Page 22 of Hula Girl

I smirk. “That’s okay, Surfer Boy. You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh. So, you remember exactly how we got here last night? Don’t think you’ll need any help getting up at that little inlet?”

Oh, that.

Great, now we’ll have to have an awkward walk of shame together.

“I guess I could use a little help with that,” I say.

He nods, amused. Holding out his arm gallantly, he asks, “Shall we?”

I laugh softly but walk right by him, starting out on the sand.

“Hula Girl? That’s the wrong way.”

Great. I turn around and see him watching me, his arms crossed over his still bare, still ripped, chest. I suddenly feel so awkward. Where did all that easiness with him from last night with him go? It’s likely the feeling that I’ve somehow allowed myself to read more into this little encounter than what it really was. It felt so good, so natural that I forgot I’m probably just one of the many, many, tourists he sleeps with.

The awkwardness slips away when we start trading notes on the view. The morning light is achingly beautiful. The air is in that delicious in-between state of still cool with an undercurrent of the humid heat sure to edge its way to dominance. Gentle waves ebb and flow. I walk on the dry side of the sand while he lets the water slosh over his flip-flops.

“See that spray of water out there?” he asks, pointing to some middle distance in the ocean.

I just catch the remnants of the spray he’s spotted.

“Is that a whale?” I ask.

“Sure is. Oh, look a couple more that way.”

“Where?” I put my hand over my eyes to create a shield from the sun, trying to find the other humpback whales.

He moves behind me, puts one arm around my waist and uses his other arm to create a line of sight. His body pressed into me like that causes flashbacks from this morning. From the way he pushed deep into me from behind. From the way he held me tightly to him, one arm around my hips and the other cupping my breast.

“I see them,” I say, forcing my thoughts away from the way his confident hands had touched me all over earlier.

“Amazing, aren’t they?”

Slowly, he pulls away from me, but not before I feel him drag his lips over the shell of my ear. The heat of him sets me on fire. He’s made me feel something I haven’t felt in as long as I can remember: insatiable. I have not-so-fleeting thoughts of him taking me one more time right here on the sand.

“I really wish I didn’t have to get to work,” he murmurs.

That he’s feeling the same reluctance to part sends a tingle through me. I turn to face him but he’s got his eyes in the opposite direction, looking at the rocky inlet we had climbed down last night.

I take it as my cue to keep moving and when he follows after me, his fingers brush mine, our tips lacing. It’s sweet. And intimate. More intimate than a one-night stand should feel.

He navigates his way up the rocks and holds his hand out to me, helping me up the precarious path.

“Makai’s is just down the way,” he says, nodding at the road.

Everything looks different in the light of day. I don’t really recognize where I am and am glad he’s willing to walk me all the way back to my car. It’s parked right where I left it the night before, thankfully.

“Listen,” he says as we stop in front of the rental, “my name’s Ford. I’d love to know your name.”

“Ford,” I repeat. I like it. I like knowing him as something other than Surfer Boy. Even if there’s no need to know it now, not when we’re saying goodbye. “My name’s Ava.”

He smiles widely. “That’s beautiful. Suits you.”

The compliment makes my heart swell. Like seriously, it feels too big for a moment. I have to silently admonish myself for taking any of this too seriously. We are in the process of saying goodbye forever, after all. “Thank you,” I tell him softly.

“Could I get your number, Ava?”

---