Tony liked beach volleyball. Watching it, that is. Not playing it. He thought that whoever had the idea that players must wear bathing costumes was a genius. There's nothing better than watching pretty girls in small bikinis bouncing all over the place.
There had been a friendly tournament running on the local beach for the past few weekends. It was just a scratch competition. Girls were asked to put their names forward for teams so that a quick knockout competition could be played. No cost to play, just be willing to be there when it was your turn to play. One of the local clubs was lending a net and a club member had volunteered to be the umpire. (Probably so he could get a close up of the action.) There was a prize that would be won by the winning team, a pair of tiny little cups that someone had offered. It was definitely a case of play for the prestige, not the reward.
Tony was there to watch the final match. He thought it would be a pretty one-sided game with a pair of blonde look-a-likes being the probable winners. These girls were fit and active, as well as being pretty damned attractive, and they seemed a class above the rest of the competition. He'd seen a couple of their earlier matches and they weren't half bad.
As you can guess there were a number of spectators for the final. There was also this bloke going around taking bets on the game. He wasn't offering odds, he said. Just even money. He wasn't in it for the profit, just helping everyone have a good time. He reckoned that the betting was split fifty/fifty and he'd come out even. Tony thought he was nuts as the blondes were clearly the better side. Still, he put ten bucks down, regarding it as an easy ten if he won and who really cared if he lost?
He was also willing to admit that he thought the man was a bit of a flop as a potential bookie. Most of the bets seemed to be going on the blondes. He was likely to finish up losing quite a bit or, more probably, have a bunch of irate customers on his hands when he couldn't pay. Tony resolved to stand fairly close to him so he could get in first for his winnings.
Wouldn't you know it? One of the blondes turned in a shocker. She seemed to twist her ankle slightly at the start of the game and was off her stride from that point on. The blondes got beaten, much to the joy of their underdog opponents, who carried off their tiny cups with great glee. Tony sighed and scratched ten bucks, making a mental note that the amateur bookie must have made a killing. Lucky him.
A little while later Tony wandered off to get a cold drink. He was strolling through the car park on the way back to the beach when he saw a familiar head of blonde hair. He turned in that direction, thinking to wander over and commiserate with the lovely young thing for losing her match. She was dressed now, but the clothes she wore didn't cover much more than the bikini had. Her blonde hair and lovely figure made her very easy to recognise.
She was no longer limping, presumably the slight strain having eased, probably with the help of a bit of liniment. Before he could catch up to her she deviated from her path slightly, turning towards a man who was heading in her direction. They met up and he produced a small wad of cash and gave it to her while Tony stood there and watched and seethed.
Ten bucks is nothing. You spend it and forget it. Ten bucks that you have been cheated out of is something else entirely. You put together a twisted ankle and a bad game, add an apparently unharmed ankle and a bookie handing over cash to an unexpected loser, and you have a very nasty little solution. Tony strolled up behind them.
"Excuse me," he said politely, "but I believe you owe me twenty."
They both turned to look at him, rather startled.
"Ah, what do you mean?" asked the bookie. "I paid out down on the beach. All winners got their money."
"Not all. I bet on blondie here to win and from what I can see," he looked pointedly at the wad of cash in her hand, "she won quite handsomely. Therefore, you owe me."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," protested the bookie. "I just happened to owe Miranda some money and was paying her."
"The question is why did you owe her money? Does her partner know that you owe her money? Do you owe her partner any money? I see my bookie paying out money to people I don't think he should be giving money to and I find I have a lot of questions. I guess I'm a little funny that way. I wonder how many other people who had a bet will want to ask similar questions."
The two of them looked at each other and then both glared at Tony, not at all happy. They didn't seem to want to cough up the cash, though.
"I guess I can go and ask your partner what she thinks of this. It struck me that she seemed awfully keen to win. She nearly pulled it off in spite of your bum ankle."
"Pay the fucker," snapped Miranda.
"What?" The bookie sounded scandalised. Pay out his hard earned money to a sucker? An unheard of thing to do.
"Belinda will pull my hair out by the roots if she thinks she was cheated of the win. You know how competitive she is. And once she's finished with me she'll come after you."
"Screw Belinda," said the bookie, standing defiant. "I'm not scared of her."
"Really? Want me to tell her that? Give the man the money. It's only twenty."
