Chapter Six
Hannah
I glance at my watch for the tenth time, confirming it is exactly 9:00 a.m. I approach the group of kids wearing bright-green shirts and carrying surfboards, which I assume is Jeremy’s junior learn to surf class.
When did I start thinking of him as Jeremy instead of just the I.T. gu y?
Despite it being early March, the morning heat makes me thankful for the sunscreen and short, flowing dress I have already put on over my bikini. I hope I won’t stay here long enough to sweat in front of anyone and can escape to work on my tan further up the beach.
Last night, when I got back to my apartment, I had a long discussion with my roommate about the incident with Clae and how Jeremy had to save me. It was Sasha who convinced me to come this morning and thank Jeremy for his support against Clae. Maybe it is also because she finds joy in pushing me beyond my comfort zone.
I don’t anticipate the crowded beach or the large class size, and now I regret coming.
Jeremy, distinguished by his instructor shirt, stands out from the twelve-year-olds in their bright-green shirts. His bright-blue shirt accentuates his tan. Noticing my approach, he glances up and greets me with a warm smile, gently brushing his curls aside.
As I approach, he calls out, “I wasn’t sure you would come.” I try my hardest to disregard the stares from the group of twelve-year-olds around me.
Trying my best not to sound breathless from the long walk, I admit, “Honestly, I didn’t believe you when you mentioned teaching surfing, but now I want to see it for myself.”
With a cunning grin, he declares to the assembled children, “Hey guys, we have a special visitor today who’s never surfed. Can I get a volunteer or two to assist my friend Hannah in today’s lesson?”
I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.
How dare he.
He fucking set me up.
As I quickly glance around, I notice multiple small hands rising in the air to volunteer. Jeremy singles out one child, saying, “Katie, can you assist Hannah in finding a spare board and shirt and watch over her during today’s lesson?”
I see the young girl with dark hair rushing over to help me as we search through the remaining shirts in the box. Eventually, we find one that fits over my breasts without drawing excessive attention. I didn’t expect to be seen in a bikini by a group of twelve-year-olds; I should have worn more suitable swimwear.
I grab the only spare surfboard and fumble with it while trying to pick it up, in awe of its weight. Then, I head back to the group as they gather in a semi-circle around Jeremy .
I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this.
“We’ll review the land basics before moving to the water, and today may take longer because of our new team member,” Jeremy announces to the class.
We spend what feels like half of the lesson practicing something called the “pop-up” and reviewing wave watching techniques. Jeremy has to come over and physically guide me through the movements because I am terrible at it. But after a demonstration, I finally understand and we can go in the water.
I try hard but couldn’t “pop-up” on the board, even once. I have this strange feeling that it is crucial to make an attempt, constantly reminding myself it is for the kids and not for Jeremy. It definitely isn’t because of how his gentle hands felt on my body while he guided me through the movements.
When Jeremy calls us back to shore, my wet hair is stuck to my face. Jeremy reviews some cooling down techniques before going around and providing feedback to each student in the class before dismissing them for the day.
I hesitate, not knowing what to do until the other kids move on up the beach. This gives me the opportunity to walk back with Jeremy and finally scold him for setting me up. My exhaustion, sandy state, and muscle soreness are all his fault.
He comes over, takes my board, and carries both, reassuring me, “You did much better than you think. It’s rare for people to successfully stand up on their first surf lesson.”
Glaring, I say, “Not exactly what I expect to be doing at 9:00 a.m., while hungover on a Saturday.”
We revisit the beach spot where the lesson originally started. It appears that the other kids have departed from the beach, leaving their surfboards and shirts behind. Jeremy carefully sets our boards aside among the others and grabs the shirt box .
Jeremy takes off his wet, blue shirt, tosses it into the box with the other shirts, and looks at me expectantly. I didn’t realize he was waiting for me to add my shirt because I am busy trying not to ogle his muscles.
“Oops, my bad,” I exclaim, swiftly pulling the shirt off by ripping it over my head. Thankfully, my bikini top avoided any wardrobe malfunctions during the surf lesson. I toss my soaking shirt in with the others, and we both stand there uncomfortably unsure where to direct our gaze but avoiding each other.
