It was a cheap shot, but cheap shots were effective. Elliot was a shifter and a surfer and a local, andscaredlit him up like a flare. He looked at Selena. Selena looked at me, and underneath all the fury, something else surfaced—feral, that smelled like blood in the water.
“You’re on, Jaws. One set. Twenty-one.”
The court was ready,the net taut and regulation height, the sand raked clean.
“First to twenty-one,” Selena announced, digging her feet into the sand. “My court, my rules.”
“Your rules include a handicap for the devastatingly handsome?”
Tanner stood beside me as we both stretched, but I knew Selena only had eyes for me. I tugged my shirt off over my head, and no matter how sly she thought she was being, I caught her eyes drifting lower and lower.
“My rules include keeping your mouth shut during my serve,” she shot back.
“That gonna give you the edge? Let’s see, between the pull-ups, the seagulls, and the other thing…what was it again? It’s just on the tip of my tongue…” I grinned at her, loving how easy it was to rile her up. “I think the score is four to one.”
I thought she was going to launch the volleyball straight at my face, but Whiskers gave her a confused look and she shook it off.
“You ready, Selena? Or should I get another round of stretching in?”
“I was just giving you some extra time.” She rolled the ball between her hands, hip cocked, giving her body something to do to hide how into me she was from the idiot next to her. “I know having legs is new for you. Just wish that sea witch you bargained with had followed through and taken your voice.”
“Nah, she and I came to a different arrangement. One I think you’re pretty familiar with.” I winked. I couldn’t help it, especially as her cheeks turned a satisfying shade of red.
“Then show me what you’ve got, Ariel.”
People had gathered on the boardwalk. I saw Diego amongst them, leaning against the railing to watch. I stretched my armsoverhead, making a production of it, shooting a few observers the famous El Tiburón grin.
She served first.
The ball left her hand, and she ran and then jumped into the air.
The movement was so effortless I almost believed she was flying. Her whole body uncoiled in a single, violent arc, arm sweeping forward, and her palm connected with the ball with a crack that made my teeth hurt.
The ball hit the sand two feet inside our line before I’d finished processing that she’d served.
“One-nothing.” She flipped her hair back out of her face, triumphant.
Tanner looked at me. I looked at Tanner. Tanner mouthedwhat the fuck, and I couldn’t disagree.
“Lucky shot,” I muttered, because what else was I supposed to say?
Her smile was the most dangerous thing I’d ever seen, and I once swam too close to a pod of orcas.
“Serve again,” I demanded. “I wasn’t ready.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
She served again. Different this time—a float serve, the ball drifting with no spin, catching the crosswind and dancing sideways like it was alive. I read it wrong, overcorrected, and shanked it into the net.
“Two-nothing.” She examined her nails.
On her third serve, I finally made contact. Got a decent pass to Tanner, who set it high, and I went up for the spike with everything I had when?—
Selena was already there.
She’d read the play before I’d committed to it, slid into position, and blocked me at the net with both hands up and her eyes locked on mine with an expression that was frankly obscene in its confidence. The ball ricocheted off her block and landed on my side with a sad little thud.
“Three-nothing.” She tilted her head. “Maybe I will give you the handicap.”
