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The gymnasium echoed with the rhythmic pounding of volleyballs, punctuated by the sharp squeak of sneakers skidding across the polished floor. Westbridge University's volleyball team, ranked in the top ten in the nation, played to a sold-out crowd every night.

Tonight was no exception. The stands were packed with cheering fans, and Oliver sat in the front of the bleachers, watching eagerly.

His gaze fixed not on the ball soaring back and forth nor the Westbridge Warriors' dominance over their opponents, but on the team captain, Jessica. Her lithe form, wrapped in the clinging fabric of her spandex uniform.

From the moment she took to the court, her uniform hugging every curve of her body, Oliver watched.

The fitted jersey accentuated her toned arms and shoulders, the green spandex shorts showcasing the powerful muscles of her thighs and calves.

The way her ponytail swayed with each movement, a cascade of golden hair, only added to the allure.

She was a vision of athletic perfection, of female perfection.

And one day, he thought. She's going to marry me.

Deep down, deep under the lies and his fascination with this one girl––he knew he had no shot, not even a little.

Standing at 5'5, mousy might be the best compliment you could give him. Gaunt, skinny, and with permanent bags under his eyes from too many late-night gaming sessions, Oliver wasn't exactly a prime bachelor.

He wore a green WBU hoodie, hunching to avoid having to look at anyone––and so no one could notice his gaze locked on the Warriors' greatest player.

His eyes followed the way the tight fabric clung to her form, highlighting the swell of her hips and the tautness of her abdomen.

The uniform seemed to mold to her every motion, emphasizing the absolute gift from god that was Jessica Trent.

When she jumped to spike the ball, her muscles flexed in a symphony of power, and Oliver felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something undeniably captivating about the way Jessica owned the court, her presence commanding and her athleticism unparalleled.

And she played with such passion, yelling and cheering on her teammates like it was a battlefield, staring daggers into the opponents like they were mortal enemies.

The crowd loved it. Oliver certainly did too.

She bent low, the Warriors ready to receive a serve, and Jessica backed up into her chosen position.

It was the very reason Oliver showed up an hour early to the game, making sure he could get this very seat right here, close enough to almost touch it, to touch her, to touch heaven.

The spandex shorts hugged her perfectly, accentuating the round, firm shape of her ass.

Each time she moved, whether it was a slight shift of her weight or a full-on leap to spike the ball, her butt would flex and shift, and he had to have the best view for all of it.

She jumped into action as the play began, Oliver basking in the way her toned muscles moved beneath the tight material, leaping up to spike the ball, and suddenly the whistle blew, signaling another point to Westbridge scored.

Jessica celebrated passionately, screaming in victory.

He hardly noticed the cheers and applause that fell from the crowd. The team regrouped, huddling, strategizing. Oliver watched the placements of their hands, so perfect, so close, right on each other's asses.

He would've given anything to be one of those girls. But even if he was a girl, he would've been too short, much too short. He shook himself, snapping out of his train of thought.

Oliver's breath hitched as Jessica bent low to dig a particularly challenging ball, her shorts riding up just enough to reveal a hint of the curve beneath. The score didn't matter; the game didn't matter. Oliver just about died and went to heaven. All that existed was her and her glistening skin, her confident strides, and the way her jersey clung to her form. She was a goddess of the court, a goddess of all that was good and right, a goddess of this world and Oliver was just hopelessly living in it.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, signaling a timeout.

Oliver's gaze, which had been roaming over Jessica's every movement, locked onto her face as she turned towards the bleachers.

For a moment, her eyes met his.

A frown marred her features, and then, unmistakably, she shook her head, disgusted.

The gesture was casual, almost hidden by the casual adjustment of her ponytail, but its message was clear.

Heat flooded Oliver's face, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Jessica's glare was a silent challenge, a dare. Had he been noticed?

Jessica looked away, focusing on the coach's talk, surely that was an error. Jessica Trent wouldn't notice him, not now, not ever.

The game resumed, but for Oliver, the real contest had just begun. He watched her more intently, his eyes following every stride, every leap, every graceful pivot.

As the match continued, Jessica seemed to play with renewed intensity, her movements sharper, her focus unwavering.

Oliver imagined she was playing for him, showing him her prowess, her strength.

His admiration deepened, turning into something more consuming, something he couldn't quite name but felt in every fiber of his being. The crowd's cheers grew louder, but Oliver heard none of it, lost in her.

The game ended with Westbridge's team securing yet another victory, the crowd erupting into a frenzy of cheers and applause. The players gathered in a huddle, their jubilant shouts echoing through the gymnasium. Oliver remained in the bleachers, his eyes still fixed on Jessica as she celebrated with her team. He lingered long after the stands had begun to empty, watching as she laughed and high-fived her teammates, her energy infectious even from a distance.

When the gym finally started to clear out, Oliver reluctantly made his way back to his dorm, his mind still replaying the images of Jessica's butt in spandex, her chest in her top. Had she seen him? No way, right?

Just the thought sent a shiver down his spine as he wondered what, if anything, she might do next.

As Oliver settled into his small, cluttered room, the buzz of his phone broke through his thoughts.

He glanced at the screen, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the notification: a new Instagram message from Jessica.

With trembling fingers, he opened the app and navigated to his messages.

There, waiting for him, was a direct message from Jessica.

"Hey, come to the party tonight. - J"