Chapter 23
Alex
This is singlehandedly the worst idea I’ve ever had.
I pace back and forth on the pockmarked linoleum floor of my galley kitchen, trying to figure out how to go back in time and undo this.
Maybe I can find Alice’s rabbit hole and tumble down it for a while?
Or crawl into the air vent and live there indefinitely? There’s always spontaneous combustion.
A knock on my front door makes me jump, even though I’d been foreboding that sound since I woke up jittery and tense at four a.m.
Welp. It’s official. I’m stuck. There’s no way for me to uninvite Tenny to my crap apartment when he’s already here. After resting my forehead on the door for a deep inhale that does absolutely nothing to settle me, I yank it open.
The unexpected joy slipping over my skin when I see Tenny feels like the first rays of the summer sun while bobbing outside the break on my surfboard. I bite my lip to keep my smile from overtaking my face.
My idea for a new “intentionally transactional professional relationship” can benefit us both, but only if I don’t do something stupid, like fall for this man. He’s already proven himself noncommittal. I just need to keep my heart in check.
“I see you brought breakfast,” I say, allowing myself a wry grin.
Tenny itches his eyebrow with his knuckle, nearly knocking himself in the face with the greasy paper bag fisted in his fingers. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought options.”
“I see.”
Beside the bag from the little breakfast place down the street, which I’m betting is filled with their famed egg sandwiches, he’s got a coffee cup carrier with four drinks, a donut box, a grocery store bag filled with pre-sliced fruit, and a mini snake plant in a terra cotta pot with a Waves blue bow tied around the lip.
Tenny points his chin toward the green striped plant tucked under his arm. “Momma always said to bring a gift whenever you’re invited over.”
When I simply stare, a slight flush pinks the tips of his cheeks. The disobedient organ in my chest does a little affectionate flip before I remind myself that Tenny is bad news.
Okay, that’s a little harsh. Other women might be okay with dating someone who likes to keep their options open, but that’s not me.
I step back so Tenny can enter, then reconsider, reaching out to relieve him of the donut box and coffee tray before they careen toward the floor.
The action brings us chest to chest as I try to get beneath the stacked items without toppling them.
My fingers brush his arm as I slide them beneath the box.
“Got it?”
Is it just me or did Tenny’s voice drop three octaves?
I lick my lips, trying not to notice the scent of his cologne over the delectable aroma of coffee and bacon.
“Um…”
I do—in fact—have it, but I’m stuck in that weird tractor-beam, frozen-body spell that only Tenny seems able to cast. My gaze ticks up and, yep, that was a mistake, because now I’m incapable of looking at anything but bright, beautiful blue.
A car door slamming in the parking lot snaps me back into action.
Spinning on my heel, I stride into my box-clad apartment and straight through to my balcony.
The only furniture I have, besides my mattress—which we are not sitting on—are the two plastic chairs and small side table I picked out for my compact outdoor space.
I ordered some essentials for the living room, but they’re still in their shipping boxes, pushed against the wall.
I set everything on the table before turning the cups in the coffee carrier to read each label.
When I find an Americano, I release a happy sigh and tuck one leg beneath me on the chair.
In an attempt to not overthink today, I’m wearing what I usually would at home—loose, wide-legged lounge pants and an oversized Roxy sweatshirt.
My hair is a wavy mess because I showered after the flight last night and went to bed with wet hair.
All I have on my face is the SPF moisturizer I use every morning.
I wanted my outfit to scream This is not a date just in case Tenny was unclear.
Based on his gray sweats and Waves hoodie, he understood the assignment.
“I set Leaf Erickson on the kitchen counter. I hope that’s okay,” Tenny says while unpacking two egg sandwiches and a container of sliced strawberries.
“Did you…did you name my plant?”
“He just looked like a Leaf.” He keeps his gaze on his work, opening a clamshell of raspberries and placing it near me.
I pop a few tart berries in my mouth, chewing to keep myself from saying anything. Because I get it—that spiky plant could totally have been a Viking in its past life. Screwing my eyes shut, I shake my head. I can’t get swept up in Tenny’s wholesome quirks.
When I hazard a glance in his direction, Tenny is stretched out, his sneakers relaxed against the bottom railing while cradling the coffee cup labeled Cream, Two sugars. His gaze is fixed on the ocean, a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth.
“What?” I want to ask so much more than that simple, one-word question.
Tenny doesn’t look at me. “This suits you. I didn’t like the idea of you living in Nevada when you were covering the Rattlesnakes’ Triple-A team. You should be by the ocean.”
The second the answer is out of his mouth, he straightens, pulling his feet beneath him with a wince. “I mean…you should do whatever you want and live wherever you want.” His eyes shut with a nasally exhale. “I didn’t—”
“You’re right,” I say, putting him out of his misery.
Tenny glances at me like it’s a trap. “I am?”
“Yes.” I nod, snatching the sandwich with the bacon box checked on the wax wrapper. “That will be one part of this little bargain.”
He relaxes back again, picking up the other sandwich. “Care to elaborate?”
Then I launch into my crazy idea—how I’m going to help him to be free of his superstitions. I give him the main points: how we’ll work on one at a time, lean on performance instead of ritual, and then deliberately challenge the superstition.
“You think that’ll work?”
“I’m sure it will,” I tell him, watching today’s swell. “Because I used those techniques on myself.”
I can feel his intense gaze on the side of my face but focus on the sea.
“The first time I went through the Olympic trials, I was highly superstitious. I had to have exactly seven bracelets on my wrist, kiss my fingers and touch them to my board, and wear my hair in Dutch braids every time I competed. Then I learned you can’t always control every circumstance.