The bookie fished out two tens and gave them to me, very reluctantly.
"Don't try and place any more bets with me," he grumbled. "I don't want your sort of custom."
He had to be kidding, Tony thought. He'd probably take money from a babe in arms if he could get it. Anyway, the chances of Tony placing a bet with him for any reason were slim and none. He took his money, wished then good afternoon, and departed.
That was, theoretically, the end of that. Tony wandered back down to the beach and set about entertaining himself. As part of this entertainment naturally included flirting with the girls he wasn't too surprised to run into Belinda, the second of the blonde ball players. The lost match was the perfect reason to say hullo.
Belinda sounded a little peeved at losing the match but put it down to one of those things. One couldn't win every time and as long as you tried there was no disgrace in losing. What with one thing and another Tony parlayed their conversation into a date. She agreed to meet him at a restaurant for dinner and a show, insistent that she'd make her way to the restaurant. That way she had transport home if things went sour.
The dinner went well. Too well. By the end of it they were getting on like brother and sister and neither of them was into incest. Tony had been firmly friend-zoned and they both knew it. Not to worry. Sometimes the spark is there and sometimes it isn't.
They dated several times over the next couple of months. Both of them were comfortable with the other, they might have been friends since childhood. This doesn't mean that Tony didn't realise that Belinda had a lovely face and figure. He did. He just wasn't interested in getting her to bed. Strange, but these things happen.
After one of their dates she finally invited Tony in for coffee, meaning coffee. He thought why not and they headed in for a hot drink on what was a cool night.
They were sitting back, drinking their coffee and just talking about nothing in particular, when Miranda walked in.
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Miranda yelled.
"Ah, you two know each other?" a bemused Belinda asked.
"No!" was Miranda's immediate reply.
"Only in passing," Tony said. "I know her name's Miranda and she was your partner. For some reason we didn't take to each other. My name's Anthony, by the way. You can call me Tony."
Miranda was giving him hard looks, obviously wondering if he was going to bring up the game. When he didn't say anything more she just sniffed, tossed her head back, and stormed off, slamming the door behind her. Moments later he heard a second door slam, presumably her bedroom door.
"She's your house-mate, I take it? I don't think she likes me," he said, sitting back comfortably and smiling, not minding the girl's display of temper.
"Ah, yes, she is. Funny, she doesn't normally act like that."
"A natural antipathy, I guess. Some people take instant dislikes. I guess she's one of them where I'm concerned."
"It doesn't worry you?"
"Not really. I know how magnificent and lovable I am. If she doesn't it's her loss."
"You'll break your arm, patting yourself on the back like that," Belinda observed and Tony just grinned at her.
Belinda and Tony were seeing more of each other but it was increasingly clear that neither of them had any real desire to break free of the friend-zone. Tony also saw more of Miranda in passing, but only in passing. In passing meant that whenever he was there she headed elsewhere. It was to a certain degree both amusing and irritating. Tony felt that she should be showing more maturity but could still laugh about it.
There came a day when Tony was engaged to take Belinda out to a gallery opening. He was running early and she just shoved him into the kitchen to cool his heels while she finished getting ready. At one stage he had to visit the bathroom and did so. Wandering back to the kitchen he passed Miranda's room. The door was open and she was in there, lying on her bed, listening to music. At least, that's what he assumed from the giant headphones she was wearing. He took a smart right turn and wandered in to say hullo.
She was lightly dressed, the day having been hot and the evening still warm. A nice blue top, that probably came to her knees when she stood up, and black tights. She looked quite delectable just lying there, her hand idly beating time to the music. Then she spotted Tony standing next to her and she started as though someone had goosed her.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"Oh, just looking at you and wondering what you'll be like when you grow up?" he answered easily.
She glanced down at herself. She really did have a nice figure.
"You don't seriously mean to say that you consider me a child," she sneered.
"Mentally," he murmured. "Physically you seem reasonably mature."
"Well, for your information I am quite mature, both physically and mentally. So you can stand and look all you like. It won't change anything."
There was an invitation that he had no intention of turning down. Lying on the bed and moving around had caused her top to ride up somewhat and there was an inch or so of skin showing between the top and her tights. Accepting her kind invitation to look at her he reached down, took hold of her tights, and pulled them down and off, thoughtfully taking her panties with him along the way.
