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"So you want me to hang with Bree as much as I can, over the next couple of weeks, so Cara sees...?"
"Sees that Bree has a whole support system, and it's not just on her to take care of Bree."
Right. That'll totally work. Easy.
Not.
Declan's totally delusional, but I'm going with it, for now anyway.
A cool spray of water dances over me, and I look up to a sight that stops my breath in my chest. Bree, soaking wet, flipping her hair in the moonlight and she pulls her dress down over her wet skin. The fabric clings to her breasts, but the way it hugs her hips is what makes my mouth water.
Just friends. Stop torturing yourself, man.
"You guys should have come in. The water feels so good," Bree says, grinning. It's a little shocking to realize that I'd do almost anything she asks of me...anything...if it meant making her smile like that.
More than a little unsettled by that realization, I push to my feet and busy myself brushing the sand off my pants. And yes, I keep my back to her and I run through every gross image I can think of, trying to get my body under control.
"Nah," I mutter, shooting her a grin over my shoulder. "I don't have a suit. And I really don't want to get arrested in Miami again. Once was enough."
Declan cackles, remembering that night just as well as I do. We learned the hard way cops don't really like it when you take their bikes on a joyride. Our mistake was returning them. We should have ditched them and run.
We head up the beach, Cara and Bree's footsteps chasing behind us, peppering us with questions. Declan and I exchange glances, and then stonewall them. One, because it's funny to frustrate them. And two, because we're not particularly proud of that night.
Bree hooks her arm in mine, trying to tug me to a stop. Instead, I tighten my arm and gently tug her with me. She resists for a second, then gives in with a huff, bumping her hip into my thigh.
"Fine. Don't tell me. I'm sure someone will give me the deets. Betcha Ransom would tell me."
"Don't be sure about that, lady. We look out for each other. He's not going to tell you shit."
She snickers, briefly resting her cheek against my arm. I wish I weren't wearing a shirt. I want to feel more of her skin on mine. "Nah. He'll tell me. He doesn't mind embarrassing you guys."
I scowl at her, but the smile threatens to peek through. She's probably right.
9
BREE
I need this like I need air. The chaos, the laughter, the smell of sweat and sand. It's like home to me.
Maddy, the shy little receptionist at work, throws back the rest of her beer and runs to the back, ready to serve. We're five games in, and I have a feeling she won't make it to the sixth. That would actually be a record for her. She's puked every time we've played this season, but you've got to give her props for trying to keep up.
The rest of us, an odd mix of physiotherapists, massage therapists, and nurses, have been playing together for years. And drinking together. Can't forget the drinking. It's a volleyball beer league after all. The drinking's kinda the whole point. Though I've scaled way back on that part of it. I want to keep my senses sharp. I need to stay aware.
By some miracle, Maddy ends up getting the ball over the net. We all cheer her on like she's just won the game, then dive at the ball as the other team returns it. Maddy's too busy celebrating to notice the ball land right next to her, costing us the point. She looks like she doesn't have a care in the world, and I envy her.
And I hate myself for it.
She should be carefree. She's young, and nothing bad's happened to her. I don't want anything bad to ever happen to her. But I wish so badly a little of her innocence could rub off on me.
Sick of myself, I dig my feet into the sand, ready to launch myself at the ball. Heart pounding, we dive back into the game, and I let everything but powering for the ball drift away. We win this one, we won't need to play the sixth.
I end up with a face full of sand and a bruised chin, but we pull it off. We win. It's a rec league, so it doesn't really matter, but I'm competitive as hell and celebrate like we just took home the Stanley cup. It's obnoxious, but the other team takes it in stride. We all pour off the courts toward the bar, other teams taking our spots in the sand.
I don't know what I would do if I lived in a smaller town, one that lacked facilities like this to play in. Winter sports are fun, but I'm not much of a hockey girl, and curling doesn't give me enough of a leg workout. My arms are killer, though, after all that sweeping.
A blend of shit talking, work talk, and laughter swirls around me. I'm totally safe here, clutching my second beer of the night, in the middle of all my friends. Nothing bad can happen to me here.
Julia, one of my coworkers, hops up onto the stool next to me, and leans against the wall with a sigh. "That is one spectacular ass," she mumbles, staring at the courts.
