“I got it,” Sulli calls out, competitive because the volleyball is soaring towards six-foot-seven Banks. He spikes the ball as she slams into his chest. “Oh, fuck—sorry, sorry.” “It’s alright.” He combs back his wet hair. Her eyes fall down Moretti’s body, and the volleyball sails back on their side. Somehow poor, poor Sullivan Meadows ends up elbowing Akara in the abs. He buckles, and she apologies profusely.
