Page 77 of Wilder Love
“You… what is it?”
I took the boards off the roof rack—mine and the one I’d made for her. Yesterday after work, I’d tested it down at the pier. It was nothing compared to the money she’d shelled out, but it was something I could give to her. And lo and behold, I’d found something I enjoyed doing.
“You bought me a surfboard?” She studied the board—turquoise with black stripes.
“I didn’t buy it.”
“You didn’t…” I flipped the board to the other side—glossy white with a signature: Firefly. Her mouth formed a comical O and her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Shane. This is…” Tears filled her eyes and she held a hand over her heart. “It’s so beautiful.”
I huffed out a laugh. “It’s my first attempt. Beautiful is a stretch but hopefully it will—”
Before the words were out of my mouth, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight. My hands found their way to her waist and upper back. Closing my eyes, I inhaled her scent. She didn’t smell like green apple shampoo and summer rain anymore. But she smelled good. So fucking good. And she felt so right in my arms.
“Thank you.” Clearing her throat, she released me and took a step back. “Sorry. I’m all sweaty.”
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together. “No problem,” I said gruffly.
She ran the palm of her hand over the surfboard and I was jealous of an inanimate object. “It’s so smooth. So perfect. I’m just… I can’t believe you did this for me, Shane. It means so much to me. You give me the best presents.” Her voice was soft, and she lifted her eyes to mine, all her emotions on full display. My chest tightened, and I took a deep breath. I hadn’t expected such an emotional reaction, on her part or mine.
“It’s just a surfboard.”
“It’s so much more than a surfboard but okay, we’ll go with that. So, does this mean I get to surf with you?” Her eyes lit up as if the prospect of that was thrilling. The funny part was that she could have bought herself a board. She could have bought a Firewire or any damn board she wanted but she hadn’t.
“The ocean doesn’t belong to me, Remy. You’re free to surf whenever and wherever you want.”
She rocked back on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back. “I guess I was waiting for an invitation.”
“That’s not like you.”
She flinched at my words that had come out sounding harsher than I’d intended but she recovered quickly and plastered on a fake smile. “I guess that’s the new me.”
ThenewRemy stripped down to a white bikini right in front of me. ThenewShane had the same reaction as the old Shane. My dick appreciated the view. My fingers itched to untie the strings, freeing her breasts from the triangles of fabric.
Millions of people had seen her in a bikini. Sad fuck that I was, I knew she’d been in the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated. But I couldn’t even look at her in a bikini without getting hard. Without dying to touch every inch of her skin with my lips, and my mouth, and my teeth. Her skin. I could still remember the silky softness of it. The way her body had yielded to mine. The sound of her soft moans and whimpers.
She stuffed her running clothes and sneakers into her backpack and I locked it in the Jeep.
“I can carry my own board.”
I shrugged one shoulder in response and carried both boards. We were silent on the walk along the trail, down the stairs and to the water’s edge. Her toenails were painted a blush pink color that matched her fingernails. The soft, pretty nail color was disconcerting. She always wore dark polish.
“I haven’t surfed since I left Costa del Rey,” she admitted.
“Why not?”
“Because… surfing…” She let out a breath and shook her head, her gaze on the ocean. “I just didn’t.”
Because of me. She hadn’t surfed because it reminded her of me. “Do you still remember how to paddle out?”
“I know how to paddle out,” she scoffed.
“I don’t know… those spaghetti arms are no match for these waves.”
“These spaghetti arms? Ha.” She made a muscle, all proud of herself. I laughed at her and she rolled her eyes. “Are we surfing or comparing muscles?”
“There’s no comparison.” I grinned and paddled out, leaving her to her own devices. That was how she was at her best. Her most resourceful. She needed to be challenged, to be told she couldn’t do something, only to show everyone that she could and twice as good as everyone else.
I glanced over my shoulder, chuckling at the determined look on her face as she tried to paddle out to where I was, the waves intent on beating her back to shore. Straddling my board, I watched her duck-dive, relief flooding through my body when her head bobbed up, a smile on her face. That’s my girl. She caught up to me and we floated on our boards for a while. It was a perfect day for surfing. Light winds. A west onshore breeze and that little bit of crumble on the lip that makes it easy to attack for airs, yet still clean on the face for carves.
