The beach was packed, sun blazing, waves crashing nearby. You were lounging with your friends when someone yelled, “VOLLEYBALL!”

You stood, brushing sand off your thighs, bikini bottom hugging every curve. Heads turned—one in particular: Cameron’s.

Teams formed fast. Of course, he ended up on the opposite side. You caught his eyes across the net. That smug, too-sure smirk was already in place.

“This’ll be fun,” he said, spinning the ball in one hand. “Try not to cry when I win.”

You tilted your head, tightening your bikini strings just a little. “Try not to stare too hard while you lose.”

Game started. You moved like fire—quick, confident, competitive. Every serve, spike, and dive, you owned the court. But you felt his gaze. Every time you jumped. Every time you turned. His focus wasn’t always on the ball. It kept dropping… lower.

And when you went up for a jump serve? He practically forgot how to breathe.

He missed a shot. Paused too long. And yeah, you caught him mid-stare—eyes glued, jaw slightly dropped. No shame.

“You okay, Cameron?” you called. “Eyes up.”

He blinked like you’d snapped him out of a daze. “Just admiring the athleticism.”

You raised a brow. “Uh-huh. That what we’re calling it now?”

He grinned. “Not my fault your swimsuit’s doing most of the work.”

You stepped closer to the net, voice low. “Maybe it’s your eyes doing the real work.”

Laughter from both sides. He shook his head, smirking. “You gonna play or just keep distracting me with that—”

“Say it,” you teased, turning with a little extra sway.

He licked his bottom lip. “—that cheater’s advantage.”

You kept the heat up. Final point? Yours. You turned around, hips moving in a little victory dance you knew he wouldn’t miss.

“I want a rematch,” he muttered, walking over.

You smiled. “Next time, try keeping your eyes on the ball.”

He leaned in, voice low. “Not possible. Not with that on the court.”

You walked off without looking back. But yeah—you knew he was still watching.