WHISPER
PRIVILEGES
by
Dianne Venetta
SMASHWORDS EDITION
*****
PUBLISHED BY:
BloominThyme Press
Whisper Privileges
Copyright 2012 by Dianne Venetta
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
*****
Acknowledgements
I am most grateful to Dr. and Mrs. Seifer for their personal experience with the events. Between them and Sandy Seaton, parent to one of these amazing athletes, I gained valuable insight into the emotions and spirit behind the games, the competition, and the dedication required from start to finish.
As a native resident from Miami, I am fully aware the University pool is outdoors. However, the simple truth of the matter is I could not subject these kids to the heat—their skin would fry! Outside of the pool complex, most scenery will ring true to those who know the area, from the Biltmore Hotel to the Venetian pool, Little Havana to Coconut Grove; these are the landmarks of my childhood.
On the medical front, I owe a debt of gratitude to Neurologist Alexander Smirnoff and his wife Vickie. They graciously took time out of their busy schedule to meet with me and go over facts and scenarios for the medical scenes. He reduced the complexities of brain function to simple terms I could understand, and explained how medical personnel respond to certain emergencies. Additionally he helped me understand the general field of autism and the wide range of condition and form it can assume. Suffice it to say, I couldn't have managed a credible story without him.
But the help didn’t stop there. No experience with event planning myself, I enlisted the help of Joe Shipes, a local event planner who generously lent his time and expertise for the character detail of my heroine, Sydney Flores.
And my beta readers are indispensible! Thank you Joanie, Sheri, Stephanie and Tiffany, in addition to the helpful insight I received from agent Beth Miller and editor Kathie Middlemiss.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my mother.
For her encouraging whispers and constant presence when it mattered most.
Chapter One
Arms crossed, Clay Rutledge watched the six-foot brunette swing her arm back and in one fluid step forward, punch the volleyball clear to the far corner of her opponent’s court. A mammoth blonde dove for the shot but missed, the ball kicking sand in her face as it passed. The whistle blew and the crowded beach of spectators erupted in cheer.
“Way to go, Syd!”
Sydney Flores slapped hands high in the air with her teammate. Clay couldn’t make out what she said. But then again, a smile curved his lips, there was no need. He was content to simply watch her. Even the blistering humidity of midday in Miami couldn’t keep him from this scenery; the woman was power in motion. Not only could she drill the ball with a ferocity that looked like it would hurt if you were hit, but her legs were incredible. Long and heavily muscled they were topped by the fullest rear he’d ever seen on an athlete. Round and curvy, it was almost unnatural on her athletic build. But sexy, garnering his full attention as it peeked out from the bottom of her uniform. He chuckled. The black bottoms and hot pink sports bra were more bathing suit than uniform. And completely hot. He’d always known he was an “ass man” as they called it, but damn...
Hers was as fine as they came. “She’s really good,” he said, moist heat gathering beneath his Polo shirt as the sun baked his head and shoulders.
Beside him, Charlie Williston snickered. “Told you you wouldn’t be disappointed.” He took a swig of beer from his red Solo cup and continued to stare at the women.
“Most definitely not.” Clay found her to be beautiful, from her heavy brown ponytail catching the sun as she played, to the quiet sway of her shoulders when she walked across the sand—as though each step were made with solid determination. And she was intense. Clay couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark sunglasses, but he imagined them blazing with the same fire of competition he saw etched in the hard lines of her expression. He turned to Charlie with sudden curiosity. This woman was his coworker at JL Conventions, one of the biggest event planning groups in Miami and picking up women at the office seemed a natural extension for his pal. “Why aren’t you two dating again?”
He grunted. “Sydney won’t give me the time of day.”
“This, coming from the smoothest operator I know?” Clay suppressed a chuckle. “Why not?”
“She may be hot on the outside, but she’s the Ice Maiden on the inside.”
Clay returned his gaze to Sydney, whose brown skin glistened from exertion. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Trust me. If you can’t do something to further her career, she ain’t interested.”
“Sounds to me like someone’s sore at not scoring,” Clay remarked. From his vantage point, the woman was totally hot. Catching the ball thrown in from an official, she strolled back to the serve line with a strut of confidence that appealed to him.
“More like I don’t have anything to offer her career,” Charlie hit back.
“What are you saying? She only dates men who give her convention business?” he asked watching her wind back for the serve, but before hitting the ball, she checked with her teammate’s backside first. Currently bent over, the slender Latin woman stood center court with her hands pressed to her rear. Where Sydney was full on the bottom, this one busted out of her suit from the top. She gestured something to Sydney with her fingers.
“Or a promotion.”
Clay turned to face Charlie and let his arms fall slack. “She’s dating your boss?”
“Used to, but not anymore.”
