CRASHING INTO YOU
CRASHING INTO YOU
CHAPTER TWO
Claire
“I’m home!”
My voice echoes around the open-plan living/dining area of my home. No one answers. Not surprising, really, seeing as I live alone.
I put my bag on the long dining table and head into the kitchen area, switching on the kettle. It might be hot outside, sun still streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the ocean, but I like to wind down after work with a cup of tea.
Wild, right? I’m a regular party queen.
I don’t mind a drink, actually, but don’t make a habit of it. I am going out tonight, but need a few minutes first.
What a day. It ended up being pretty quiet for the rest of the afternoon, but I’m still recovering from calling a customer an asshole. And not just any customer, but the guy from the actual poster in the store.
Oh god. I stir my tea, remembering how he laughed, how he watched me as though I was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
And how hot he looked doing it. I really, really hope he doesn’t complain to Anna.
I like my job, even if I don’t necessarily need it.
It makes me feel like part of the community, though I haven’t been here long.
I take my tea outside. The wooden decking is warm under my bare feet, and I sigh with relief as I sink into the soft cushions on the sunlounger.
I sip my tea and take in the view. I never get tired of it.
The ocean is silver-blue, the dark green coastline undulating like a snake, Lorne a distant cluster of buildings cradled in one of the curves.
There are surfers out at the nearby point, riding the waves as though they can walk on water.
I live on the Great Ocean Road. Well, below it, to be completely accurate.
A driveway lined with tall eucalyptus winds from the road down to a flat open area cut partially into the cliff, which is where my house is.
It’s long and low, built of timber and glass, wrapped around with decking to capture the stunning views.
An infinity pool runs along one edge of the decking, a hot tub set into it, and the jagged cliff tumbles away beneath it, a crooked pathway lined with Ti-tree leading to the beach below.
It’s my parents’ dream house.
Shame they’re not here to see it.
I finish my tea and head back inside. I check my phone before I start getting ready to go out, just in case. I’m meeting a couple of friends at the Inlet pub. I could have gone straight from work and met them for dinner, but just felt like I needed some space.
No more worrying texts, thank god. I guess he hasn’t managed to find another number yet.
Instead, there’s just a message from my friends, letting me know they’re already at the pub and to get my ass down there.
I’m really looking forward to it, I realise.
I need to vent, blow off a bit of steam, and these girls are the best for that.
I head into my bedroom and through to the ensuite, turning on the water in the big walk-in shower.
As I step under the warm spray, I try not to worry about the fact I might get fired.
I do a good job, Anna knows that. It’s not that big of a deal.
And Bryce didn’t seem like the type to make a complaint anyway. I hope.
As I soap my body, I think of him. The way his green gaze followed me, the way his T-shirt was tight around his shoulders and chest. The way his mouth curved.
Too bad he’s a surfer. He was pretty hot, otherwise.
Bryce
The ocean here is silver-blue, the water cold even on the warmest days. There’s nothing between us and Antarctica except for Tasmania and the small islands around it, and I swear sometimes there’s ice in the waves.
It’s perfect.
The shock I feel as I duck dive under the first wave, emerging to shake my head like a dog, takes me out of whatever bad mood I might be in. I keep paddling out towards where the waves start to lift and curl before they break.
There are a few surfers out here already.
I’m not worried. The breaks aren’t as crowded here as they are up north, plus the summer rush hasn’t yet started.
And I know quite a few of the people down here anyway.
I’ve heard horror stories over the years of surfers being beaten up, dropped in on or having their cars vandalised, simply for the crime of being a “tourist”.
I think it’s bullshit. The ocean is always moving.
She belongs to no one but herself, and there are waves enough for everyone.
I nod to the surfer closest to me. She grins, lifting a hand to wave. I recognise her. It’s a friend of Kylie’s, Matt’s wife. Just a friend. I haven’t kissed her. I don’t think I have, anyway.
I straddle my board and sit up, enjoying the feeling of just floating with the waves and being in communion with the water, with the people around me. We’re all out here for the same reason, and that’s how it should be. No aggro, no bullshit. Just the water and us.
I catch a couple of waves, riding them into the shore, paddling back out. Nothing fancy, no tricks. Just pure surfing and that feeling of physical release which comes with it, the ache in my shoulders as I push my board against the waves, the contraction in my abs.
Then I just sit for a while again, letting my body and my thoughts float.
I’m surfing at one of the points, the land curving out then in again, the road rising.
There are a couple of houses set into the sloping cliff below the road, nice places made of timber and glass, surrounded by huge trees.
It’d be pretty sweet to have a place like that, actually.
Somewhere you could wake and be at one with the ocean, perched above the waves.
I can almost feel the sun-warmed deck timbers beneath my feet, hear the rustle of leaves, smell the medicinal scent of salt and eucalyptus.
I don’t have a place to call my own. Not really, unless you count a storage unit full of stuff.
I tend to just travel around, following the waves and the competitions, crashing on couches or in spare bedrooms or, if I’m going to be somewhere for more than a few weeks, renting an apartment. It’s suited me fine, so far.
