The palms of Adam's hands set the volleyball up as Holden hit it over the net. He brushed his hands off against each other that sent waves of dirt into the air. The California sun beat down onto the bare skin of his chest, making the lack of fabric a more enticing choice.

His eyes looked around for you throughout the many people of Stanford at the cookout, finding your eyes easily. You were the occupation of his mind, of course he'd notice you, the most prepossessing one there.

A quick yell from Holden took him out of daze, quickly falling to the ground as he hit the volleyball high into the air, saving the point. Adam got up, adjusting his sunglasses on his face as he walked over to you.