I'm Just Not Used To Balls In My Face

"You want to test me," he said, slowly, "But I've half a mind to test you. I mean you've got your reservations about me and about yourself and now I'm thinking that maybe you're right, about the latter at least. I'm fine."

"Yeah you are," I grinned, then pouted and put on innocent sincerity, "But you don't know if I can hack it?"

"Something like that," he smiled, then quickly wiped it off as he became strict drill sargeant man again, "I think it's probably best to test you, then. See if you've got what it takes."

Without warning he flicked the ball my way.

Now this, this I'm a little ashamed about. Not that I've ever been athletically inclined or anything like that, but I'd played catch at least once in my life. I knew how to at least hold out my hands and grab something when it was thrown to me.

I wasn't completely incompentent.

Still it took me by surprise and I... I actually squealed a little. My hands flew up to cover my face and I clenched into myself and then realized what was happening and tried to overcorrect and wound up not only grabbing the ball but also losing my balance and tumbling to a bit pile that was half me and half folding chair that had been set out and in the end the ball and me were both on the ground and the burning that I'd felt to this point shifted to embarassment as I stared up at him while he looked at me wide eyed because clearly none of that was what he expected.

"Don't laugh," I said, "Don't you dare laugh."

He stammered and bit back his obvious laughter and I quickly extracted myself and got to my feet again, turning to look at him as he did that thing people do where they go all tight lipped to try to keep from laughing at a situation.

Across the path Rachel had none of that reservation and was cackling like a harpy at my expense.

"I won't," he lied, putting up his right hand and then sticking up three fingers in a half approximation of a scout salute, "Promise."

Rolling my eyes I grabbed out at the ball and got back up to my feet, well and truly sure that I had ruined whatever was happening here until I turned to face him and saw that there was still a spark there.

"Well fair's fair," I quipped, "I saw you fumble and now you saw me. So we're even, the question now is how do I get back my edge?"

"Who says you're the one that's going to get the edge," he laughs, hunching over a little as if he's trying to cover me and keep me from getting past.

Something I found out, rather quickly, was exactly the idea.

"So what's the plan then?" I asked once again, "What are we doing here?"

"Touch the ball to the table behind me," he said, "That's all you've got to do. Just slip through enough that you can touch the ball to the table behind me and then you earn a spot on the team."

"And if I can't?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He narrowed his eyes, "Well I suppose you don't make the team then."

I shrugged, slowly tossing the ball from one hand to another and shifting my weight from one foot to another as I sized him up.

And slowly I started to shake my head, "Works for me, but then I'm not worried. I know that I'll be able to get past a big old block of a man like you. You're slow, I'm fast. Nimble. Flexible."

I leaned low, tugging my shirt with one hand just enough that the bottom of it pulled down me a little and more specifically that the neckline pulled down a little.

Letting him see my cleavage. Letting him see my full proud breasts, encased in a sports bra but still enough to be distracting.

Enough to give me the edge that I was looking for.

For a limited time you can join my Patreon for only $2 and get access to over a month's worth of new pages of My Second Chance as well as SEVEN FULL STORIES with a new one every month! Join here: https://www.patreon.com/SophiePert