Page 24 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“If you’re a backup player on the Olympic team, I’d hate to go against the starters,” I say.
“Amen to that,” Levi says. The score is eighteen to three and she’s serving the ball, glistening with sweat, her legs sprinkled with sand, her hair wild and her eyes wilder. She looks like a shark going in for the kill and the sight turns me on, turns on my competitive juices too.
I know where she’s going to hit the ball, so as she tosses it, I call for it and dive into position, popping the ball into the air. Levi lines up to smash it at an impossible angle on the other side of the net. Chelsea dives to save it and manages to bump it but it doesn’t bounce high enough for Gary to hit and he rolls onto the sand, landing on top of Chelsea. They’re both laughing and he helps her up, brushing sand off her back.
Every muscle in me tenses. I know I’m being crazy, know it’s nothing, but I want to shout at him to leave his fucking hands off her. As it is I give him a glare and when he catches sight of me, he raises his hands in the air immediately and backs away from her.
“Eighteen-four,” I say and force a smile. Chelsea tosses the ball over the net, snickering.
“You’re only prolonging the inevitable,” she says. “We’ll shut you down.”
Levi serves and she gets under it, setting up David perfectly to slam the ball directly at Allie, hitting her in the chest as she falls back, her hands not even in position to hit the ball. Shit. Chelsea is right.
“Nineteen-four,” she says. “My serve.”
I toss the ball back to her, wanting to wipe the smugness from her mouth, but not by beating her at volleyball. I’m figuring that’s a lost cause. I’d much rather erase her smugness with a smothering, earth-shattering kiss that she’ll feel down to her bone marrow, that we’ll both feel reverberating for the rest of the night. The kind of kiss I can bring home to bed with me and remember, pleasure myself to when I’m alone. Which is every fucking night these days.
Maybe I should be paying attention to the game, because she nearly takes my head off with the next serve and I miss my chance to hit the ball. She laughs. Fuck. But I can’t help smiling.
“I shouldn’t have had that last shot of JD,” I say.
She snorts and my brothers give me shit, laughing at me, boo-hooing.
“Look who needs an excuse for piss-poor play—not paying attention.” Glen has the biggest mouth, always did. Not an ounce of humility in him whether he ought to have it or not, but it’s part of his charm. Normally. I want to spike the ball in his face right now. I need to get the serve back one last time to do it even if we’re destined to lose. I’m not one for idle threats, but I stare him down so he gets the message and shuts up.
“Serve it,” I say, tossing the ball back to Chelsea.
She slams it again, but I’m more than ready and toss it up. Levi bounces it back to me, knowing I want the shot. So I take it. Reaching up high, I take aim and slam the ball directly at Glen, as good as down his throat.
There’soohsandaahsfrom the crowd on the patio, cheering on our side of the net and swearing from my brothers’ side.
“This is it. Your big comeback,” Chelsea says and tosses the ball over the net to Eli for the serve. He’s been quiet and he’s not a terrible player, but he doesn’t have the killer instinct. At least not in beach volleyball. I hear it’s a different matter in a courtroom where he practices law, at least according to Levi. In fact, I have his number in my contacts in case I need a lawyer someday outside of contract negotiations. My agent insists I need to be prepared for any eventuality, and predicts that there’s a ninety percent chance I will need one before my time in the spotlight is over. Claims it’s one of the risks that goes with the rewards. One more reason it’s about time to dim the spotlight, get out before I get burned.
Eli serves and Gary passes to Chelsea, who slams the ball home, spiking it in Allie’s direction again. In spite of my valiant dive where I almost run into Levi as he dives at the same time to save it, we lose the point and the game.
Lying in the sand, I take my time getting up, as I put up with the whoops and hollers of my brothers on the other side. There’s a twinge in my ankle as I stand. I twisted on that last play. Fuck. My coach’ll kill me if I get hurt here. But I shake it off and it feels okay. When my brothers lift Chelsea on their shoulders I lurch toward them, forgetting all about the ankle, but Levi puts a hand on my arm, restraining the spike in my automatic jealousy. It’s a testament to how well he knows me because I’ve never talked to him about my forbidden attraction to Chelsea, but he knows it’s there. Now, even though I have no right to be jealous, no claim on her, Levi sees right through me. Maybe he thinks I’m reacting in a protective way, but I don’t kid myself that that’s what I’m feeling.
Because right now I want to rip the head off my brother Glen—again—because he has his hand on Chelsea’s ass as she sits up on his and David’s shoulders, laughing and pumping her fists. They circle around in front of the terrace where the rest of the family and bridal party claps and whistles.
Coming off the beach with Levi, every muscle in my body clenched, I head for Gramps, getting my irrational mood barely under control.
“You have to admit it was fun,” Levi says. “Even though we lost.”
I give him a look, refraining from giving him the finger because I know he’s not one to like losing any more than I do. And I know he’s trying to disarm me.
“You gonna tell my obnoxious brothers that?”
He half grins, half scowls and slaps me on the back. “No. You’re going to have to live with their bragging for a while, I suspect.” He sits with me at Gramps’s table.
“But that Chelsea.” He shakes his head. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
“The real deal,” I say, thinking it’s a waste that she’s working for a cheap local sports broadcaster. She ought to be coaching or something and, not for the first time, I wonder why she isn’t. I steal a swig of Gramps’s Jack Daniels. It’s warm and watered down, but I don’t give a fuck.
After the celebration settles and the band strikes up again, Chelsea joins us.
“I won’t lie,” she says, “It feels good to win.”
No one mentions a thing about her Olympic team’s losses, not even Gramps, but I can see her mind going there as the high of winning fades on her face.