How is it that the I.T. guy is so fucking hot?
“Want to go grab a coffee or something?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got about a half an hour before the next class.”
I find myself agreeing to meet him at the café by the beach as he goes to drop off the box of shirts for cleaning. I hurry to change into my dress and hastily fix my hair and makeup in the public bathroom mirror before going to the café.
***
Despite the café being crowded, I quickly notice Jeremy chatting with a couple of locals, now wearing a singlet shirt. As soon as he looks up and sees me coming, he springs up from the bench and makes his way towards me.
“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, and I only have twenty minutes left before my next class, so I ordered for you. Hope that’s alright.”
Feeling guilty for taking so long to fix my appearance, I reassure him it’s fine as we stand near the takeaway coffee station, waiting for our order. The café is bustling with customers, even though it’s only mid- morning.
“I got you an iced caramel latte, since I remembered that’s what you usually have at work. And I figured it was a safe bet.”
I can’t decide if I should feel impressed or guilty when he remembers my coffee order. I have no idea what coffee he would order. I express my gratitude and inform him that it’s perfect.
Despite the long wait, our drink order is prepared quickly, probably because the café rushed Jeremy’s order. We take our drinks and walk to a small park bench to sit.
As I swirl my cup and sip on the espresso and milk blend, I ask, “Do you teach surf lessons every Saturday?”
“Yeah,” he says, sipping on a green smoothie. “I started teaching it in high school and it got me through university. And I’ve just kept going,” he says with a shrug.
As I take another sip of my drink, I start to realize that Jeremy does, indeed, have more to him than just being the I.T. guy. He doesn’t have the typical look of a computer nerd, for one thing. The guy has layers; he’s hot and teaches kids how to surf.
“I’m sorry if it was a mistake to have you sit through that class. It dawned on me that the best way to observe a surf class is by actually participating in one.”
My anger towards him has diminished, and I surprise myself by admitting, “I’m actually having fun. Especially since I’ve never surfed before…or at least tried to surf.”
With a chuckle, he compliments, “You’re surprisingly good for your first time.”
I don’t mention how hard I tried to avoid looking foolish.
“Why do you work in I.T. instead of pursuing a career like this?” I am unsure if I am crossing a boundary, but I am curious.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t provide enough income,” he says with a frown. “I do enjoy working in I.T, but I can’t handle being stuck in the office all the time as a career.”
My previous annoyance at his constant friendliness towards others suddenly feels ridiculous. I fully understand his precise meaning. While he enjoys the constant interaction with people in his I.T. role, teaching kids how to surf would be more rewarding for him.
“And you? Is being a Sales Representative in Health Insurance your dream job?” he asks, snapping me back to reality.
I snort, saying, “God no. The only reason I took this job is to get my foot in the door. I have aspirations to work in the Learning and Development department, teaching new employees and such.”
“Why don’t you?” he politely asks.
“I’ve tried my luck a few times in the past,” I say, accompanying it with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I can never get hired because they want experience writing modules, but it’s a catch-22, since you can only gain that experience within the role.” I look down at my drink and absentmindedly swirl the straw.
Why do I feel the need to tell him that?
“Have you ever thought about leaving BHI to pursue that role somewhere else?” “Nahh,” I say, looking up and being taken aback to see his intense, blue eyes on me. “Despite the frustration of not getting hired for that position, they’re actually a great company to work for, and I think it’s best to stick with them.”
He finishes his green smoothie and rises from our bench, saying, “Fair enough. If you ever want to continue with surfing lessons, feel free to come to my Saturday classes at 9:00 a.m.—free of charge, of course.”
Standing up from the bench, I thank him and walk with him towards the beach to keep talking. “I don’t really think surfing is my jam, but I’ll keep it in mind.” After a pause, I add, “I just want to say thank you for having my back last night, it’s really nice of you.” Although he doesn’t mention last night or Clae this morning, I feel it’s important to express my gratitude for his help.
“I’ll always look out for you,” he says as he walks back towards his surf lessons, leaving me with a strange sensation in my chest.