Page 37 of The Best Wrong Move

I obey his instructions, riding over the next round of waves while sitting upright on my wobbly board. A bigger set comes in next, and I flip on my stomach for this round, managing to balance my way through each one while they surge beneath me. I’m feeling more comfortable when the last wave disappears on the shore.

Dom floats beside me the whole time, holding onto the edge of my board to keep me within arm’s reach, telling me about the first time he tried riding the waves with his dad, when he was only four years old, growing up in California.

I’m actually starting to enjoy myself, especially watching my gorgeous instructor balance easily on his board next to me. If this is surfing, I’m totally here for it. Not to mention he couldn’t look more delicious, all dripping wet, with the sun bouncing across his body.

“On this next set, I want you to feel the pull of the water right before one starts rolling in. When it nearly drags your board out, that’s when you start paddling in toward the shore,” he tells me.

I watch him flip to his stomach and start paddling, right before the next wave gets to him. The surge of water practically picks up his board and starts pushing it toward the shorebreak, gaining momentum beneath him. He’s not even paddling anymore, but the water is thrusting him toward the sand as he glides effortlessly on top. Then he hops to his feet in one motion and rides all the way in. Spinning around to grin at me before doing a reverse push-up back down to his stomach, he paddles toward me again. His back muscles strain as both arms work the water beneath him. Sparkling droplets of water roll off his skin, thick hair slicked back, green eyes glowing.

I’m officially turned on.

“Okay!” I shout after him. “I’m gonna catch this next one! Hang on!”

I maneuver onto my stomach and wait until the water starts pulling me back toward the deep. When I feel it grab hold of the board, I start paddling as hard as I can toward shore. The water propels the board forward with a jolt, and I know I’ve caught it.

“I got it! I got it!” I start yelling at Dom. Then I do exactly what I watched him do. Hold onto the board tight, hopping my feet up in one swift motion, but as soon as my feet hit the surface of the board, I tip sideways, rolling head over foot toward the bottom, swept up in the force of the water.

Saltwater rushes into my face, instantly burning my eyes and nose. I find my footing in the sand beneath me and shoot myself up out of the wave, taking a breath and spitting out water. My throat stings from swallowing it, thick with salt.

“Well, that didn’t work,” I sputter, trying to grin through the searing pain.

Before I can catch my breath, Dom shouts, “Behind you, Liv!” I turn to face where he’s pointing, but it’s too late. I’m hit by a wall of water again. This one picks me up with it. Rolling me head over foot toward shore, flown like a beached whale across the sand. My hair flops in front of my face and saltwater pours from my nose like a faucet. The Velcro strap around my ankle tugs gently as my board laps back into the water a few feet away, like it’s begging me to take it for another ride.

There’s too much saltwater in my eyes to see Dom yet, but I can hear him laughing, coming closer. I rub and squint one stinging eyeball open to glare at him, ignoring the burn, then shut both eyes tight and rub the burning water out again. I’m sure my mascara is smeared all over my face. I don’t know why I even put it on this morning, other than out of sheer habit.

I roll over toward the sound of his laughter and sit up.

“Olivia, your swim top. It’s . . .” Dom has stopped laughing but there’s a definite smile to his voice. “Your top needs to be, ah, moved.”

A cool breeze grazes my nipple as I get my eyes open to see what he’s talking about. I immediately push both hands to my chest.

One side is definitely bare.

The tiny triangle of fabric must have shifted off my nipple, exposing half my chest while I plummeted head over foot to dry land. I shove the material back over the rosy peak of flesh, then adjust both sides of the swim top to make sure I’m fully covered — my eyes are still squeezed shut. I manage to get one open.

Dom is kneeling beside me with his board tucked under one arm.

I’m mortified. But at least he looks like he’s just enjoyed the show.

“That was a solid try,” he assures me, then chuckles, wiping the saltwater from his own eyes. He’s either caught a quick sunburn, or he’s turning red from catching me without a top. Either way, it makes me smile.

“You rode the wave. Next time you just have to stay on top of it.”

He grabs my board, which is still lapping gently in the shallow waves, then kneels down in front of me on the sand again.

A big smile spreads across his face, water dripping from his chin.

His pale green eyes look translucent against his skin in the sunlight. So close, I could practically taste the salt on those lips — if he let me.

“Okay, you made that look so much easier than it was.” I sniff more saltwater, then pinch my nose to get it to stop running again. The fire in my eyes has subsided enough that I can squint up at him without any pain.

He leans over me, and I’m dwarfed by his physique, blocking the sun from my face, along with the view of the rental units. Browned muscles glisten with a mixture of sweat and saltwater, while tiny specks of golden amber pool in his mossy eyes.

“Next time I’ll wear a more sturdy bathing suit,” I deadpan.

He erupts into laughter, sending my stomach fluttering at the sound.

“Don’t worry about that wardrobe malfunction.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but it makes me wince. “Everybody does that their first time. I’ve seen more nipples out here than you would believe.”

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