And holy fuck! Rachel knew women volleyball players were tall but sweet Jesus! Being in the locker room with that many women who were over six feet tall was like being among a superior race of beings from the planet Awesome—a planet where all the women were devastating athletes who could take on any challenge.
The best part had been when Miranda—Miranda freaking Abebe—approached Rachel and said, in her Ethiopian accent, “So, one of your buddies just told me about a kick-ass foot save you made.”
Rachel, feeling herself blushing, managed to make herself say, “Um…yeah. It was, like, the only possible play I could make, considering.”
Miranda had looked at her and it was obvious she was impressed.
“And your team scored the point?”
“Yep. It gave us the set, in fact.”
Miranda had shaken her head, still looking impressed. Then she turned and called, “Hey, Jenn!”
At which point Jenni Severbrook approached.
Miranda pointed at Rachel.
“She did a foot save that her team converted for the winning point.”
“Nice!” Jenni—Jenni freaking Severbrook—said.
“But get this,” Miranda went on. “She did her foot save on a sand court!”
Jenni had gaped at Rachel, her mouth open.
“Get the fuck out of here! Seriously?” she asked.
“Um…yeah?” Rachel replied.
Miranda and Jenni both held up their fists to bump.
“Mad respect,” Miranda said, bumping Rachel’s fist. “Dude, that is hard!”
Rachel had thought she could die.
Forty minutes later, and Rachel and the others were in courtside seats waiting for the match to begin.
Ainsley nudged her, chuckling.
“You’re still looking at those?” she asked.
Rachel, grinning, was looking through the pictures on her phone of her with Jenni and Miranda and also of her with the entire Team USA.
“I want to get these printed,” Rachel declared. “Printed and framed.” She then tugged at the Team USA Volleyball t-shirt she was wearing. It was an older shirt, one she had bought a few years ago, but now it was covered with the autographs of all the players. “This too,” she said. “I’m getting it framed.”
“I can take care of that for you,” Ainsley said.
Rachel looked at her.
“What? Really?”
“Trust me, I know a place. I had my Dad’s old baseball jersey from Notre Dame framed one year for Father’s Day.”
“You’re the best,” Rachel said, leaning over and kissing Ainsley. She realized now that she wouldn’t have wanted to share this experience tonight with anyone else. Not Amy, not her sister, not her parents, no one. Ainsley was the only person who needed to be here with her.
“Get a room!” Krissy joked, earning laughs from the others, who had seen the kiss.
Ainsley stuck out her tongue at Krissy.