Chapter 11 #2
Being closer to her relaxes me, but that feeling is only temporary as we go deeper. The water hits my knees, and my breathing shifts. Soon, the ocean is at my ribs, and my knuckles ache from holding the board so tight. She puts her hand on the end and holds it in place.
“Climb on. I’ve got you.”
The first swell lifts the board, and every muscle locks, but she doesn’t let go.
“When the wave comes, you’ll paddle with short strokes, keep your chin up. I’ll tell you when. Just remember …”
“Palms. Toes. Pop up,” I say.
“Good job.”
I climb on, and a wave rolls under me, lifting me off the surface. My fingers grip the edges as I’m carried away.
“Now,” Wendy says.
I go in the order we practiced and try to stand. The board slides under my feet, and I’m up for two seconds before falling off.
I go underwater.
It closes over my head, and everything disappears. The wind, the seagulls, Wendy’s voice—it’s replaced by a muffled pressure that wraps around my body. For seconds, the world is dark and heavy. My feet find the sand, and I stand. She already has the board and is moving toward me.
“Not too bad,” she says.
“That was terrible.”
“You stood for two seconds on your first try. That takes most people an hour.” She holds it. “Need a minute, or are you ready to go again?”
“Let’s do it.”
I follow her out, and we go deeper. This time, I make it three seconds.
“Again,” she tells me.
Salt burns my eyes when I come up. We work on this for another twenty minutes.
“You have to relax,” Wendy says. “You can’t control the ocean. It moves, and you move with it. My surf instructor used to tell me this quote about letting the waves teach you, not take you. It’s up here.” She points to her temple. “You have the strength to do this. Ride it to the shore.”
“Okay.”
We tread water beside each other. Her leg bumps mine, and her long eyelashes are wet with the sea.
She smiles, glancing behind us. “This is the last one. Make it count. Hop on.”
I do as she said, and she starts swimming.
“Paddle!”
With all my strength, I do. The wave lifts me.
“Pop up!” she hollers.
Palms. Toes. Pop up.
I stand, keeping my feet where my hands were, keeping my balance and body in the center of the board.
I slide across the water, and it feels like glass.
Wendy whoops and hollers, swimming toward me as the board skids to the sand.
I step off, and she’s clapping. I can’t stop grinning because I don’t remember the last time I felt this good.
“You’re a natural,” she says.
“Yeah? Show me what you’ve got,” I say. “I want to see.”
“Hmm. I dunno. Men tend to fall in love with me after they see me kick ass on a board.”
I laugh. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”
She glances back at the ocean, holding her hand over her eyes.
“Scared?” I ask, teasing her.
“No, but you should be.” She lifts a brow, then grabs her board. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Wendy paddles out past the break with strokes so smooth that she barely disturbs the surface. I’m mesmerized. A set of waves rolls in, and she catches the first one like a pro.
She pops up flawlessly and rides the face of the wave with her knees bent and her weight low.
Her body shifts, and the board follows, not the other way around.
Wendy cuts left, drops back, then takes a hard right that sends spray off the front of the board.
The wave curls behind her, and she moves through it like she’s controlling the water with her mind.
While she glides across the water, she smiles like she’s having the best fucking time of her life.
Every time I think she’s done, she somehow finds more waves, shifting her weight forward and accelerating.
She redirects the board with so much control that it looks effortless. In reality, it’s hard as fuck.
Many tourists on the beach stop walking and watch her.
A teenager with a boogie board stands with his mouth open. “She’s hot!”
He’s not wrong. The wave eventually flattens, and she drops into the water, already paddling back out for another one.
The next one is better than the last. On the final ride, she crouches low in the barrel and disappears behind the curtain of water for a full second before shooting out the other side.
When she walks the board to shore, her face is flushed, and her eyes are bright.
She’s grinning like she rode the best roller coaster.
The tourists who gathered applaud her. Wendy laughs and humbly waves them away.
“Are you doing the competition in July?” a woman asks her.