“I was halfway through my heat. I’d completed a handful of solid waves but only one high-scoring one.
A surfer’s final score is the combination of their two highest waves, so I needed another high one.
” I take a breath and blow it out. “That’s when one of my bracelets broke.
It didn’t matter that I’d initially paddled out with seven, I watched the string float away and mentally fell apart. ”
The memory of missing every set and then wiping out whenever I popped up plays before my vision like a bad movie.
“After that, I saw a therapist and worked really hard to not only become a better surfer but to knock every single one of those superstitions out of the way. Nothing was going to stop me from making it to the Olympics. Except, the next time…”
I let the sentence taper off because Tenny knows what happened next.
Tenny nods, letting silence settle peacefully between us for a few beats.
It’s the first time I’ve retold this story and haven’t felt completely gutted by it.
If anything, I have more compassion for my younger self.
I’d been a teenager and hadn’t fully understood the necessary mental aspect of professional athletics.
It’s not enough to have great instincts and to feel like your board is an extension of your body. I needed to strengthen my mind as well.
The irony isn’t lost on me that I should be using some of that mental fortitude to get myself back in the ocean. It’s just a hangup I can’t seem to get over, thus the idea for this crazy alliance.
I’m about to explain how Tenny will be helping me translate my lap swimming at the local YMCA back to open water when a seagull lands on top of the railing.
Tenny makes an amused sound before the bird launches itself at the sandwich in his hand just as he takes a bite.
His scream is muffled by sausage and eggs while the seagull hovers in the air, wings flapping and beak snapping.
Its murderous beady eyes raise the hairs on the back of my neck as it lurches toward Tenny.
Before his fingers release the sandwich, the bird bites his hand, drawing blood.
“Oh my gosh!” I jump up, knocking over the table between us.
Strawberries and raspberries tumble everywhere. Donuts go flying. Tenny drops his cup of coffee, swatting his arms to cover his face. Warm liquid splashes my bare feet before we’re inundated.
Seriously, there must be forty birds. It’s a seagull army. And they’re too organized. This isn’t nature anymore—it’s strategy.
“Get inside,” Tenny says, batting away birds like they’re wild pitches.
“Not. Without. You.” Each word is accented with a thrown pastry.
My goal was to whack the gulls in the head to deter them from pecking our eyes out, but several birds stop swarming us to chase the tossed treats. I’m feeling pretty heroic when a gull gets a little too close. Screeching, I toss my coffee cup at it.
My paper cup misses its target, hitting the railing and ricocheting back at me, colliding with my stomach like a caffeinated bomb. Liquid seeps into my sweatshirt, my pants, my underwear, but I barely have time to register it as Tenny’s body pins me against my sliding glass door.
“Enough, Alex. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Using one hand to open the door and the other to flail wildly to keep the seagulls at bay, Tenny pushes me into my apartment. After tumbling through the door, Tenny slams the glass shut and locks it. We stand there, staring wide-eyed while catching our breath.
I don’t know who starts first, him or me, but a barely there chuckle turns into a snort. One of us giggles at the sound, which morphs into a chortle. I fold my arms over my wet stomach as boisterous guffaws leave my mouth. Tenny leans one hand on the glass door, shoulders bouncing as he laughs.
Our laughter overtakes my sad, unfurnished apartment, filling it with effervescent light.
Tenny’s shoulder accidentally bumps mine, and I snort again.
He tries to catch his breath but can’t contain himself.
Our eyes meet mid-guffaw, and it’s ridiculous—both of us grinning like idiots, his hair a chaotic jumble around his head, coffee dripping between my toes.
Somewhere between a wheeze and a hiccup, I try to speak, but my incoherent squeaky sounds only make Tenny laugh even harder. We are unhinged in our joy, and beyond the glass, a successful army of seagulls enjoys the spoils of war.
It’s not until Tenny runs his hand through his hair, leaving a streak of blood on his forehead, that I stop. Everything sobers in an instant as I step forward and grab his wrist with both hands.
“Tenny.” I turn his hand over, examining it from every angle. “We have to get this cleaned up.”
“It’s just a scrape.”
“It’s a bite,” I tell him. “We need to wash it and use a massive amount of antibacterial soap.” I tsk. “And it’s your throwing hand. I hope this won’t affect your game tomorrow.”
“It won’t.”
“You’re sure?” But when I glance up, Tenny’s not looking at his bleeding hand. He’s looking at me.
Goosebumps sprint down my arms before he rips his gaze away, clearing his throat.
“Maybe I should use your sink. Is the bathroom…” His words drop off as he gently pulls back his hand, moving through the empty living room toward the lone door. “Ah.” He stops, realizing the bathroom is through the bedroom, and strides toward the kitchen.
It takes me a few seconds to snap out of my sodden statue routine. Once I enter the kitchen, I turn the cold running water to warm, hop up on the counter, and lather my hands with soap.
“What are you doing?”
“You can’t effectively clean out a wound one-handed, especially with your non-dominant hand,” I tell him, flipping both my soapy palms up so he’ll place his hand in them.
Tenny hesitates, his fingers twitching slightly. I know this goes beyond professional boundaries, but obviously, this is a medical emergency.
“Tenny, come on. What if you get some crazy form of avian rabies or…or botulism?”
“I was never very good at science, but I don’t think—”
“Just give me your hand!” Some of the soap on my fingers flings onto his sweatshirt as I give them an impatient bounce.
Tenny takes a long, slow breath before reluctantly sliding his hand into mine.