An Excerpt from Lowering His Guard
May – a surfer who beams sunshine even when confronted with the grumpiest NFL player in the league
May
“Summer surfing, happens so fast,” I sing as I lay out the large foam beginner surfboards. Today is one of my favorite days of the year – the first day of summer lessons.
“Summer surfing, catching the swell.”
I finish the boards and stare at the ocean. I have the best life. What could be better than giving surfing lessons at some fancy schmancy resort on Smuggler’s Hideaway – aka the best island in the world? Nothing, I tell you.
Although, traveling the world surfing wasn’t too bad either. But those days of being a hippie surfer are behind me.
“Hey!” A man shouts and I whirl around.
Holy surfers riding the waves! Is this man real? Am I hallucinating? No way no how is there a giant with messy brown hair, high cheekbones, blue eyes, and biceps big enough to bench press a small car shouting at me. Where are they growing men this size? It certainly isn't on Smuggler's Hideaway.
“Hey!” He shouts again. Probably because I’m practically drooling. Oops. “Where’s the instructor?”
I glance around. “No idea.”
He crosses his arms and glares at me. “You work here?”
“Sometimes.”
“Can you point me toward whoever’s in charge?”
The teenage boy beside him groans. “Dad.”
“What?” He asks – his tone way more gentle than when he was barking at me. Don’t get me wrong. This man can bark at me all he wants. Preferably while he’s naked. I’d love to get my hands and mouth on his naked body.
“She’s obviously the teacher,” the kid says.
The giant’s eyes narrow on me. “Are you the teacher?”
I wrinkle my nose. “It does say surfing instructor on my paycheck.”
He growls – an honest to goodness growl – and I shiver. It’s possible my nipples harden. Smoking smugglers surfing in a storm! I want to hear him growl while I’m naked. He can stay clothed. Doesn’t matter to me. As long as he’s touching me while he growls, I’m in.
“You’re May Ross?”
I whip out a salute. “Reporting for duty.”
“You’re the surfing instructor?”
“Dad,” his son whines. “Stop digging the hole. You’re already half-way to …” His eyes widen, his cheeks flame, and he slaps a hand over his mouth.
I laugh. The kid is funny.
“I mean… I didn’t mean…” The kid stumbles over his words.
“No offense taken.” I wink at him.
I’m seriously not offended because someone was about to mention the country of China. I’m half-Chinese – Mom’s Chinese and Dad's Irish-American – but I don't need people tiptoeing around me every time someone mentions China. Save the apologies for when someone actually says something offensive.
“Let me guess.” I tap my chin. “You’re Jace?”
I know he’s Jace. The other kids in the class who are waiting around with their parents already introduced themselves. He’s the last to arrive.
The kid beams at me. “Yep. And this is my dad, Brock.”
“Hi, Dad!” I beam at the grumpy giant. “You don’t need to stay for the lesson.”
“I’m good,” he grumbles and I have to give my nipples a stern lesson. No getting hard when you’re teaching a bunch of teenagers how to surf.
I whistle. “Gather round!”
The kids separate from their parents and join me by the surfboards. “Welcome to your first day!”
They cheer. My smile stretches from ear to ear. Is there anything better than a bunch of kids excited to learn a new skill? I think not.
“I’m May and I’ll be your instructor. Let’s go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. Tell me if you’ve ever surfed before, can you swim, any injuries I should be aware of, and is anyone nervous.”
After everyone introduces themselves, I give them the safety talk. Then, it’s time to hand out the boards. I explain how to carry it, what the leash is, and the paddling position.
“All right, future surfers! Are you ready to surf?”
They nod and clap.
“Oops! I forgot. We need to practice on the beach first.”
They groan and I smirk.
“Pay attention and we’ll be out in the water causing your parents to have heart attacks in no time!”
Brock’s eyes widen and he steps forward but I shake my head. He stares at me for a long second before nodding and retreating.
I demonstrate lying on the board, paddling, popping up, foot placement, and balance.
“Now, it’s your turn.” I barely have a chance to get the words out before the kids tackle their boards.
I make my way through the group correcting them.
“Come on, Dad,” Jace urges. “You try it if you’re such an expert.”
Brock lays on the board and it groans.
“Easy there.” I say. “The board didn’t insult your mother.”
“These boards are not normal sized,” he complains.
I rake my gaze over him. “The boards aren’t normal sized or you’re not normal sized?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I’m average-sized for my profession.”
“What is your profession? Picking apples from trees without a ladder?”
He scowls. “I’m a football player.”
I know perfectly well he’s a football player. The Hideaway Haven Resort where I work is hosting the Steel City Seals football team this summer while they attend training camp at Coastal State University. Hudson – aka the bossman – sat us down before their arrival and laid down the law.
Don’t ask me what the law is. I didn’t listen. Rules and me aren’t friends.
I clap my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s get in the water!”
I show them how to get on the board. “Feel the waves. Test your balance.”
I wade through the water helping everyone to stand and balance. Once I’m confident in their standing abilities, we move on to the next topic.
“Who’s ready to catch a wave?” I throw up the devil’s horns before telling everyone to, “line up!”
Sandy is first. I push the board until we reach the tiny broken waves near the shore. “Paddle! Now stand!”
She falls and I cheer. “Now, you can call yourself a surfer.”
I motion to Jace. “You’re up!”
I push his board. He’s already paddling. “Ready! Now stand!”
He catches a wave and stands. He stays up for three seconds before wiping out.
Brock steps toward the water but I touch his arm. “Wait.”
He stares at me.
“He’s okay.”
A second later, Jace pops up laughing. “I did it!”
I give him a high-five. “Gnarly, dude!”
“Dad! Did you see me?” Brock grins at his son. Oh boy. The man isn’t merely sexy. He’s a good father.
Once Jace is out of the water, I motion to the next kid in line. I continue until every student has had a chance to try and ride their first wave.
“All right, surfers!” I holler. “That’s it for your first lesson. You can now officially call yourselves surfers.”
I high-five all my students. “I’ll see you at your next lesson but before you go we need to clean our equipment and carry our boards back.”
I supervise while they wash the sand and dirt off the boards and rinse the leashes. Once they’re clean, I motion for them to place the boards on the rack.
I notice Brock carrying Jace’s board and scowl at him. “He can carry his own board.”
He shrugs. “I know.”
“But you’re carrying it anyway?”
He shrugs again. “It’s heavy.”
Who does he think he’s fooling? The foam beginner board weighs almost nothing.
“You carry all his stuff, don't you?”
He grunts.
Jace rolls his eyes. “Don’t take it personally. He thinks grunting is a form of communication.”
“No worries. I don’t take anything personally.”
Brock frowns at me. “Nothing?”
“Not if it doesn’t involve me.”
We arrive at the surf shed where the music is playing. I shake my hips and sing along to the song as I dance toward Brock. I motion to the rack where he can put the surfboard.
“Miss May! Miss May!” Sandy shouts. “I forgot my flip-flops!”
I hand Sandy my sandals without a second thought. “Use mine.”
“But what about you?”
I look down at my bare feet buried in warm sand. “I've survived hotter beaches.”
I twirl back toward the surfboards, singing with the music pouring from the shack.
I watch Brock make his way to the resort. Back when I was a hippie surfer, I'd have chased him down the beach to try and make him smile. Huh. Maybe I’ll be a hippie surfer for the summer.
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