10. CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER TEN
Joss
M y alarm blares from the bedside table and I’m this close to reaching for it and throwing it across the room. Five in the morning is indecent. Part of me wants to roll over and go back to sleep, but the other part remembers why I’m awake in the first place.
I pull on my bikini, blushing at the vivid picture in my mind of Wes’s face yesterday when he sized it up. Maybe I should wear a different one? I’m not looking to make this harder on either of us, but I do love this suit.
Oh for goodness’ sake, Joss. He’ll hardly see it under your wetsuit!
I slip on a pair of ripped jeans and my favorite hoodie. I take a minute to brush my teeth and braid my hair back, letting it fall across my shoulder before I head for the door. Will Wes actually wake up for this? He’s got to be completely knackered and dealing with jet lag way worse than I am. I’m pretty much immune to it after so many years of constant travel.
All thoughts are banished when I open my door and find Wes leaning casually against the wall. Why is it so sexy when men lean? It should be illegal.
His board shorts hang low on his hips—something I only know because his University of Sydney hoodie isn’t pulled down all the way and I can see the sliver of skin dipping under his waistband. There’s a long, jagged scar across the top of his knee and another along the side that disappears under the hem of his shorts. I guess the old adage is true—chicks dig scars. And those I want to know the story behind.
His hair is tousled, definitely looking like he just woke up, and his eyes still have that soft quality about them like they might slip closed again at any moment. But he’s here, and the smile on his face makes his dimples pop. I can’t help but offer him a grin in exchange. It’s not until he speaks that I finally snap myself out of my less-than-neighborly perusal.
“Morning, Grey.” Even his voice sounds sleepy. A little gravelly. I think I might like his morning voice better than his normal one.
“M-morning,” I stutter, looking for something to say that isn’t I’m thinking about your bedroom voice and wondering about your scars . “Nice board.”
There, see? Not so difficult.
His board looks like it used to be white but has yellowed with age and old wax. The only contrast to the color is a single navy-blue stripe down the center .
He shifts a little to glance at where his board is propped beside him before taking in the one I’ve got gripped under my arm. “You too. I hope you don’t mind, but I invited my buddy Breck to come this morning. He offered to pick us up downstairs.”
He mentioned his friend yesterday, but I didn’t realize he was joining us. I really don’t mind, though. I like having people out there with me, and it’s been a while since anyone’s been willing to get up this early.
“Awesome.” I look between our two boards again. “I hope he drives a ute.” The board rack on my car only carries two boards; we’ll need the extra space with three. A hint of confusion crosses his face followed by a light of recognition.
“Oh yeah,” he responds with a laugh, “he does. I forgot you Aussies have bastardized the word truck . There should be plenty of space in the bed.”
I laugh and it feels like the most natural thing in the world—to laugh with Wes. “We should probably get going then so he doesn’t think we overslept.”
Wes grabs a grocery bag that contains his wetsuit and a towel off the floor, and I eye it with curiosity.
He shrugs. “My backpack ripped, remember? Until I can replace it, I don’t really have anything else to carry my stuff in.”
Then he reaches across and grabs my board from me so I can lock up, but he doesn’t hand it back as we walk to the elevator. No, like a gentleman, he just continues to carry it, and I can’t help but smile at the way that makes me feel. It’s been a long time since I let anyone help me. With anything .
A Toyota Hilux idles at the curb with a very attractive man leaning against it. It’s obvious this is Breck with the way he pushes off the ute and drags Wes into a rib-cracking hug. I nearly laugh because it’s just so blatantly affectionate, which isn’t something you often see with men these days.
“Hey, mate, glad you actually woke up for this,” Breck says, giving him one more slap on the back.
“I wouldn’t have missed it. It’s been too long since we’ve paddled out together,” Wes replies.
When Breck pulls back, his eyes land on me and his smile only grows. Damn, between these two, I will not be hurting for eye candy. He has dimples like Wes, but his seem more prominent without any facial hair to hide them. How does he look so genuinely happy to see me? It takes me aback a little, but before I can consider why, he’s pulling me into a similar bone-crushing hug.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Joss.”
“Nice to meet you too.” I try to school my features and wipe the surprise off my face at being hugged by this near stranger. I must not do it fast enough though because Wes catches my eye and looks ready to burst out laughing. I roll my eyes at him and relax into the embrace.
“Shall we get going then?” Wes says, and I appreciate his subtle way of getting Breck to release me. He lays our boards out onto the cargo bed, then gestures for me to hop into the back seat. The drive is mostly silent with all of us still waking up, and I give myself a pat on the back for getting out of bed. The early hour means less traffic and no trouble parking .
The beach is quiet—only a few other people dot the lineup. The water isn’t particularly warm this time of year, so we all move quickly to shuck our clothes in exchange for wetsuits.
Unlike Breck, who keeps his eyes pointed away, I catch the briefest glance from Wes as I shimmy out of my jeans and hoodie. I’m not going to lie though, the struggle is real to keep my eyes in my head when Wes pulls his hoodie off, revealing tan, muscled skin underneath. There’s another scar at his left shoulder that runs about five inches across to his pec, and I once again tamp down the urge to ask for his scar stories. Not that I could speak even if I tried with how tongue-tied the sight of his bare chest makes me. As he wraps himself in a towel, I force myself to turn and face the surf, knowing he’ll be sliding his board shorts off under that towel any second.
I appreciate that, as a woman, my bikini easily fits underneath my wetsuit without bunching. So I don’t comment on the little surfer’s shuffle they’re both doing, no matter how much I want to tease them. Focus on the surf, Joss—not on what you’d see if Wes dropped his towel right now.
When I hear the sound of two zippers being pulled up, I know it’s safe to grab my board off the sand behind me. Being only human, I take note of how well their wetsuits mold to their toned bodies, then shake my head clear of any further thoughts.
We head for the water, soft smiles on our faces, as the sun starts to rise over the horizon. The grit of the sand between my toes is welcome and familiar and I feel more at home than I have in a long time. The sky fills with reds and oranges, making my heart swell in my chest. I’m a sunrise girl, no contest, especially when I’m sitting on my board to catch it .
The paddle out is brisk and invigorating. If I wasn’t fully awake already, I am now, and there’s a peacefulness that comes with the waves lapping around my ankles. I haven’t been prioritizing this enough, and I didn’t realize just how much I missed it. As the three of us go wave for wave, I can finally admit to myself why. It stopped being as majestic when it was just me out here—alone.
Jaz might have a point about me not letting anyone into my life beyond surface-level. Even my friends from work don’t know me all that well. I don’t keep in touch with anyone from my childhood. As far as family goes, well, aren’t they the reason I’ve held myself back all these years? For fear of trusting someone and then having that trust broken. My mind reels as I continue to bob in the water.
Watching the comfortable friendship unfurl between Wes and Breck, I feel slightly envious of how easy it is for them. Neither of them seems to have any issue letting me in, to be a part of their jokes, their conversation. They immediately make friends with the other surfers out here, and I wonder if I could be that easygoing with people if I wasn’t so scared all the time.
Oddly enough, it seems easier with Wes than it’s ever been with anyone else. I’m even starting to think Breck could be a good friend. As I sit and circle my feet in the cold water, looking toward the shore, observing my city, I decide it might finally be time to set that fear aside and open myself up a little.