4. That Wetsuit is a Weapon of Mass Distraction
CHAPTER 4
THAT WETSUIT IS A WEAPON OF MASS DISTRACTION
MARS
Z ipping up my thick neoprene wetsuit and dragging my board off the top of my truck, I jog from the parking lot to the short staircase leading down to the beach. The town of Wavecrest sits at the top of oceanside cliffs, some taller than others depending on how far south you go. The prime surf spot happens to be where the cliffs dip and access to the beach is easier.
I still take care going down the stairs. I’ve only tripped down them once, luckily without injury.
The sun’s barely made an appearance, and the wind is blowing, which means today is an ideal day to get out on the water. I say a quick hello to the handful of regulars already here before paddling out far enough to catch waves.
I’ve been surfing almost every weekday morning, weather permitting, since I was a teenager. Although I’m pretty good on a board, I’ll never be pro-level, and that’s fine by me. Some people meditate in the morning, some do yoga. I surf. I’m not out to prove anything, simply clear my head before the day begins.
I let my mind go blank as I catch wave after wave. After about an hour, I can feel that I’m on the edge of fatigue, but I’m not quite ready to call it quits.
The sun’s just come up behind the hills, and I float stomach down on my board as thoughts of my stepbrother’s upcoming wedding invade my brain. Whatever strained relationship I have with my stepmother has carried to my weirdly adversarial dealings with the rest of her family. With Reggie’s wedding fast approaching I want to avoid tension and drama without skipping out on the wedding altogether.
I try to banish thoughts of family tension from my head as I spot a perfect wave approaching. The ocean is not a place to get stressed out. On somewhat shaky legs, I push back up on my board, hoping to catch a few more waves before I need to get ready for work.
The ride is short, and I paddle back out to wait for the next one. The routine of riding, swimming, and paddling allows my mind to drift in a different direction. Ivy . My favorite person to ponder. Our unexpected friendship has made each day infinitely better.
The few weeks I spent at The Base before she joined were fine, if a little lonely. But then she showed up, hauled me into her orbit, and I was drawn to her instantly. The idea that this beautiful, intelligent, funny woman wanted to get to know me knocked me on my ass.
Something bumps my foot and my heart pounds. An otter pops its head above the water, and I let out a relieved laugh. Not a shark . “Hey buddy. Enjoying the waves?”
It bobs for a bit, staring at me like it’s wondering why I’m hanging out in its territory. When it rolls over a couple times and then slaps its tummy, I let out a laugh. That startles it, and it dives back under the waves. I’ve had close encounters with plenty of animals since I started surfing, and it always manages to lighten my mood.
Surfers in front of me line up for their turn at the waves, and I paddle closer so I can line up with them. The otter pops up a little further away, and I choose to think of it as good luck that it visited me this morning. Maybe I’ll draw it later.
IVY
There’s more people out surfing than I expect at this early hour. My foot hits the last step to the beach a little wrong because I’m looking for Mars in the ocean instead of concentrating. I manage to keep my footing, but I smile. He’s probably tripped on this step a thousand times.
I sit down on the cold sand, hoping the wind and waves of the early morning beach will...do something. Maybe it’ll calm me down. Or energize me. Either way, I’m desperate for something to change. This week-long bout of insomnia is kicking my ass, and the last few days have been especially brutal. If it wasn’t for the never-ending caffeine supply at The Base, I’d be a dead woman walking.
If my sleep schedule doesn’t get back on track soon, I’m going to have to file a complaint. Is there a sleep manager I can speak to? I’ve gotten a maximum of four hours of sleep each night this week and I. Am. Done.
Cranky Ivy isn’t fit for human interaction, but about seventy percent of my day is spent talking to other people. If I want my business to survive, I need to sleep.
Ever since the anniversary party, my mind has been firing on all the wrong cylinders. I should be thinking about work and finding new clients. Not about Mars and how he smells like the ocean. And his shoulders…seriously. Not that I try to think about Mars’ shoulders. I mean, they’re right there, all perfect and wide, so it’s hard to avoid them.
The party was weeks ago, but in the middle of the night, I still go back to our hangout in the hotel lobby where we simply existed in a little bubble. That’s the moment I realized how much I wanted Mars’ friendship.
The millionth yawn of this morning escapes me, and the groan that comes out sounds like one of the elephant seals that hangs out north of here.
I can’t build a software consulting empire if I only get a few hours of sleep every night, or if I’m distracted by subtly attractive friends. Thank the stars I don’t have a boyfriend, otherwise this would be so much worse. At least that’s been my experience with relationships, where they suck up all my time and mental energy, leaving me with nothing in the tank.
Giving myself a mental pat on the back for my resoluteness, I ignore the little lump of loneliness that’s lived in my chest for as long as I can remember.
Last night I made the mistake of checking my work email, and my most high-maintenance client was nervous about making a decision on a key piece of software they need to run their business. Writing a diplomatic, reassuring message was beyond my abilities at ten o’clock at night, so I have to face it today.
But right now my tired brain is distracted by my best guy friend, and now I’m considering firing my client. Which I can’t do because my business is new, and being a woman in my field means I have to work extra hard to impress and keep clients.
I thought a walk on the beach might clear my head. I didn’t have this option when I lived miles from the beach, so I’m taking advantage of the perks of moving to the coast.
Scanning the row of surfers waiting their turn for the next wave, I suck in a breath when I realize the guy in the middle of the pack is Mars. Even this far away I can tell it’s him, with his loose-limbed slender body and solid shoulders.
