Chapter 1: Spikeball and Beers
The sun was a relentless hammer on the back of his neck, and Travis loved it. He felt the sweat beading along his hairline, the pleasant burn in his calves as he shifted his weight, eyes locked on the yellow ball. Around them, the park was a symphony of summer—kids shrieking by the sprinklers, the distant thwock of a tennis ball, the smell of cut grass and hot earth.
“You’re gonna choke, Travis,” Bianca called from the other side of the net, her voice a confident sing-song. She adjusted her grip on the blue rim, her tank top damp between her shoulder blades. “Just like last time.”
“Last time was a fluke and you know it,” he shot back, flashing her that brilliant, authentic smile. It was their game, this back-and-forth. Meesh, perched on a blanket with Gwen and a few others, laughed and shook her head, used to it.
They’d set up two Spikeball nets about twenty feet apart. Their group of ten ebbed and flowed between them, teams shifting after every game. It started casual, recreational. High-fives for good plays, groans for missed serves. But as the cooler of beers dwindled and the afternoon wore on, the stakes got invented.
“Last game decides who buys the first round at The Garden,” declared Mark, Travis’s college roommate.
A new, sharper energy crackled through the group. The chirping got more personal, the dives for the ball more desperate. Friendly pats on the ass for a good point became less…friendly. More intentional. When Travis spiked the ball past a diving competitor to win a tight set, Bianca was there. Her hand came down hard on his rear in a loud, stinging slap of congratulations. It wasn’t a teammate’s slap. It lingered a half-second too long, her fingers curling against the fabric of his shorts. He felt the heat of her palm through the material. His eyes met hers, and for a second the noise of the park faded. There was a challenge in her dark eyes, a dare. He just grinned, wider, and turned away, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Travis and Bianca were on opposite teams, and every time they were at the net together, the space between them seemed to evaporate. A scramble for a low serve left him on the ground, her falling over him, her hip grinding against his as she tried to get up. Her breath was hot in his ear, a muttered “Oops,” that sounded anything but apologetic.
He won the final point with a stupid, reckless dive that skinned his elbow but sent the ball spiraling into the net at an impossible angle. His team whooped. Bianca’s team groaned. She stood hands on hips, chest heaving, a smirk playing on her sweat-glossed lips. “Lucky shot.”
“Gotta be good to be lucky...” he murmured as he passed by her, the parting shot of his hand swatting her ass cheek one to leave her cheeks quaking and a shit-eating grin on her face as she turned and he kept walking.
The beer garden was packed, a hum of satisfied exhaustion hanging over their long table. Twinkling lights blinked on overhead as dusk settled, casting a soft glow on empty pint glasses and shared plates of nachos. The scent of charred burgers and hops was thick in the warm air. Conversation flowed, debates about the games, plans for the weekend. Meesh was tucked under Travis’s arm, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his forearm. Gwen was sketching on a napkin, lost in some artistic thought.
Travis felt the restlessness prickle under his skin. The adrenaline from the game hadn’t left; it had just mutated, coiling low in his gut. He caught Bianca’s eye across the table. She was telling a story, animated, her hands flying. She laughed, and he smiled; the sound was music to his ears... and made his groin twitch.
The table needed another round. Glasses were empty, and it was the perfect excuse to move. “I’ll get the next one... everyone want the same?,” Travis announced as he got a series of nods, disentangling himself from Meesh with a squeeze of her shoulder.
He wound his way through the crowded patio to the long, weathered bar. The line was twelve people deep. He shoved his hands in his pockets, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, watching the barkeeps work their magic. He felt a presence at his back, close, then a sharp, familiar sting on his right ass cheek.
He tensed and grinned without turning around. Her laugh was right in his ear, warm and a little husky from shouting all afternoon. “Still firm, Travie. You still doing leg days at the gym?”
