just watch. How does that sound?”
He’s so sweet about it I feel like I can’t refuse, and I guess now is as good as any time to get over my own insecurities. Anyways, if I want to be a good fake girlfriend, I should at least try.
“Fiiiiiiine.” I drag out the vowel sound to emphasize my discomfort with the whole thing, but seeing the smile that forms on Patrick’s face makes my agreement seem worth it.
Wes greets him as he goes to grab an extra ball from the bag. Awkwardness runs through my body as I wait for Patrick, and I do my best to push my nerves down despite knowing I am moments away from pure, unadulterated torture. Once he makes his way back over to me, we walk into an open field of grass not too far away from where his friends warm up.
With both hands, he holds the ball to his chest, gripping it tightly, and, for some reason, my brain is only thinking about how big his hands look. Mental gymnastics work in my head as I compare them to the hard length that was pressed against me this morning. Before I can go any further, I snap out of my sexually-charged thoughts when Patrick starts to speak. “Okay, so the first rule you need to know is that each side can only hit the ball three times. Anything more than that loses the point. You have to make sure that you’re keeping track of the touches on your side, so you don’t accidentally pass to your teammate when the ball needs to go over to the other side.”
“Wait, I have to do math?”
Rolling his eyes at me, he continues on, and I do my best to pay attention. “There are three basic moves in volleyball: bumping, setting, and spiking. Let’s start with setting. It’s basically a light toss with your fingertips to get the ball up in the air high enough for your teammate to make the next move. Do your best to only do this if the ball is not moving fast, or you mighthurt yourself.”
Trying to summarize what he said, I say, “Got it. Fast ball, no set.”
When Patrick laughs, it makes the struggle seem more worth it.
“Okay, El. Hold your hands above your head, lift your palms to the sky, and spread your fingers out.” He moves his body to show me what to do, but trying to recreate it is a different feat on its own.
Everything feels wrong, and I can tell he’s amused by my form by the way he lifts an eyebrow and walks over to me to help. “I’m sorry. I told you I wasn’t going to be good at this.”
“You don’t need to apologize, El. This is your first time, and there should be no shame in trying.” Standing face to face, his hands move slowly up my arms, and he is so close that I freeze in his touch. “Bend your elbows a little, but not too much. You’ll want to push your arms up to toss the ball, but don't let the ball rest in your hands at all. It's a quick touch.”
He moves his hands up around my wrists and pushes them closer, and I can feel heat growing between my thighs from having Patrick hold me like this. His voice is soft, while still being firm, and I’m suddenly too aware of how much I like him controlling my body and telling me what to do. As much as I try, my brain cannot stop going back to how nice it felt to have his body pressed up against mine, and it is impeding my learning of basic volleyball skills.
“Keep your hands close together and try to make a triangle with your thumbs and pointers. You’re going to balance the ball on your fingertips, so you’ll need to curl your fingers just a bit.” I move how he tells me, and he sets the volleyball on my hands.When I look to him for assurance, he offers me an accomplished smile, and it fills me with happiness.
“Good g—” He turns away from me to clear his throat. “Uh, that’s perfect, El. You’re a natural.”
Patrick makes me set the ball back and forth with him until the movement becomes comfortable, and it’s honestly fun. We are more or less just pushing the ball at each other, and I’m appreciative of how little skill this action takes and the encouragement that Patrick is offering me.
When he places the ball on the ground, my eyes go straight to his toned legs, but I quickly avert them when he starts talking again. “Now that you have mastered setting, I think you’re ready to learn how to bump.”
He stretches his arms out to show me what I’m supposed to do, and I do my best to copy him. My breath hitches when he grabs my wrists, twisting them lightly, and a breath gets stuck in my throat as my mind drifts elsewhere.
