Chapter 4
CALLUM
Otra Lenta - Fondo Flamenco
“The nerd trio,” Asma muttered. “Why do they even call us that? I’m a lawyer, not a nerd.”
“We are nerds, Asma. We spend nights playing D&D and arguing over other tabletop RPGs mechanics,” Callum replied.
“It’s all your fault. You’ve dragged me into that addiction.” Asma looked utterly concerned. “We’re cool, right?”
“Cool in the way that, when asked to surf, we say no because we are not that adventurous?” Leif said, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, we’re so fucking cool, Asma.”
“I’m cool,” Asma whined.
“Yes, Asma, you are so cool.” Both Leif and Callum said at the same time.
Asma shot them a glare, before lying back on her beach towel in the late afternoon sun. Leif did the same under the umbrella.
Silence fell on the group, as the rolling waves crashing on the shore almost lulled him to sleep.
Judging by the soft snoring coming from Asma and Leif, they’d fallen asleep.
The Spanish sun worked fast. Or maybe it was the combination of them being out of office, with no thoughts about the next meeting, and in contact with nature that warned their bodies that they weren’t in flight or fight mode anymore, that they could relax.
Callum propped himself up on his elbows, squinting toward the ocean. A group of surfers floated in the water, bobbing like seals, waiting for the next set. Among them he easily spotted Alejandra.
As someone who grew up in a small surf town in Wales, he had somehow learned to read the waves and the surfers.
If he didn’t know she was an Olympic gold medalist, he would have thought so by the way she caught a wave, effortlessly.
She cut through it like a blade, pulled off a clean maneuver mid-air, and then dove back into the water, only to pull herself up on the board again like gravity wasn’t her business.
Goddamn. All strength and grace. Wild, magnetic energy that practically shimmered off her. Maybe, if his knee wasn’t shot, he’d be out there too. Not as good as her, not even close, but at least trying.
Alejandra would’ve made a terrific teacher.
She looked like the kind of person who could make anything feel like an adventure.
The kind of woman who laughed with her whole body.
Maybe, she’d be the perfect distraction.
A beautiful, confident, absolutely out-of-his-league Olympic gold medalist to break the long, dull spell left behind by Vanessa and the pressing burnout reminding him that his life was indeed the dullest ever.
It had been a while since he dated someone.
No messy entanglements, no emotional landmines.
Just him, work, and the occasional sad attempt at another dating app.
A one-night stand with Alejandra—because he didn’t really think she would be interested in him for more than one night—wouldn’t be the worst way to re-enter the world of sex.
But could he pull her? Could he? Realistically? Because of the way she had looked at him before, maybe he had a chance.
She seemed like the kind of person who only dated people with six-packs and tattoos.
He was—well, he was practical. Broad-shouldered, decent face, sure, but his tan came from walking between conference rooms. His days were spent unearthing financial fraud and greenwashing scandals, not chasing perfect waves.
He probably misunderstood the signals.
And even if she was somehow interested in him, what were the odds they clicked?
He wasn’t the type to flirt easily—even though with her he really tried.
He overthought things, preferred long conversations to loud parties, and still wasn’t totally over the emotional hangover from his failed engagement.
He sighed and watched her again, catching another wave and carving through it with ridiculous control. Her body moved like it belonged there, like she'd been born in water and refused to obey its rules. Every muscle sharp, every movement purposeful.
She was all sunlight and salt. And he was… spreadsheets and stress.
She was everything he wasn’t: charismatic, adventurous, magnetic. A comet.
Still, maybe for one night—maybe at the wedding party, after a few drinks and with the right music—maybe he’d be brave enough. Or maybe she’d laugh at one of his jokes and not walk away immediately.
Unlikely. But maybe.
Then again, if he did somehow sleep with her, there was a real chance he’d be so humiliated by his own rusted moves, he’d book a flight back to London the next morning and never show his face again. That’d be the end of him. Death by awkwardness.
Still, those eyes…
Gosh, those eyes. Green like the hills back home. Like the ocean off the Gower Peninsula. Eyes that looked like they saw more than they said.
If things had gone differently, if his knee hadn’t shattered, if he’d made it to the Olympics like he’d dreamed, maybe their worlds would’ve overlapped naturally. Athlete to athlete. Gold medal to gold medal.
But they hadn’t. Life had other plans for him. He buried dreams. She rode waves.
Callum lay back on the beach towel, letting the heat settle into his bones. Maybe he’d talk to her tonight. Maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t too late for one reckless decision that could brighten up his dull life.