Chapter 9 : The Volleyball Game
1901 Words
Hers ...
▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• Shut Up and Dance – WALK THE MOON
▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• Electric Love” – BØRNS
By the time everyone finished warming up and took their places on the hotel’s seaside volleyball court, the atmosphere had shifted from casual fun to something that felt almost… competitive.
The court itself was one of the hotel’s amenities—a rectangular patch of soft, golden sand just fifty meters from the shoreline, close enough that the sound of the waves wove into the echo of laughter and chatter. The sun was high but forgiving, softened by a salty breeze that carried the smell of the ocean.
Somehow, in the span of a few minutes, a crowd had formed. Tourists lounging nearby had abandoned their beach towels to stand closer. A few locals sipping fresh coconuts shaded their eyes, and even a group of foreigners paused in the middle of prepping snorkeling gear to watch. Someone in the crowd muttered, “Looks like a legit match,” and a ripple of amused agreement followed.
Shouts began flying across the court.
“This is your thing, Mama!” Lia’s voice rang out above the rest, tiny hands cupped around her mouth. “Go, Team B!”
Ana shot her daughter a wink, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline coil in her chest. Volleyball had always been her game—her escape back in college. Sure, she never made it to the university varsity team (she wasn’t tall enough), but what she lacked in height she made up for in agility, timing, and grit. And she’d never stopped loving it.
Still, as her eyes scanned the opponents, she knew this wasn’t going to be a friendly walk in the park.
Micah? A powerhouse. Her spikes were fast and sharp—more like gunshots than arcs. And the kicker? During a water break, Micah casually mentioned she’d played for her university team in California before switching to pre-med.
Brent and Matt? Former Navy. Built like athletes, with the kind of coordination that only came from years of physical training. They moved in sync, sharp and decisive, covering each other’s blind spots like they’d been doing it for years.
Ana flexed her fingers, rolling her shoulders. Alright. Let’s do this.
Clarisse lifted the whistle to her lips and blew sharply. “Serve! Team A!”
And just like that—the game was on.
The first serve came in fast, slicing through the air. Ana’s body moved before her brain had fully caught up, feet digging into the sand as she dropped low and sent the ball up cleanly. From there, she slipped into her rhythm—quick pivots, sharp reads, instinct guiding her every move.
The sun was hot on her back, the sand warm beneath her toes, but the breeze cooled the sweat along her neck. She was alive in every sense of the word.
Micah came in for a spike on the left. Ana leapt, arms up, and—smack!—blocked it clean. The ball ricocheted off her forearms, landing just inside Team A’s side.
A collective “Ooooh!” erupted from the crowd.
Matt tried next—strong, precise—but she read his angle and met him mid-air. Another block.
Two.
Then Brent, grinning like he was about to break her streak, lunged for a heavy swing. She met him with solid forearms and sent it right back.
Three.
Chris laughed, half in disbelief. “Damn, Ana! Where were you hiding these moves?”
She didn’t answer—just kept her eyes sharp, her breathing steady.
Four. Five. Six.
By now, the crowd had started counting each block, their cheers growing louder with every one. Ana’s pulse was pounding, but her smile never faded. It had been years since she’d pushed herself like this, and it felt… incredible.
On the next play, she called out without hesitation. “Switch!”
Enzo was already moving, reading her like they’d done this a hundred times before.
Ana sent him a clean pass. He set it to Chris, who—without missing a beat—launched a perfectly timed drop shot that caught Team A flat-footed. Brent dove for it, but the ball kissed the sand before he could reach it.
“YES!” Ashley and Lia screamed from the sidelines, high-fiving like they’d just won the championship.
The three on Team B huddled, grins all around.
Enzo leaned close enough for Ana to hear the noise. “Six blocks? You’re terrifying.”
She tilted her head, smirking. “Told you not to go easy on me.”
“You didn’t. And now I know better.”
They turned back toward the net, the cheers still echoing, the air between them charged—not just with competition, but something unspoken. And as the next serve came in, Ana could feel it: the game wasn’t the only thing heating up.
The next serve came from Matt—fast, low, and designed to catch them off guard. Ana darted forward, knees bending deep as she scooped it up just in time. Her pass shot up cleanly toward Enzo.
He was already there, waiting. His forearms met the ball with precision, sending it skyward for Chris.
But Ana’s eyes lingered just a fraction too long. The way his muscles tightened when he jumped. The shadow of concentration in his gaze. Even the way his shirt clung to him—darkened with sweat, lines of his torso visible with every twist and turn.
She blinked, forcing her focus back, but it was too late. Micah slammed a spike between Chris and Ana before either could react.