“No, ma’am,” Wendy explains, “I don’t compete anymore.”
“You should,” a guy insists.
“Thanks for the compliment.” Wendy moves toward me and pulls us away from everyone. She tucks a loose strand of wet hair behind her ear.
I grab our stuff, and we walk away toward the B&B.
“So?” She glances over at me.
“I’m in trouble.”
“Yeah? Warned you. You’ll never look at me the same.”
“You’re right.”
She grins, and her brown eyes sparkle.
“Why aren’t you competing?” I ask when I know we’re alone.
“You’re not serious,” she says, but her smile stays. “I’m not in shape. I’d have to do a lot of training before then, and I have zero time.”
“You just hopped on a board and gave a crowd of thirty people a show. It was flawless. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”
She licks her lips. “I don’t compete anymore because it was a toxic environment. I want to surf for fun.”
“Why can’t you surf for yourself because it makes you happy?”
I watch how she chews on the corner of her lip. The sun catches the necklace, and it sparkles. When we make it to the B&B, Wendy places our boards and the balance rings in the shack behind the house. It’s the first time I’ve noticed the bungalow behind it.
“Who lives there?”
“Grandma,” she says, and then she walks to a gate. “Come on.”
I follow her, and we step inside an outdoor shower. It’s a wooden enclosure with slats that let in strips of sunlight. It’s taller than me, and it hides us completely. A showerhead hangs from a copper pipe, and the walls are weathered from years of being on the coast. Sand covers the stone floor.
Wendy turns the handle, and cold water pours down. She steps under and closes her eyes, tipping her head back. The water runs over her surfer top and down her bare legs, and she pushes her braid behind her shoulder.
“Don’t be shy,” she says.
I take a step forward, the cold hitting my chest. The space is barely big enough for the two of us, so we touch. Wendy’s eyes open, and she looks at me.
“You have sand on your face.” She reaches up and brushes her thumb across my cheekbone. Her fingers are cold and pruned from the ocean. Her palm rests against the stubble on my face.
I turn my head, pressing my mouth to her wrist. She inhales, and her pulse beats fast against my lips.
“Carter,” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
I wrap my arm around her waist. Right now, I don’t want to be anywhere else in the fucking world. Our mouths slide together, and her fingers thread through my wet hair. Every place where our bodies touch is hot.
I step forward, pressing her back against the wall. My hand finds the bare skin at her hip, and I loop my finger in her bikini tie. She makes a sound against my mouth, and I lose my train of thought completely.
Her leg hooks around me, and I press my hardness into her.
There’s only a thin piece of material between us.
She bites at my bottom lip, and the noise I make isn’t voluntary.
We’re breathing hard, and neither of us stops.
I pull back just enough to see her face.
Her lips are swollen, and her lashes are wet and clumped together.
Her chest rises against mine with every breath.
“My answer is yes,” I tell her.
Her eyes search my face. “To the fling?”
“For the summer. Your rules. August 3. But you’re mine, Wendy Winslow. If we do this, I won’t share.”
She swallows hard. Her hand is still in my hair, and her fingers tighten once, then loosen. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
She stares at me as the water runs down between us. My body aches for her as she runs her palm over my cock. This time, when our lips meet, it’s slower, too intense. I groan against her, and that’s when she pulls back.
“I need to think about it.” She smirks.
I’m rock fucking hard—there’s no denying that. I lean forward, whispering in her ear, “You’re cruel.”
“Playing by your rules.” She moves toward the shower door. She grabs a towel off the hook and wraps it around her waist without rushing. “Today was fun.”
I lean against the wall, knowing she’s playing games. “Tease.”
“Giving you a taste of your own medicine for once.” She opens the gate, and the sunlight floods in. She turns back, and her eyes drop to my mouth for half a second before meeting mine again. “I’ll let you know.”
The gate swings shut behind her.
She played me, leaving me here hard and aching for her. I’m too fucking old for blue balls. But the worst part is, I’d do it all over again.