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Kendra sat on the bed, smiled, and typed back.

Kendra Bowie: I did. Congrats! You killed it.

Aspen Ashley: Thanks. Your advice helped, by the way. I know we couldn’t talk much last night, but I wanted you to know that DJ and I talked. We’re good. We were both exhausted and worried about this match, but we’re okay now. Thank you.

Kendra Bowie: I’m glad. What are you up to today now that the match is out of the way?

Aspen Ashley: Massage right now. Ice after. Then, food. I’m starving, but I want to get treatment on my back. It’s fine. Don’t freak out. They have a really good masseuse here, though, so I want her to work on it. She was working on my leg earlier because I mentioned that my ankle had been hurt, and she suggested she help the calf and thigh to support it better. It was amazing, so I want to see if she can work on my lower back, too.

Kendra sucked air between her teeth at the thought of another woman having her hands on Aspen’s body.

“You’re being ridiculous. She’s a professional athlete getting treatment. It’s part of her job,” she told herself.

Aspen Ashley: You still there? Am I interrupting you at work?

Kendra Bowie: I’m here. Sorry. I’m just getting dressed.

She waited and hoped she’d accomplished her goal.

Aspen Ashley: Dressed? As in… you’re not dressed right now?

Kendra laughed. Yes, she’d accomplished her goal.

Kendra Bowie: I just got out of the shower. I’m in a towel.

Aspen Ashley: Pic, or it didn’t happen.

Kendra laughed far too loudly for it being before eight in the morning and looked down. The towel mostly covered her scar, but the top part of it was sticking out a little.

“She’s already seen it anyway. It’s fine,” she muttered to herself.

Kendra took a deep breath, angled the phone just so, and snapped a photo, figuring that she could always delete it and not send it. She looked at it, zooming in on the area around her collarbones and looking at the inch of exposed pink between her breasts.

“It’s okay,” she said and nodded at no one. “It’s okay.”

She hit send before she could stop herself and stared at her messages, waiting. She now wished she hadn’t sent it. Then, she smiled at herself because she had, before she thought better of it again and considered deleting it from the messages in the hopes that Aspen hadn’t seen it. When the three bubbles appeared, it was too late.

Aspen Ashley: God, you’re gorgeous. I miss you, babe. Can I make this picture my phone screensaver?

Kendra laughed and typed.

Kendra Bowie: No way. I’m in a towel, and my hair is wet.

Aspen Ashley: Fine. Send me one where you’re fully clothed, if you want. But your hair being wet and all tossed around like that is sexy to me. If you must, put on actual clothes, but keep your hair like that.

Kendra smiled softly because Aspen thought she was sexy.

Kendra Bowie: I’ll think about it. This masseuse… Is she… like you and me by chance?

Aspen Ashley: A beach volleyball fan?

Kendra sucked that air through her front teeth again.

Aspen Ashley: I don’t think she’s a volleyball fan, no. I think she’s a fan of the trainer Team USA brought with us; a guy named Tim, who actually speaks a little Portuguese. They talked throughout my whole first massage in a combination of the two languages, and based on what I understood, I think they’re going out soon. So, no, not a volleyball fan.

Kendra Bowie: Well, I am a volleyball fan, and I’m also a fan of yours.

Aspen Ashley: I’ll make sure to mention to her that I have a fan at home, then. And she’s a professional, so her hands will be focused solely on making sure I can play well in the next match tomorrow; I promise.