“Point, Team A!” Clarisse’s voice rang through the whistle.
Ana groaned, hands on her hips. “My bad.”
Enzo’s grin was pure trouble. He leaned in slightly, voice low so only she could hear. “Distracted?”
She shot him a sharp look, but her cheeks betrayed her. “Just watching the ball.”
“Hmm.” His smirk widened. “Didn’t look like it.”
She rolled her eyes, but the quick, unexpected flutter in her chest made her want to laugh and shove him at the same time.
The rally continued, each point a tug-of-war between sheer athleticism and pure willpower. Sand kicked up around their ankles as they dove, pivoted, and sprinted for every ball.
At one point, Ana dove forward, landing hard on her forearms to keep the play alive. The ball shot toward Enzo, who barely had to move—he was already in position. He sent it back over the net in a smooth, effortless arc that dropped right in front of Micah before she could reach it.
The crowd roared.
As they reset, Ana brushed the sand from her knees. Enzo’s hand appeared in front of her—steady, warm, and calloused. She hesitated for a second before taking it. He pulled her up with a little more strength than necessary, and she stumbled just close enough to feel his breath near her ear.
“You’re dangerous when you’re this focused,” he murmured.
Her pulse jumped, but she masked it with a quick smirk. “Good. I like keeping you on your toes.”
“Oh, trust me,” he said, eyes glinting. “You are.”
The whistle blew before she could fire back, and they were moving again—feet pounding the sand, arms ready, hearts racing. But now, every time Ana caught a glimpse of Enzo in her peripheral vision, that charge in the air between them only grew stronger.
______๑♡๑____________๑♡๑______
His...
▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• Accidentally in Love – Counting Crows
The score was tied—13–14. One more point to decide.
The crowd had grown thick around the edges of the sand court. Tourists leaned forward on their beach chairs, locals sipped coconuts like they were at a championship match, and even a group of foreigners paused their snorkeling prep to watch.
Micah served hard, the ball slicing through the humid air. Chris received it and sent it clean to Ana, who pivoted sharply, ready for the set. But Brent anticipated, blocking her angle. The ball ricocheted, spinning wide toward the far right—away from everyone.
Ana didn’t hesitate. She ran. Bare feet pounding the sand, hair slipping free from her bun. The ball was heading dangerously close to a group of men in board shorts holding beers, and she lunged—
And found herself yanked backward.
An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a solid chest. She stumbled, palms flattening over warmth and muscle.
Enzo.
“You were about to wipe out on them,” he said, his voice low, still holding her steady. His hand lingered for a beat too long, thumb brushing against the knot of her crop top before he released her.
“I could’ve still saved that ball,” Ana shot back, eyes narrowing.
Chris jogged over, grinning like he’d just found new gossip material. “Could’ve, yeah—but our boy here clearly values you more than the point.”
That earned a few “oooohs” from the crowd. Someone even wolf-whistled.
Enzo’s jaw flexed. “Shut it, Chris.”
Clarisse, trying not to laugh, tossed the ball back into play. “Focus, lovebirds. Match point.”
Ana rolled her eyes but there was a faint flush on her cheeks. She stepped back into position, the fire in her gaze sharper than before.
The service came. Chris set. Ana spiked. The ball slammed into the sand on Team A’s side before anyone could react.
The crowd erupted. Ashley and Lia screamed themselves hoarse from the sidelines.
______๑♡๑____________๑♡๑______
His...
After the Win.
The game lasted a full hour, but those last seconds stayed in Enzo’s mind far longer than the victory. It's 14-15. Their Team won for 15 points.
Ana was electric—light on her feet, fierce in her focus, unshaken by the crowd. Every block, every spike, every burst of laughter when Chris made a bad joke—it all pulled him in.
And that moment in the crowd?
The way she fit against him for that split second, warm and tense, still caught in the momentum—it wasn’t just instinct to pull her back. It was a need to keep her safe. A need that irritated him because he knew he wouldn’t have done that to anyone else.
Chris’s jab about “valuing her over the point” only made the truth sink deeper.
Ana brushed it off and kept her head in the game. But Enzo? He was still aware—too aware—of the way her hand had pressed against him, of the heat in her flushed face, of the fact that she didn’t even realize how much she was getting under his skin. Standing beside her in the sand, sweat on their skin, cheers still ringing in the air, he felt it: he wanted more than just a game win.
He wanted to be part of her team—not just here, but in the life she was guarding so fiercely.
Her trust.
Her daughter’s trust.
A place in the space she didn’t let anyone else enter.
She might not know it yet, but he was already playing for keeps.
- Writer
