Page 1 of Striking Range

Act One

The Coming Together

(what took us so long?)

Chapter One

Skylar Parish

September in Florida is just as hot as August. It stays in line with the summer months—we typically don’t begin to see relief until October, which is all fine and well.

Our volleyball season officially starts in September, and no one likes to be freezing in the sand. The further we get into the later months, the stiffer our gameplay is, but working up a sweat normally helps with that.

Dante is wrapping his knee from where he sits on our bench; Coach Myers is taking his sweet time talking with the first and second referees.

Everything is quiet for a moment.

Dante and I have been paired together all throughout junior and now senior year, which isn’t common for beach volleyball. On a roster of ten, you’re normally switched around at minimum yearly.

But Dante and I are the A-Team. Or at least that’s what Myers calls us, despite the envy of the other eight roster members. We have incredible synchronization, unwavering communication, and instinct that makes excelling in each position and each skill appear seamless. It’s as if we’re inside of each other’s heads whenever we step onto the sand.

Beach volleyball is a duals game—five teams play for your organization, or in our case, school. Of five teams, three have to win their match for our school, Sinclair Public College, to get the victory. The season typically runs from September to November, and we play two games a week.

Last year, Dante and I won twenty out of twenty-four games that we played together. Therefore, A-Team.

“Hey, dipshits. You ready to fuck over Clermont, or what?” Our assistant coach, Heidi, barrels over from wherever she was hiding during setup.

Her hair is pulled up into a tight bun; the bleached strands are gelled to her scalp meticulously. Only in her mid-thirties, Heidi tends to speak to us more casually than other school officials do. But then again, so does Myers, and he’s definitely older than his mid-thirties.

“We kicked their asses last year—what’s another win?” Dante is grinning at her as he speaks, now finished wrapping his knee and moving on to rolling out his ankles.

Heidi rolls her eyes. “Cockiness will be the downfall of those beloved stats, Dante.”

He just shrugs, directing those green eyes to where I stand in front of him. “Whatever. It’s our last year, Sky. We’ll only be Sinclair kings for a few more weeks. Tragic, right? I’m going to miss all the free pussy.”

“Jesus.” Heidi spins on her heel and struts off as I chuckle after her.

Pushing stray brown curls off my forehead, I grab a ball and head onto the sand, ready to warm up. Dante follows.

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to find plenty of willing women either way,” I tell him.

He snickers, using both hands to mess up my hair, making the curls even more unruly in a way he knows just pisses me off. “Aw, my sweet Sky. You have so much confidence in me.”

I groan, shoving his hands away. “I have so much confidence that I can kick your ass.”

“Boys! Stop kissing each other’s asses and warm up!” Coach Myers yells.

Dante flushes straight to his hairline as he readies himself by the net. “Alright, Skylar, let’s kick ass. And preferably not mine.”

Our given fifteen minutes are spent with Dante practicing his spike and me practicing my digs. We begin to settle into our usual rhythm, getting our heads in the zone and warming our bodies under the hot sun. I’m pretty sure it’s ninety degrees today. I can feel the humidity in the air, wet and thick.

Once Clermont shows up, it’s their turn in the sand, so we give them the net. Ignoring their brutish glares, we make our way to our bench. I pay no mind as Dante gives them a wink and blows a not-so-subtle kiss.

I have no need to taunt; I’ll be wiping the floor with them soon enough.

I’m standing in front of our bench, taking a swig of my sports drink, as I feel sand hit the back of my calves.

A loud voice rings out, “Hey there, puppy.”