Chapter 23
ALEJANDRA
Occhi Color Mare - Olly
“Sofia Moretti Gómez, ?ven aquí inmediatamente!” Alejandra hissed, quickening her pace in the direction she’d seen Sofia disappear.
Her shoes dug into the gravel as she walked faster than her shoulder probably appreciated, but she didn’t care. What the hell was that? What was Callum doing there? Why was he there? Why hadn’t anyone warned her?
And why did he have to look so good?
The shorter hair should not suit him that much. It wasn’t fair. The longer waves had made him look slightly unruly, a little dangerous. Now, with it cropped short, it framed his face in a way that made his jaw sharper, his eyes darker, more intense.
That had to be a trap.
A Sofia trap.
Because there was no way this was accidental. Sofia knew everything. About the books. About the messages she hadn’t sent. About the way Alejandra had checked her Instagram views like a teenager and pretended she didn’t care that Callum Evans was watching.
Her heart was still beating too fast.
It had been ridiculous—the way she’d frozen. Like a deer in headlights. Like she hadn’t faced down twenty-foot waves in competition without blinking. But seeing him there, solid and real and not confined to a screen or a memory, had knocked the air straight out of her lungs.
He had looked at her. And she had felt exposed.
Had he noticed the sling immediately? Of course he had. It was in full sight, ruining every attempt at hiding it under the coat. Had he seen the faint scars still healing on her forearm or on her face? The way she carried herself differently now, slightly tilted to compensate?
God.
Had he thought she looked pathetic?
She pushed the thought away, jaw tightening.
This was Sofia’s fault. It had to be. That innocent smile she wore when she pretended she hadn’t orchestrated something? Alejandra knew it too well. They had grown up together. She could read her like a tide chart.
“Hello to you too. Did you have a nice car ride? Were you able to rest?”
“Sofia,” Alejandra screeched.
“What?” Sofia blinked innocently. If Ale didn’t know her better, she might’ve fallen for it.
“What? What is Callum doing here?” she demanded in Spanish, trying to keep her voice down, failing miserably. That made Sofia’s grin grow even wider.
“You like him.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I fucked him, Sofia. I clearly like him,” Alejandra shot back, pointing at her dramatically with her right index finger.
“Then why are you here yelling at me, and not over there with him?” Sofia tilted her head like she was asking the most innocent question in the world.
Alejandra froze mid-rant. Paused. Took a breath.
“Because he looked at me, and I blanked. I didn’t know what to do. And my mind went straight to very inappropriate memories. And did you see him? He cut his hair, and he’s even sexier than before. Like, how is it possible to be hotter without the Superman hair?”
Sofia chuckled.
“Why is he here?” Alejandra asked again. She would’ve crossed her arms if the damn sling let her.
“Work. He’s promoting Lamina and leading some workshops.”
“Just that?” Alejandra narrowed her eyes.
“Work-wise? Yes.”
“Sofia…”
“Alejandra…” Sofia laughed. “You should definitely go and talk to him, because I had to scare Jamie off from flirting with him. So, either you go and get what’s yours, or someone else will.”
“Jamie? That Jamie?” Alejandra screeched again.
“Yep.” Sofia casually motioned her forward.
Alejandra let out a dramatic sigh, flipped her off, and turned around.
Nope. There was no way Callum was getting stolen by that fake-ass Jamie.
Callum was hers. Or at least…No. How could he be hers?
They’d only slept together once. Okay, fine.
Not once. Multiple times. One amazing night.
Multiple positions. But that was before.
That was the old Alejandra. The freer, flirtier version.
Now? She was nervous. Broken. Wrapped in a sling.
No competitions ahead. No goals to chase.
Why would Callum want this version of her?
She took a deep breath and walked back toward where she had seen him. He was talking to two volunteers—evident by the lettering on their T-shirts—and she took a second to really look at him.
His hair was cropped short, not shaved, just neatly cut, almost the same length as his beard. When he smiled, those damn dimples appeared. He was wearing a suede jacket over a gray sweater and jeans. Unfairly hot.
After a long sigh and a lot of mental pep talk, she approached the stand, and the two volunteers instantly spotted her. Their eyes widened and they stopped mid-sentence.
“Oh my God, we’re huge fans,” the girl gushed in Portuguese.
“How’s your arm?” the guy asked.
“Hi,” Alejandra said, slightly thrown off, especially by the way Callum’s amused gaze locked onto hers. Those two were destroying her moment. “It’s the shoulder, actually. And it’s... it’s doing good.”
“Gosh, we really wanted to see you surf. You have such amazing technique. When do you think you’ll—”
“Why don’t you both go grab some of the supplies?” Callum interrupted in English, his voice calm but firm. “I need those cardboard panels. Alejandra will still be here when you’re back.”
They blinked, nodded quickly, and scampered off.
Callum leaned casually against the divider of the stall, one elbow resting on the wood, smirking in that maddeningly charming way, dimples fully on display.
“Hello, Alejandra.”
Joder. That voice. Low, warm, controlled. It slid down her spine and settled somewhere deep in her belly before she could stop it.
“Hello, Callum,” she managed to say, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.