Please be my partner

The sun hung high in the sky, casting its golden glow over the bustling beach. I had spent most of the day attempting to shake off my thoughts of her, throwing myself into swimming, reading, and the occasional back-and-forth with Rowena. It wasn't working.

As I stretched out on the towel, my gaze landed on something I hadn't noticed before. Brightly colored flyers dotted the beach like confetti, fluttering in the sea breeze.

They clung to umbrellas, were plastered on drink stands, and even stuck out of the sand. How had I not seen them until now?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I reached for the nearest one. The moment my eyes skimmed the bold letters at the top, my heart skipped a beat: BEACH VOLLEYBALL TOURNAMENT.

I scanned the details quickly. The tournament started tomorrow, but sign-ups were today. My eyes darted to the prize description, and my lips curved into a slow, wicked grin: Choose whatever you want. The staff will make it possible.

My mind raced. The staff would make anything possible? Surely, that included arranging a night with a certain brooding, tattooed chef.

She had to be part of the staff—why else would she have been cooking in the hotel dining room? This was my golden ticket.

I could already picture it: walking into the kitchen, prize in hand, smug and victorious. The look on her face when I told her what I wanted would be priceless. My lips curled into a smirk as the image solidified in my mind.

"Rhiannon," Rowena's voice cut through my daydream, startling me. I turned to see her standing over me, hands on her hips and an incredulous look on her face. "Are you out of your mind?"

"What?" I asked innocently, clutching the flyer against my chest like it held the secrets of the universe.

"You're actually thinking of signing up for this?" she said, snatching the flyer from my hands and waving it in front of my face.

I snatched it back. "Yes, and so what if I am?"

Rowena scoffed. "You do realize this isn't just some casual game, right? It's a tournament. With real teams. And real competition. You can't just waltz in, toss a ball around, and expect to win."

I raised an eyebrow. "You do remember I was captain of our school's volleyball team, right?"

"Yeah, in high school," Rowena shot back. "This is different! You're out of practice. And besides, you'd need a partner."

Her words made me pause, but only for a moment. My confidence wasn't so easily shaken. "I'll find someone," I said with a shrug, already scanning the beach for potential teammates.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Oh, sure. Just walk up to some random stranger and say, 'Hey, wanna be my partner so I can win a tournament and seduce a hot chef?' Great plan, genius."

"First of all," I said, sitting up and brushing sand off my legs, "I wouldn't phrase it like that."

"How would you phrase it?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it, realizing I didn't have a better response. "Not the point," I muttered.

Rowena snickered. "You're hopeless."

I shot her a glare. "If you're so smart, why don't you help me?"

She laughed outright at that, throwing her head back. "Yeah, right. Like I'd waste my time helping you chase some random girl."

"She's not random," I snapped, even though I knew she kind of was. "And it wouldn't be a waste. You'd be helping me win. And isn't that what you're all about? Winning?"

Rowena paused, narrowing her eyes at me. "What's in it for me?"

I groaned, flopping back onto the towel. "Seriously? Can't you just do this out of the goodness of your heart?"

She smirked. "Nope. Try again."

I racked my brain, trying to think of something—anything—that might convince her. Finally, I sat up, fixing her with my best pleading look. "I'll owe you. Big time."

Rowena's smirk widened. "How big are we talking?"

"Whatever you want," I said, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "Within reason."

"Within reason," she repeated, tapping her chin as if deep in thought. Then her gaze dropped back to the flyer, and she sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll do it."

Relief washed over me, and I couldn't help but grin. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she said, crossing her arms. "But don't expect me to go easy on you. If we're doing this, we're winning. Got it?"

I nodded eagerly. "Got it."

Rowena shook her head, muttering something under her breath about how I was going to owe her for the rest of my life. But I didn't care. I had a plan, and with Rowena's help, I was going to win.

And when I did, the prize would be her. The thought made my smirk return, sharper than ever.

The beach was alive with activity as Rowena and I made our way to the registration booth for the volleyball tournament. The sand beneath my feet was warm, a reminder of the blazing sun overhead.

My mind raced, a mix of anticipation and determination. This was it step one in my not-so-humble quest to claim my prize: one night with the elusive, tattooed chef.

The registration booth was a small canopy draped with colorful banners, manned by a group of overly enthusiastic volunteers.

A line had formed, buzzing with excitement. Teams of all kinds crowded the area some looked like seasoned players, others more like casual enthusiasts who just wanted a good time.

"Name?" asked the volunteer as Rowena and I stepped up to the table.

"Rhiannon," I said confidently, flashing my most charming smile. "And this is Rowena, my partner."

Rowena leaned on the table, her face the picture of skepticism. "Partner under duress," she muttered loud enough for me to hear.

The volunteer laughed, scribbling our names down. "Alright, Rhiannon and Rowena. You're all set. We just need to validate your entry—should take about fifteen minutes. Feel free to hang around."

I nodded, taking the slip they handed me and stepping aside. Rowena followed, her arms crossed as she scanned the crowd.

"Fifteen minutes of my life I'll never get back," she grumbled.

"Oh, quit whining," I said, elbowing her lightly. "You're going to love this. Trust me."

"Yeah, sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "Because nothing screams 'great time' like sweating my ass off in a sand pit for your ridiculous vendetta or whatever this is."

"It's not a vendetta," I corrected, though even I had to admit my motives were questionable. "It's a strategy."

Rowena opened her mouth to retort, but the sound of loud laughter nearby caught both our attention. My stomach dropped as I turned and spotted the source: Luncindra.