I sit in the cold sand, my hands folded over my bent knees, and watch him in the water. His movements are impressively smooth, the way he goes from paddling on his stomach to jumping up to set his feet on the board to moving into position to catch a wave.
He does it over and over again, smiling each time his head pops above the surface. I can’t take my eyes off him. It almost makes me wish I was out there with him.
I let my mind wander. The sun continues to rise, casting a glow on the water and the people on their boards.
I close my eyes and focus on the sound of the waves in front of me, the screeches of the seagulls, the sun warming my shoulders, the feel of the cold sand under me. Tension finally starts to seep from my muscles, and I sway a little as fatigue hits me like a truck.
The strain of my client and work wash away. When I finally open my eyes, I spot Mars coming out of the water. He pops off his board and drops it in the sand before shaking water from his hair.
My mouth drops open, and I’m grateful for the sand keeping me cool so I don’t spontaneously combust.
Holy hell, Mars looks good in a wetsuit. I couldn’t see much detail when he was out on the water, but now...now I can see a lot. The black and gray neoprene hugs every lithe muscle, but for some reason I can’t look away from his exposed feet and ankles. Why does seeing a part of him I normally don’t send me into a horndog tailspin? My eyes travel up from his tanned, strong feet to his powerful thighs. I lick my lips. I want to ride those . The thought comes out of nowhere, and I try to ignore it. But I can’t. I really want to ride those .
Just north of his thighs I resist the urge to cover my eyes. The wetsuit doesn’t hide much. Even with the frigid water and brisk wind, Mars is...filling out that wetsuit. An unhinged giggle escapes me, and I slap my hand over my mouth, shaking my head.
How did I not know Mars is a California girl’s wet dream? It feels like the universe is playing a joke on me. I’ve been around this man for months, and he’s been like this the whole time? A surf god who wears regular people clothes around us mere mortals.
But the torture’s not over. He reaches behind his back and tugs the long cord for the wetsuit’s zipper down. All. The. Way. Down. My brain screams look away, look away . But I can’t because when he peels the suit off of his chest and arms, I nearly swallow my tongue. Holy shit, fuck me sideways. It hangs around his waist, revealing a strong, tanned chest that has the exact right amount of muscle. Not over the top, but enough to keep me occupied if I wanted to do some exploring.
He hasn’t spotted me yet, so I take my time watching him.
When he told me he surfs almost every morning, I didn’t think of the implications. Visions of lean muscles wrapped in black neoprene are overwriting every perception I ever had of Mars. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go to the beach again without picturing him coming out of the water. Or sit at my desk and not imagine him pulling that zipper down.
He rubs the water from his sun-touched hair and finally looks my way on his way to the parking lot. I know the second he spots me because he stumbles a little in the sand, his surfboard slipping from his fingers before he grips it again.
And fuck me, he’s walking this way.
He trudges through the sand like he’s being filmed in slow motion, and I might’ve gotten sand in my mouth because it has gone very dry. That’s the only thing on my body that is.
“Hey, Mars,” I call out.
“Ivy! Hey.” He lifts his hand to wave, but it’s the one holding his surfboard, and he nearly smacks himself in the forehead. I smile at how truly Mars-esque this moment is. He was all grace and skill on his board, but as soon as his feet hit solid ground, he’s a lost cause. I wonder if he has the same fluid skill when he’s horizontal. Bad Ivy .
He stands in front of me but not blocking my view of the ocean, the rising sun hitting him full in the face and chest. He belongs on a postcard. Welcome to California! Don’t you wish you were riding this? Light brown hair, damp and dripping. Freckles trailing down into his wetsuit, lord help me.
My eyes finally catch his, and I suck in a breath. Friend . He is friend. Not a golden god. Friend . “Come to watch me surf?” His lips quirk up in a small smile.
“That’s only one of the perks of coming out here at the ass-crack of dawn. Couldn’t sleep.” Mars hums in commiseration, then leans down to undo the board leash strapped around his ankle. It’s not easy to cut my eyes away from his bunching shoulder muscles.
Once the leash is off, he turns and drops down into the sand next to me. I feel the coolness coming off his skin. His saltwater scent hits me, and I have to restrain myself from licking water droplets off of his arms. And chest. And wherever else they’ve found their way. Calm your tits, Ivy Lowenstein. Friends don’t lick each other.
This weird sudden spike of attraction is pointless. I don’t do relationships. I don’t want to do relationships.
Mars knocks his shoulder into mine. “It’s a nice surprise, seeing you out here. If it helps clear your brain, you should come out here more often.”
“Yeah, it’s...nice.” Such a weak word. It’s confusing, it’s arousing, it’s cold, it’s meditative. It’s way beyond nice.
He knocks his shoulder into mine again. “I gotta get home and shower before I start my workday. See you later?”
I almost swallow my tongue when he stands up and I get a closeup of him wiping sand from his neoprene covered backside. “Yep. See you later. Thanks for the surfing show.”
“Any time. I used to teach it at the college, if you ever want lessons.”
“I’m almost six feet tall...I’m not sure it’s a good idea to put all of this on a moving plank in the water.”
“We’re almost the same height, Ivy. But if you’re too chicken...” He grins.
I give him a dramatic huff. “How dare you, sir. Nothing scares me.” Except for doing something stupid to ruin this friendship, but I keep that to myself.
I watch him walk back to his car, primed to look away if he catches me in the act of ogling. He doesn’t turn around but tosses a wave over his shoulder before he disappears over the top of the stairs. Like he knew I was watching. Dammit .