Chapter 12 Gabriel | Florence
TWELVE
GAbrIEL | FLORENCE
No amount of money can compare to the feeling of absolute euphoria I feel when I wake up to Zalea Evans in my arms. Her auburn hair is loose and strung across my arm while soft breaths escape from her lips as she lays on my chest.
She holds onto me tightly, even in her sleep, as if she’s scared I’m the one that will up and leave without a word.
I’m not ready to wake her up though, because I know once I do there’s a high chance she’ll run out of here, as usual.
It’s the same thing with Zalea every time.
She gives me a tough girl act at first, then gives in to what she actually wants—usually sex—and by morning she runs off, regretting it all.
I’m like a guilty pleasure to her, and I hate it.
I want to be more than a quick hookup. I want the friendship we used to have back, the undeniable soulmate attraction we shared.
But she’s kept this wall up with me ever since I came back from my final tour and took over as the coach of the Saltwater Shredders.
And maybe it’s her way of trying to keep things professional, but I’m determined to break that wall down this time.
After ten minutes of indulging in her cinnamon scent and warmth, Zalea slowly begins to stir.
She rolls onto her back and stretches out her limbs, letting out a satisfied groan before relaxing her body.
I watch as she blinks her eyes open, a small smile playing on her lips, and as she looks around my room I watch that same smile fade before she turns her head and meets my gaze.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I say, my voice still rough from sleep.
Her eyes widen before she surges upright, looking around the room wildly. “Did I fall asleep here, or did you kidnap me from my room?”
I roll my eyes, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “Kidnapping has never been my style, Z.”
“No, you’re right,” she says, tossing the sheets off her body and collecting her underwear and skirt off the floor. “You’re more of the stalking type.”
There’s that wall I mentioned.
I sigh, watching her get dressed as fast as she possibly can. “Do you have to run every single time you’re with me?” I ask.
“I’m not running,” she says defensively as she finds her shoes and slips into them. “I have a life, Gabriel. I have plans that I’m late for.”
“Right,” I mutter. “With that Italian guy?”
“His name is Paolo,” she says, standing upright once she’s fully dressed. “And yes, with him.”
I nod, keeping my mouth shut because I’m scared I’ll say something I might end up regretting.
“Bye Gabriel,” she says, turning on her heel and walking out of my room without a second look back.
I hear her unlock her own room door, and a few minutes later the shower from her room turns on, the pipes clanging loudly in the wall between us.
Needing a distraction from the frustration I feel toward her, I get out of bed and walk over to the little desk in my room to give Koa and Maliah a call. They should have reached Fiji, and hopefully know about my little peace offering by now.
Koa answers and I notice Maliah sitting next to him, glaring straight at me. Safe to say putting them into a villa with one bed was not the peace offering she was looking for.
“How was the plane ride?” I ask, focusing on Koa.
“It was comfortable. Thanks for letting us use your plane for the tour,” he says.
I nod, glad I can at least give them some sort of comfort without me being there. I remember how nerve wracking a tour can be, and not having your coach there probably makes that feeling worse.
“Any luck finding Zalea?” he asks, studying me closely.
I’m not ready to let anyone know I’ve found her, not until I can fix this rift between us, and not until I can help her with what she’s struggling with.
I know that if I tell Koa or Maliah that she’s one room over, it’ll only be a matter of time before Zale finds out, and I don’t need that guy popping up and ruining things between me and his sister.
“We know she’s in Italy, but I’m still having a hard time tracking her down myself,” I lie, running a hand through my bed head. “But I’m sure I’m getting close.”
Koa nods and glances at Maliah, who is still glaring at me with a fury that’s starting to piss me off, but I won’t let her see that it’s working.
“Okay, so for this competition you’ll be surfing Cloudbreak.”
I prop my phone against the desk and wall so that my hands are free and spend the next ten minutes going over best practices and things to watch out for.
“But Koa,” I warn. “Plenty of surfers have risked their lives barreling this wave. Keep an eye on the razor-sharp reef or that could be you too, too.”
“Got it, Coach,” he says again.
“Maliah,” I turn my attention to her now, raising my brows in question. “Why the hell have you been staring at me like you’re going to kill me?”
“I think the better question is why the hell you put us into a villa that only has one bed?”
I frown at her because how the hell is she not happy about this? Anyone with eyes can see her and Koa are still in love with each other.
“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” I cross my arms, and lean back in the chair. “Were you two not sharing a bed, in my house, for years? Or even sharing a tent two days ago?”
Maliah’s face turns crimson—I guess she didn’t think I’d hear about that—but her glare stays in place. “You should have asked if we were okay with it before you made that decision.”
I clench my jaw, composing myself. This woman is impossible to please.
“You really can’t manage to share a bed with your teammate for two weeks? I’m not asking you two to fuck,” her and Koa share a quick look and it’s all I need. “Though, I find it hard to believe you two haven’t already done that on this tour yet. It’s just for sleeping on, Maliah.”
“Oh my god,” she exclaims, throwing her hands up. “You’re such an impossible person, Gabriel. No wonder Zalea ran off.”
Her words jarr me and I’m about ready to toss my self-control out the window. I can tell she regrets her words instantly, her eyes dropping down and face turning more crimson by the second.
“Let’s call it a night, I’m tired after all the travelling,” Koa cuts in—always the hero when it comes to Maliah.
“You’re right,” I say, ripping my gaze away from her ungrateful one. “It’s been a long day for all three of us,” though technically my day just started, “so let’s reconnect after the competition. I trust you two can handle practicing without me for the next few days.”
I don’t wait for either of them to reply before hanging up, hating how chaotic my morning has felt. I pull my laptop out of my bag and open it up, deciding to do my own research about PCOS. It’s clear this diagnosis is an important thing for Zalea, so that means it’s important to me too.
Two hours later, I know more about this diagnosis than an average person. I’ve even sent Reid a list of the best fertility clinics to look into all over the world. If Zalea decides she wants kids one day, then I want her to be in the best care.
I also found an Instagram page that belongs to a chef whose wife was diagnosed with PCOS, too.
He uses food to balance her hormone levels and she ended up getting pregnant.
When I see that he created not one, but two cookbooks full of the recipes he made for her, I do a quick search and find a bookstore not too far away that carries both books in English.
I call them and ask that they put them to the side for me.
Zalea needs to see that she has options, and that there have been successful stories even with a PCOS diagnosis. Maybe this is how I break down that wall she keeps reinforcing. Maybe this is how I get her back.
Her room door slams shut, and a few moments later I hear the elevator bell ding. She’s leaving to go see Paolo at some museum and I hate that I can’t do anything about it. She’s not mine, not in the way that counts.
It was clear last night that he’s attracted to her, and I’m sure she’s not oblivious to it. The question is, will she want him more than she wants me?