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“Ha, you’re on!” I nudge my bags to the side with my foot and stretch my arms across my body, again pretending this will somehow help. I bounce on my toes as I make my way to the center of my side of the court, then I lock my hands together and bend my knees.
Laney shakes once and breathes out a condescending laugh.
“That’s how you’re going to get ready?” she questions.
I stand up straight and glance to Matt at my right. He simply shrugs then moves his tripod and phone out of the danger zone—aka he stands in the far corner of the gym.
“Yeah, this is how I get ready.” I try to sound sure of myself as I shake my arms out then lock my hands together again. I haven’t played serious volleyball since high school, and by serious, I mean me and my brothers at the family picnic. Laney’s going to kick my ass. I’m certain of it. But either way, she and I are getting dinner and drinks.
“Okay. Here goes.”
She shakes her head, amused by me I’m sure, then takes several steps backward before bending in half and dribbling the ball with both hands. She snaps up straight, holding the ball outin front with one hand, and the moment she makes her first step, I know I’m in serious trouble.
Laney almost looks like she’s moving in slow motion, though I know that’s not what’s happening at all. I’m taken by the power in her jump, the distance she flies in the air, and the strength in that arm that’s smashing the ball at me. I don’t even have time to blink before the ball hammers me in the center of the chest, a hollow thud literally echoing in the gym.
“Oh damn!” Matt’s laughter is mixed with my cough from getting some of my wind knocked out of me. I hold out a hand for a timeout while I walk in a slow circle to reset for another pummeling.
“Okay, now I know. I’ll see it coming now. One second.” I jog in place, knowing that’s all bullshit. I’m merely hyping myself up to get smacked somewhere else this time.
Laney’s laughter is silent, but the way it paints her face with self-satisfaction doesn’t require sound. I do my best to stand on my toes this time, ready to move into the ball, only to take the impact directly in my Adam’s apple. I cough more this time, and glare at Matt who has now moved out of his safe corner to make sure he gets every sound I’m making. I flip off the camera and he flips his screen to show his face.
“Someone is having a bad day,” he says.
“Nah, it’s a great day! I’m just warming up. I’m ready now. Laney who?” I’m purposely getting under her skin now. The more she’s playing rival, the less she’s playing the ignoring game with me, and if I want any more of the perks of being roommates, I can’t have her pretending I don’t exist.
Laney pounds me in the chest two more times, but on her fifth serve, I finally get the feel somewhat and manage to get my arms under the ball in the right spot. Of course, I have absolutely zero control and send the ball off into the duct work on her side of the court. Definitely not a pass she would considerreceivable, but getting a taste of nearly doing things right sparks my competitive side.
“Oh, I’m getting it now. I feel it,” I razz her.
Laney pauses bouncing the ball and walks across the court to meet me at the net. Our gazes fix and there’s almost a snap to the connection. It’s the same way she looked at me before we made each other come last night, a devilish haze mixed with confidence. Perhaps a touch of dominance, which surprises me how much I like it.
“You getting scared?” I tease.
She scoffs.
“No, dumbass. I don’t want you to break your fingers or thumbs, so I’m going to show you what you’re doing wrong. Hold out your hands in ready position.”
I give her a skeptical look but do what she asks, linking my fingers and putting my arms straight out. Laney places the ball on the ground and dips under the net to push my hands down but stops right when I feel the tension where my fingers intertwine.
“Yeah, okay. I see,” I say.
“Your fingers don’t like it when that happens, so you bend your elbow to compensate, thus sending the ball to Illinois.”
Matt snorts out a laugh and I shoot him a glare.
“Sorry, Boss,” he says.Boss. Can this fucker ever just call me by my name?
“Hold your hands like this.” Laney crosses her palms and wraps them together without linking her fingers. Then she bends her knees and sways side to side. “See how you’re more mobile?”
She’s right. And it’s a lot like working on the ice. Not getting locked into one position lets you sprint and redirect. I nod as she picks up the ball and walks back to the serving position.
“I don’t know why you showed me that. I’m definitely getting underneath one now,” I brag.
Laney’s head snaps up as she holds the ball out to serve again.
“Cutter, you aren’t going to come close.”
Rather than using a high toss and leaping at the ball this time, instead, her serve is soft, and the ball crawls inches over the top of the net as I stumble forward into a slide, feet away from where it hits the floor.Damn, I had no shot at that.