“Hmm...” Clay’s pleasure faded. He turned from Charlie and back to her. Settling hands to his hips, he pondered the revelation. He had no use for manipulative women, though it didn’t prevent him from admiring the view. At the whistle, she arched back, her wall of abs contracting as she hammered the ball over the net. The hulky blonde on the opposing team was quick and crushed the ball back. Sydney fell to her knees and expelled an audible grunt as she returned the ball into the net. Clay saw her mouth the words damn it as she smacked the sand, then quickly jumped to her feet, ignoring the assist offered by her teammate. No time for downtime in this match, he mused, his attention glued to the sand clinging to her perspiration-slicked legs. She was going back in.
Today was the amateur championship and according to Charlie, a pretty big deal around these parts. The place was jamming. Sponsor tents lined the courts creating a perimeter; banners draped the width of them advertising everything from beer and local restaurants to cable television and the resident Chamber of Commerce. Beer flowed like water from makeshift taps while bottled-water was freely dispensed to the athletes from oversized coolers. Born and raised in South Carolina, he’d been to Myrtle Beach but never witnessed a beach volleyball game. This was a sport he’d remember.
Charlie’s coworker brushed the sand from her body and looked up. Her gaze landed squarely on him. Pleasure hummed across his senses. Hello, sweetheart... She cast him a definitive scowl and Clay pulled back. Maybe Charlie was right. This one isn’t friendly. He watched her jog around the net, taking in the length of her—the formidable length of her—and a smile formed on his lips. Maybe she just needed some warming-up from the rig
ht heat source.
“Shake it off, Syd,” Alana said. “Shake it off.”
Sydney grumbled under her breath. Yeah, she knew the drill. But that blonde beast was beginning to piss her off. Nailing the opposing team for “sport” wasn’t the goal here. But catching sight of Charlie only added to her misery. Despite the fact she’d repeatedly told him “no and in no uncertain terms,” the man insisted on attending her games. She knew there was only one reason for him to be here. The gawk factor. In her opinion, it was the single “undesirable” element to the game. But league dictated that both men and women wear bathing suits for competition games, with the option of a hat and the occasional jersey. She’d rather wear shorts and tanks, but they weren’t allowed. Period. Why not?
Skimpy attire lured in the spectators and spectators paid the bills.
Charlie waved to her as she and Alana jogged to the opposite side of the net. It was then she noticed the fellow standing next to him. Tall, wiry build, sandy blond hair tousled by the ocean breeze, his skin browned from the sun, he looked as if he’d been plucked straight off the shores of Malibu. Normally a solo viewer, she was surprised to see Charlie here with anyone let alone a good-looking someone.
“Great job, Sydney!” Charlie called out as she passed. He winked and Sydney returned a glare from behind her dark-tinted shades. Fool probably thought she was looking at him—which she wasn’t. No way in hell! Charlie was one of the few people in this world she actually detested. An ego the size of China, the man couldn’t see past himself and his own desire.
Sydney took her position in the middle of the court and suddenly felt self-conscious. Despite an athletic build, she was cursed by an over-sized rear—one she couldn’t shrink no matter how hard she worked and it stuck out from beneath her suit for everyone to see. As the sun bore down on her back, she shook the image from her mind. She didn’t know the new man in town so she didn’t care and she could easily ignore Charlie. Better ignore him, she thought, centering on the opposing player feet away from her across the net. Decked out in yellow racerback top and square-cut bottoms, the woman had to be pushing six-four and was built like a cement wall. She played with every ounce of power one would expect from such stature, too, slamming the ball into Sydney’s shoulder last set. Damn thing left a mark!
Signaling to her partner, she flashed a nasty smile to Sydney. Probably telling her teammate to aim for me, she mused. Digging her feet into the hot sand, Sydney ground herself in for the play. Go ahead and try. While she and Alana may be half the density of these ladies, they were no neophytes when it came to the game of volleyball. They won the last set and they’d win this one. Sydney caught sight of Charlie whispering something to his friend as he pointed to Alana. Most likely something to do with the Brazilian cut bottoms and low-rise tattoo on Alana’s backside.
Sydney pulled her focus back to the game, and the woman with the ball. Sweat gathered across her brow as she swung her arms low and methodically, awaiting the serve. At the whistle, the woman made a devilish twist with her mouth and pulverized the ball straight to Alana. Sydney spun around, caught the rebound and whacked the ball over the net in a powerful arc. Both women dove after the ball but missed, crashing to the ground in a simultaneous slide across the court.
“Yes!” Sydney high-fived Alana with a quick hug and whispered harshly, “Nail em’, Alana.” While her teammate didn’t look capable, she could dish out a punishing serve. Winded now, Sydney moved to front and center of the net. Pressing the front of her hands against her lower back, she signaled Alana to serve back, right corner, whereby she’d take the net. Glancing at Charlie and his friend—both watching her now—a sliver of annoyance cut through her. Ignore them. Alana’s generous breasts would draw them back to her in no time.
Alana served twice, backed by an enthusiastic home crowd. If they won this set, they moved on to the finals and ultimately the goal of tournament win. The two had been practicing for months for this day and she wasn’t about to let it slip away. More than the financial winnings, Sydney wanted to lay claim to champion status. It had been almost two years since her last showing and she wanted people to know she was back on the circuit. Breathing hard and deep, Sydney settled in for the next serve.
