Page 68 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“You play volleyball?” Riley asks him.
“Do I look like I play volleyball?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, I don’t, but I’ll give it a go.”
“Good man.”
Ben looks out over the pool and scratches his scruffy head. “Where’s the net?”
“There isn’t one.”
“Then how we playin’?”
“Use your imagination.” Riley swings his legs off the lounger and turns toward me. “You coming?”
“Not yet.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Have fun,” I singsong sarcastically.
“Oh, I will.” He winks devilishly, and my insides curl.
Damn, he’s handsome.
Suspecting he’s up to something, I lower my sunglasses to the tip of my nose as he strides to the edge of the pool before effortlessly diving in like an Olympic swimmer.
“Show off,” Ben mutters before scooting over to Riley’s vacant lounge chair, closer to me. He collects my bottle of sunscreen, pops the lid, and tilts it in my direction. “You need me to do your back?”
I want to tell him I don’t have a back, but that would be… well… ridiculous. “Uhh,” I stutter. “No thanks.”
“You sure? Skin cancer kill?—”
“Ben, you coming or what?” Riley calls out.
“Yeah, yeah.” He places the bottle down again and rests his meaty arms on his head, trepidation ghosting his face. “Why’d I agree to this? I haven’t played a sport since seventh grade. Pretty boy is gonna kick my ass.”
I study him for a moment, and for the first time since meeting the inappropriate douche, I suspect Riley may be on to something regarding Ben lacking confidence and being insecure. It flicks my heartstrings. Delicately. As soft as butterfly wings. And despite not liking the guy, I can’t help but feel begrudgingly sympathetic.
Insecurity chains us to a place devoid of strength, and we don’t fight those chains because we’ve been groomed to accept them. We’re taught to measure our appearance against what society deems perfection, and that only ever leads to failure and disappointment. A demoralizing sense of self-worth. A losing battle we shouldn’t be fighting in the first place. It dooms confidence before confidence has a chance at prevailing, and quite frankly, it’s unjustifiably unfair.
“You look strong,” I offer, encouraging him. “Aim for his pretty head.”
Ben rears back. “You think I look strong?”
“Sure.” I nod toward Riley. “Hit him where it hurts.”
Standing, he links his fingers together before stretching toward the sky, his trunks slipping down past the top of his ass. And even though society wrongfully deems his appearance less than perfection, his ass crack isn’t something I appreciate in such close proximity to my face.
I lean back, push my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, close one eye, and angle my face away, blocking the unwelcome view. “Go get him, tiger.”
Ben roars like a big cat and charges toward the pool, belly-flopping the water like a breaching whale.
Laughterbursts from my chest.
“Jesus!” Riley complains, wiping droplets from his face as Ben resurfaces. “You could’ve killed me.”
