Page 47 of Double Trouble

“Hey.”

He bends, boxing me in with a soft press of his lips. The giddy girl inside of me squeals at the fact that he’s kissing me; he’s making the move first.

His lips leave mine slowly, and he continues to hold my face close, like I’m somehow this lost treasure he’s been looking for all his life. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt hanging loose on his sides. I feel a smile against my forehead before he plants another brief kiss there.

“Is it weird to say I missed you?” I ask. “I mean, I just saw you.”

He chuckles against me. “I missed you, too. That’s why I let you in.”

I lift my gaze to meet his. “Candace still here?”

“She’s doing her last rounds.” He taps my board with his toe. “You’ll have to wait a few minutes before rolling out.”

“Whatever shall we do with our extra time?” I tease, and he takes the hint, giving my lips the attention they so love from him.

Ten minutes or an hour later, who the hell knows, Tanner peeks out into the Wheel Zone and gives the all clear. I strap my helmet on, and he helps start up my GoPro.

“You gonna try the hardflip?”

“Maybe.”

“Think you should.” He smirks. “Show stopper.”

He misses the roll of my eyes, ducking for his camera. I push off and coast onto the course. Time for the warm up. I do simple things, rolling up and down the smaller ramps and then maneuvering into some ollies. I save the flip tricks until I know my legs are good and ready for them.

Tanner records in silence, moving around me and the course—sitting down, standing up, crouching… After seeing what he did with the footage we already had, I have one hundred percent faith that he knows what he’s doing.

Wanting to give him something good, I push hard off the floor, skyrocketing the board toward the bar he stands at the far end of. I throw him a smirk before flipping the board up and sliding the worn and reliable wood across the metal. The sound cuts through the air like a chef slicing vegetables on a cutting board—smooth, yet bumpy.

I land with aclap, the wheels meeting the ground like they are meant to.

“Gorgeous,” Tanner says, and I laugh. His ears go red, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean for me to hear the compliment, but I’m happy I did.

After a few more tricks, I take a deep breath and stop the board at the top of a small quarter pipe. “You ready for an epic fail?” I warn him.

He gives me a thumbs up, and even though I’m not ready, I push off and roll into the trick. I pop the backend of the board, getting the height I need, but I know halfway through I’m not gonna land it. I bail, letting the Millennium Falcon clatter and smack my shin. I roll to my back, hissing through my teeth as I rub out the pain.

“You all right?” Tanner says, quickly putting the camera down and rushing toward me. I stick my hand out.

“I’m good. I’ll try again.”

Thank heavens he’s a boarder. He nods and gets the camera ready instead of coddling me. Bumps, falls, bruises… they’re all part of the game. I just need to master this stupid trick.

I blow out another breath and take another shot at it. And another. One of those times I accidentally do a laser, but Tanner says it looked pretty awesome.

“Maybe I’ll just stick with that!” I joke, skating to the other end of the course to get some speed. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, I land it.

“Yeah!” Tanner fistpumps the air, and then I get rewarded with a kiss before I roll away to do another one. I land that one, too. And the next one. And the one after that.

My heart soars as I get into a groove, landing every single one of those hardflips. Not only those, but I gear up for a gazelle, landing that one on the first try. I move into a fakie beta flip, landing that one. I’m about ready to go for an impossible, but I wanna give the hardflip another test run.

I use the quarter pipe for momentum again, then speed into the trick. My board slices through the air like butter, and I soar above it as it swirls below me, my feet finding their position firm and stable as I slam back to the ground. The wheels pull me toward Tanner, his mouth hanging open like a dead fish.

Perfect.

“I… think you got it, Brink.” His hands slowly come down, making the camera point at the floor. “They’re idiots if they don’t sign you.”

This energy and adrenaline mixes in my chest, pumping my heart, pulling the corners of my lips upward. I’m sweaty and breathy and I don’t give a single crap about it. I push my mouth against his anyway, celebrating in my own way of finally—finally—landing this thing.

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