Alana belted it over the net only this time the ball was spiked down in an angle to Sydney’s right. She lunged for it, bumped it with the heel of her hand allowing Alana to slam it across. But the brunette beast crushed it to Alana’s rear. She dove for it, but landed flat on her side with an audible grunt. Damn, Sydney cursed under her breath. That looked like it hurt. She strode over to help Alana to her feet and couldn’t help but glance over at Charlie and his friend. As expected, their eyes were glued to Alana’s sand-clad figure.
“You okay?”
“Perfecto,” she replied and openly brushed the sand stuck to her breast and bottom. Unlike herself, Alana didn’t mind the blatant ogling. “Two more points and we sink them.”
Sydney smiled, held up two fingers between them and nodded. “Two more.”
The whistle blew and the ball sailed across the net straight toward her. She slugged it sideways with a two-fisted bump, stinging the tops of her hands. Lady of Concrete leapt up and pumped it back—but Alana was right there. Leaping high into the air, she met the ball with a downward thrust, hitting the woman square in the forehead. The ball bounced up and behind her for the score. Sydney chuckled under her breath. Nice six-pack! Otherwise known as a slam to the face.
While Alana apologized for the hit, an official tossed the ball to Sydney for the serve. Heading to the back line, she forced her breathing to slow and deepen, recovering her breath from the last play. Focus, she told herself. Focus. Turning to face the net, she checked with Alana’s backside. Beyond her Sydney noticed Charlie and his friend were staring at her as she steadied the ball before her. Everyone knew this one was for the win. She took a deep breath, checked Alana’s fingers once more and nodded slightly. Exhilaration swept deep through her midsection. This one was for the win.
At the sound of the whistle, Sydney wound back for the serve and crushed the ball with the heel of her hand. Brunette raced to meet it, pulverized it back. Alana returned the hit, but yellow team pummeled it with lightning speed. Sydney ran forward, her body instinctively diving to make the connection. With a single-handed punch she hit the ball, crashed to the ground—landing hard on her shoulder. Alana whirled around, squatted, and bumped the low hit up and over the net with a decisive spin. Sydney scrambled to her feet. She prayed the deep ball would remain inbounds. The whistle blew, the horn sounded. “Match point!”
“Yes!” Alana jumped up and down, pumping her fist wildly through the air. “We did it!”
Sydney ran to her. “Way to go, Alana!” Fans whistled and cheered as they embraced.
“We’re going all the way, Sydney!”
“All the way,” she repeated, heart hammering in her chest. Briskly brushing hands with the competition in a quick show of duty, they murmured, “Nice game.”
“Next time, you’re ours,” the bigger one muttered.
Skin flushed from the heat of play, sweat streaming down the side of her face, Sydney wanted to say there won’t be a next time if you two hulks don’t sharpen your game. But she only smiled, indicating she looked forward to the next match. The intensity of play made her feel alive and powerful. It made her feel capable, invincible. It made her feel like a winner.
“Bebita!”
Sydney turned to see Alana scooped into the arms of her boyfriend. He twirled her around in a circle and exclaimed, “Fantastico!” followed by a full on open-mouth kiss. The two proceeded to babble on in Spanish, most of which was incoherent to Sydney. Despite living in Miami her entire life and having a Cuban father, Sydney couldn’t carry a conversation in Spanish if it had two handles. Swiping the perspiration from her forehead, no boyfriend waiting in the wings to congratulate her, she turned, in need of some ice-cold water. That’s when she saw them approach. Her pulse accelerated. Standing
alone center court, dressed in nothing but a glorified bikini, she felt oddly on display—especially when it came to oglers like Charlie.
“Hey Syd, great game!” he said genially, as though they were friends.
“Thanks,” she tossed back.
“Awesome game,” his friend agreed and removed his sunglasses. “You’re an amazing player.”
“Thank you,” she replied. Heart still pounding, she was stunned by the cobalt shade of his eyes. The color jumped out at her, almost hard to look at beneath his dark lashes. They seemed to catch the sun, absorbing light deep within blue wells of color. Combined with the faded purple of his Polo shirt, sun-bleached hair combed forward and face tanned from a day at the beach, the guy definitely looked as if he jogged over with his surfboard after a quick slice through the waves. The short white Puka shell necklace worn high around his neck only sealed the image in her mind.
“You should really go pro,” he said.
“I’m not that good.” She pulled her long ponytail forward over a shoulder and shifted her weight. “Amateur is about as far as I can make it.”
“I don’t believe it,” he said easily, the tenor of his smile more intimate than he had a right to be. “You have natural athletic ability. Why, I bet if you decided you wanted to go pro...” his smile tilted up to one side, “you’d make it in a heartbeat.”
While she appreciated his vote of confidence, he really had no idea the kind of time and training it took for professional sports. All or nothing it would leave her with no time for a career. “Thanks,” she returned with a smile. “But I’ll settle for amateur. Keeps me in the sport, at least.”
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