But now, as I drift in the cool water, looking up at the houses, I feel something tugging in my chest. Maybe it would be nice to have a home, I think.
Someplace where I can lie in bed and listen to the rain on the roof, wake up and wander down for a surf, sit on the deck and watch the sunset. It’s a strange feeling.
I think I see someone moving in one of the houses, and then a figure with long dark hair comes out onto the deck, sitting down. It’s the weirdest fucking thing, but I’d swear it’s the girl from the shop in Lorne. Even from a distance. It just feels like her.
The ocean moves beneath me, the waves cranking up again.
I lie down and start paddling, checking I’m not dropping in or stealing a wave.
I pull my feet up under me and stand, the movements automatic, my body adjusting as I balance on my board.
I crouch as the wave curls over me, whooping as I emerge from the small barrel, tossing my head before I drop off the board, diving back into the blue.
This is all I need. Waves and my board. None of this weird shit about a home, or a girl I barely met.
My home is here, in the ocean. But when I surface, my gaze goes to the house on the cliff once more.
Later, towelling myself off in the small car park, I hear my phone buzz.
I ignore it. Whoever it is can wait. I wrap the towel around my waist, peeling off the rest of my wetsuit, then dropping it to get dressed.
Bare arses are a common sight along this stretch of road, and I’m no prude.
I pull on board shorts, chucking my towel in the back of the station wagon.
It’s actually my car; I leave it at Matt’s for him to use when I’m not here.
I suppose it’s the closest thing I have to a space of my own.
“You heading to the Inlet pub later?” I look up to see Kylie’s friend walking past with a couple of other surfers. She’s pretty cute, I think, as I check her out. I need to be careful, though. Kylie is a good mate.
“Yeah, we’ll head down in a bit,” I say.
“See you there.” She grins, flicking her hair back, definitely flirtatious. I jerk my chin at her, returning her smile. I need to speak to Kylie before I dip my toe in that pond, though. I cannot fuck my friends over.
My phone starts buzzing again and I grab it. It’s my agent, calling me.
“Hey, Jeff, what’s up?” I sit on the back of the wagon, drying my feet off, the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder.
“What’s up is that you need to answer your fucking phone.” My agent sounds pissed, but that’s not unusual. “You down the coast? Having a good time there? Wait, I already know the answer to that.”
“What?” I finish putting my shoes on, sitting up and holding the phone to my ear. “What the hell is going on?”
“What’s going on is that the ‘personal issue’ you’re taking time off to work on seems to involve fucking a couple of girls at the same time, at least according to social media.”
“Fuck.” My memories of the night before are reasonably vague, though definitely pleasurable. I don’t remember any photos being taken, though. I tell Jeff that.
“Yeah, probably because you were passed out by the time it happened,” he snaps.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s not great. It only showed up on her stories, but one of your bedmates decided to share a happy snap of the three of you snuggled up together after what looks like a pretty hard night out.”
I rub my hand over my face. I don’t really give a shit, to be honest, as long as it’s not x-rated. But I know Jeff will. “Right. And…”
“And she tagged a couple of surf brands. So now I have sponsors on the phone asking tough questions.”
“All publicity is good publicity, right?” I know it’s lame. I can feel it as the words come out of my mouth.
“No. No, it fucking isn’t,” Jeff snarls. “And if you’ve got time to screw around down there, then you’ve got time to work.”
“I told you, I’m?—”
“Taking time out?” His voice softens a bit. “Look, I know you have family stuff going on, but this shit isn’t making you look good. Sponsors pay you to ride waves and look good doing it, not shag randoms on a night out. And lately it’s been not enough of the former and too much of the latter.”
I suppose I have been partying a lot lately. But while Jeff is right that I have family shit going on, it’s not really his, or anyone’s business.
I sigh. “What do I need to do?”
“Ocean’s Curl are one of the brands who were tagged, and they’re pissed.
You’d better be ready to do some serious ass-kissing when you go to their store next week.
Sign some stuff, happy families, chat to the kids, do fucking cartwheels around the shop if that’s what they want you to do.
You can’t afford to lose that sponsorship, especially because then it’ll make everyone else start to question whether they feel like putting up with your shit.
You’re not the only good surfer in the world.
So show up, take some promo shots while you’re there, and play nice.
You think you can manage to stay out of someone’s bed between now and then?
Or if you can’t, to at least keep it quiet? ”
“Yeah. I can do that.” I’m stung at his reference to other surfers. I know I’m good, but I’m also aware I’m not the only one. I don’t need reminding.
“Oh, and if you can manage to get yourself a nice girlfriend at some point soon, that wouldn’t hurt, either.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. Maybe don’t push things.”
I hang up without saying goodbye.
He’s right, I guess. This trip was meant for checking in with Mum, not for partying.
But I’ve only been back a couple of days and I don’t think it’s going to matter if I unwind here before heading to see her.
I check my phone, feeling oddly irritated.
There are no messages, thank fuck. None from today, anyway.
Mum knows I’m here and that I’m coming to see her.
I quickly type something, but pause before I send it, my finger hovering over the button.
“Screw it.” I close my phone down without sending it. There is shit to deal with, but not tonight. Tonight, I need a drink.
* * *