Bianca’s arms slipped around his waist from behind in a reverse embrace, her chin hooking over his shoulder. It looked friendly, especially to those knowing she had a girlfriend - just two pals in line. But her body was pressed flush against him, and he could feel the intentional crush of her breasts against his back, the heat of her pelvis against his cargos. “Figured you could use a pack mule,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. He reached up and squeezed her hand. "Ha! You ARE an ass... but I like your ass, so stick with me, kid and we'll get us some beers."
The line jostled as a group claimed their pitchers. The movement was gradual but Bianca used it to her advantage as the beer carrying group passed; him, and her hand—her right hand—slid down over the front of his cargos, in a sweeping manner, stopping momentarily around his semi-hard shaft for a playful squeeze before her hand was gone; moving up and beyond to rest casually on his hip, as if nothing had happened.
He laughed like she had just whispered a hilarious joke in his ear. He loved how she made him light up inside and did it with such subtle maneuvering.
“So,” she said, her voice perfectly normal, conversational, as she leaned her weight into him. “We should get some climbing practice in soon. The wall at the new gym is supposed to be brutal. I don’t want you holding me back on the camping trip.”
She shifted, sliding her chest across his spine, and arm, making sure he felt the press of each globe before sliding beside him, pulling his arm up over her shoulders. She angled her elbows back, pinching her shoulder blades together, keeping her chin pointed towards the bar, but her side eye marking Travis's gaze as she pushed her tits together; the low neckline of her tank top giving him plenty to see as they pushed up. The view was a deep, shadowed cleavage, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. She held the pose, knowing he was watching.
He swallowed, and smirked. “The only thing being held back right now are your elbows. You know I'm faster out there on the water than you.” he managed his own side eye, smirking back at her as he longed to just stare at her cleavage.
“There’s a first time for everything,” she purred, her eyes locking with his. “You still have that big ass tent? We’re sharing it again with everyone this year, again, right? Just I get first pick of where to lay my pad. Next to you... and the bears, right?”
“Yep... eight of us. You going to going to pretend to be good this time around or you going to try jumping me again in the middle of the night,” he smirked and commented; their best friend banter always somewhere between edgy, sexual or comical.
“Pffffffffffft. You KNOW if I'm next to you, your dick will be out AND in my hand. ” She said, her eyes never leaving his as her hand slid lower on his stomach, her thumb dipping just below the waistband of his shorts. “If they snore, like they did last year, they'll never hear me going down on you...” Her thumb stroked a tiny, devastating arc on his skin.
He sucked in a sharp breath, the air tasting of fried food and her perfume. His cock thickened instantly, a heavy, insistent pressure against his zipper. The line moved forward. He turned his head, his lips a millimeter from her temple. “Keep that up and I’ll have to take you behind the dumpsters before we even get our drinks.”
She laughed, a low, smoky sound that vibrated through his body. “Promises, promises.” But she removed her hand, letting it rest innocently on his hip again.
When they finally reached the bar, Travis ordered, slapping his card down. The bartender slid eight frosty pint glasses across the wood. Before Travis could even think about how to carry them, Bianca stepped in.
“Here, let me,” she said, her voice all helpful friend. She turned, bending at the waist to gather four glasses by their bases. The move was calculated. Her tank top gaped open, giving him a full, unimpeded view of her breasts, save for the two dusky pink nipples hidden just beneath her sports bra, but obvious points; taut from the cooling sweat, lust for Travis and thrill of playing in public. She held the pose for a three-count, making it look like she was arranging glasses, knowing his eyes were focused tightly on her tits. She straightened slowly, pressing the beers to her chest, a sly smile on her lips. “You get the other four, big guy.”
“I'd much rather watch you pick those up again....” he said as he grinned. He jostled to pick up his beers, eyes on her chest but also letting his free hand slide up to glide over the round curve of her ass as he turned toward the bar. He didn’t just slide over it. He squeezed, his fingers digging into the firm muscle he’d been watching all afternoon. She let out a soft, gratified hum and leaned into the touch for a second before he cradled his beers and she turned to lead the way back through the crowd.
