Page 70 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“Two points to me,” Ben boasts.
I burst with laughter and quickly slip back into the water, high-fiving my partner. “Great shot!”
“He doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into. Pretty boy is gonna pay.”
Nostrils flaring, Riley cracks his neck, thensnatches up the floating ball with force, ready to pummel his serve—I’m guessing directly at Ben—when he takes a breath and gently taps it toward me instead. I spring out of the water, attempting to set the ball up, but completely misjudge my leap and hit nothing but air.
“What was that?” Ben prompts, frowning at me.
“I slipped.”
“No shit!”
“Hey! I’m just warming up.”
Truth is, I’ve never played volleyball in a pool before. Once or twice on a court during my sophomore year, but that’s as far as my volleyball prowess extends. Still, I have drive and determination. And I’ll be damned if Ben is going to dub me our weakest link.
Game on!
Swimming toward the ball, I frustratedly snag it then stand before tossing it up and gently serving it to Riley. He slices through the water and spikes the ball, powerful and poised like Poseidon, and once again, my head is in the Greek mythological clouds.
A crack of thunder sounds from behind, and I wonder for a second if Zeus has joined us.
“My gut,” Ben groans. “Fuck! I think you just broke my gut.”
“Shit! Sorry, man.” Riley raises his palms but winks at me. “My bad!”
I spin toward Ben, a ball-shaped impression instantly reddening his fleshy stomach, laughter once again bursting from my chest.
“Hey! Whose side are you on, love?”
“Sorry.” I cover my mouth with my hand and gain my composure. “Yours. I’m on yours.”
“Then put some elbow into it. None of this soft, girly serving shit.”
I’m ready to tell him to shove his words up his ass, because “girly” and “soft” are adjectives that shouldn’t be used when describing something weak. But I choose to bite my tongue,instead brushing off his insult in preparation for him to eat his sexist comment.
“Let me try again,” I say, gesturing for him to give me the ball.
Ben obliges, so I toss it up, this time aggressively slapping my palm to it and forcing Riley to lunge to his right, the ball hitting the water just shy of his hand.
“Thatta girl.”
“Thank you, Ben,” I say proudly.
Tucking the ball under his arm, Riley smirks. “So this is how it’s going to be, huh?”
I lift my chin, confident. “It is.”
“All right then.” Riley spins the ball on the tip of his finger, all cocky-like.
I roll my eyes, unimpressed—my stepfather taught me that trick too.
“My princesses,” Ben coos, arms wide, as Brittany and Whitney walk by the pool, one of them waving at Riley, the other taking a selfie before blowing Ben a kiss.
Ben pretends to catch it, then slides his hand down the front of his trunks.
I all but throw up in my mouth, gagging and coughing.