They delivered the drinks to cheers and scattered thanks. Bianca slid back into her seat next to Gwen, who glanced up from her napkin sketch and gave her a distracted, loving smile. Travis settled beside Meesh, who kissed his cheek. “My hero,” she said as he patted her leg.
For the next hour, they were back to being the regular group of friends. The stories flowed—a disastrous work presentation, a neighbor’ bizarre obsession with garden gnomes, the elaborate plans for the camping trip in three weeks. Travis told his story with his usual charm, making Meesh laugh and lean into him. But he straightened his leg and made contact with Bianca’s calf under the table and stayed there. The corners of their mouths turned up mischievously, the secret smile like a live wire.
Eventually, yawns began to outweigh laughter. Glances were thrown at phones. The evening had bled into night.
“Okay, I’m officially a pumpkin,” Meesh announced, stretching - her large breasts catching some stares, much to Travis's delight. “Early spin class tomorrow.”
The goodbyes were a shuffle of chairs and hugs. Meesh hugged Bianca warmly, then Gwen and then moved on to the rest of the group. Travis hugged Gwen, a brief, friendly squeeze. Then he turned to Bianca.
It looked normal from the outside. Just a hug between close friends. But she melted into him, her body aligning with his from chest to thigh. His arms locked around her lower back, pulling her in tight. Her face buried in his neck, her breath hot. One of his hands rode low on her spine, fingers splayed just above the waistband of her shorts. Her hand slid from his shoulder down his chest, a firm, knowing press against his pec before pulling away. The hug lasted long in their minds, but unnoticed by anyone else - a gay girl and a straight guy could do that without issue and they all trusted it. It's what good friends did.
“Drive safe,” he murmured into her hair, inhaling her scent.
“You too,” she whispered back, her lips brushing his skin.
Then they parted. Couples, heading to separate cars, and separate homes.
In their apartment, Meesh showered while Travis scrolled through his phone on the couch. The group chat was buzzing.
Mark: Great day, fuckers. My serve is undefeated!! Woo!!
Sarah: Your serve held a 30% success rate. But when it hit? A cannon. Can’t wait for the trip.
Gwen: I’m already sketching the views from the campfire!
Travis typed a few responses, laughing at the memes. A separate notification slid down his screen.
Bianca: Sent 10:42 PM.
He waited until Meesh was out, wrapped in a robe and smelling of lavender, planting a kiss on his head before padding to the bedroom.
He opened the message.
It was a photo. No face, just the perspective of looking down her own body. She was in a shockingly small, electric blue sports bra and matching tight shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The fabric strained over the full swell of her breasts, her nipples clearly outlined. The shorts were sinfully short, cutting high on her hips, the pronounced curve of her ass on full display. The lighting was soft, intimate.
The text below it read: New gear for the new routine. Gonna destroy that climbing wall. And maybe you. Thoughts?
He could hear Meesh moving around in the bedroom, getting ready for bed. The familiar, comforting sounds of his life.
He typed back, his thumbs moving fast.
Travis: You lifting barbells with your nips are do you bother with heat at your place? Love the haul though. It's hot - I'm at a half chub already. The wall doesn’t stand a chance. Neither do I.
The three dots appeared immediately. Then her reply.
Bianca: That’s the plan. Monday sucks. But I'm gonna pound through some wall balls and pretend you're in front of me to really get me going. As for these nips? Guess you'll see them another day! I'm going to go give Gwen a show and see if she can make them stand out even farther. Go get some of Meesh's sweet mouth on you or else it'll be sweet dreams Blue balls!
He put his phone down, screen against the couch cushion. He sat in the quiet, dim living room, the image burned onto the back of his eyelids. The restlessness was a roar now, a living thing in his chest. He thought about the tent, the dark, the sound of others sleeping. He thought about her hand, her mouth, her tits. He thought about the dangerous, thrilling silence of a secret.
After a minute, he got up and walked to the bedroom, a easy smile already plastered on his face for Meesh as he undid his belt buckle. The phone in the living room, face down on the cushion, glowed once more with a final notification before going dark.