by Sofia Sawyer
Every single time, Jackson would slip his sweatshirt over his head and hand it to her, opting to be a little chilled himself so she could stay warm. How could she have forgotten that? He had always looked out for her. Taken care of her.
At least, he used to. When things got rocky between them in high school, it was hard for those good memories to push through. All she could see was the hurt and humiliation he had caused.
So, which Jackson was he now? The one who offered his sweatshirt or the one who called her out and embarrassed her?
Pulling down Center Street, Jackson slowed his speed to allow a hoard of tourists to stroll through the crosswalk to the bar across the road.
“Busy for a weekday,” he commented.
“It’s been like this a lot lately. These last few years, especially.” Elena smiled at a group of girls giggling obnoxiously as they walked past the car. “Lots of bachelorette and bachelor parties too. Guess it’s been a while since you’ve been down here.”
“I usually go to the washout during off-season. I stick to my parents’ place during the warmer months. Much quieter.”
He took a left onto East Ashley Avenue and found a spot on Eighth Street. Hopping out, he grabbed the boards and set off to the wooden stairs leading to a quiet section of the beach.
“So, how are we going to do this?” Elena asked as she stripped off her cover-up.
Jackson paused mid-swipe of waxing his board, openly gawking at Elena in the “teeny bikini” he commented on.
“You know, I’m almost embarrassed for you,” she joked as she leaned down to push his jaw back up. “Who are you? Pepé Le Pew?”
He laughed, his face flushing. He focused his attention back on the surfboards. “Take it as a compliment.”
“A compliment is, ‘Hey, Elena. You look good.’ What you did was straight up leering, you creeper.” She nudged him playfully.
He shrugged a shoulder and laughed with her. “I can’t compete with my biology. We men are visual creatures, and that was a very good visual.”
Elena shook her head with amusement before slipping on the rash guard and board shorts. She could have sworn she saw a flash of disappointment cross Jackson’s face as he stood up and handed her a board.
“Alright, we’re going to start with the basics. Let’s get out there and learn how to catch a wave first.”
She followed him into the ocean, the water refreshingly warm. She gripped the board, trying to get past the initial crashing waves without getting smacked in the face with it. Following Jackson’s lead, she took the board and ducked under the waves, paddling out past the breaking point. Although she worked out regularly, the motion burned her shoulders something fierce. But she pushed forward if only to get close to him again.
Once they reached calmer waters, he propped himself up, so he was straddling the board. Elena pushed up too, trying to get comfortable but feeling a bit awkward. She looked out and watched the water gleam under the sunlight. Here, it all seemed calm.
“Ah, you must be experiencing your first surfer’s high.” He laughed, his blue eyes even more radiant as the water and light reflected in them. His laugh lines dipped deep into his cheeks as he grinned at her, and she could only hope he’d throw that smile at her always.
“We haven’t even surfed yet.”
He shook his head. “No, I mean this moment. Right here. Right before you work your ass off to catch the wave and ride it for all you’ve got. Sure, there’s a thrill from feeling the wind against your face as you weave up and down that barrel, but this here’s a moment that matters the most. It’s during this time that I find the most clarity.”
“Hm. Like your next ‘big move’ you’ve mentioned a few times?”
He looked out to the horizon and let out a breath. “To be determined. I think I’d need a lot more time out here to make sense of what’s jumbled in my head.” He fixed his gaze back on her. “And, unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of time today. Not when I gotta teach you how to catch your first wave.”
“Good luck.”
“It’s not about luck. It’s about gut feeling and timing. When you feel it, you gotta go after it.”
“Wise words.”
He pointed at the horizon, the muscles in his arms shadowed by the harsh sunlight, making them look even more defined.
Who’s the one ogling now?
“Alright. You see those waves coming?” he asked.
She drew her eyes away from him to look. “Kinda.”
“You see how they look smooth on the surface?”
“I guess.”
“Well, that’s when you want to start digging in. Get on your stomach. Keep an eye on that moment, and when it comes, give it all you’ve got. Dig your hands into the water and paddle like hell.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
He let out a deep laugh. “You’ll be okay. I promise. I’ve got you. We’ll just practice catching the wave. Not sure if we’re ready for standing.”
For the next hour, Elena followed Jackson’s instructions and failed over and over. Her arms killed. The skin on her stomach was irritated from rubbing against the board despite the rash guard. And she was thirsty as hell.
She was just about to give up when a wave finally came, and she dug in like Jackson had instructed just at the right moment. She felt her board catch, thrusting her forward without any effort. And it was the most amazing feeling ever. There she was, the wind against her face, feeling like she was floating at break-neck speed. It was the closest thing to flying she had ever felt, and it was instantly addicting.
Elena looked to her left and saw Jackson surfing alongside her, cheering her on as she rode it closer to shore. As the wave died down, Elena slipped off the board, her hands raised high in triumph.
“You did it!” Jackson jumped off his board and grabbed her, lifting her from the water and swinging her in a circle.
“That was amazing!” She cheered like an idiot as he raised her overhead like an Olympic ice skater.
“That’s my girl!” he yelled with enthusiasm.
My girl.
She liked that a little too much. Almost as much as she liked Jackson’s hands on her body and the proud look on his face. All for her.
It was all for her.
He let her down gently, sliding her along his body as if she were the most delicate thing in the world. As if he hadn’t just swung her in the air.
And that’s when things shifted.
No longer were they laughing, smiling, and cheering.
Now the air was too charged. Too raw.
Jackson towered over her, his hands still on her hips, holding her tight against his wet body. Instinctively, Elena wrapped her arms around his neck, not wanting to let go.
Not now. Not ever.
“Elena,” he said, his voice rough as he examined her face, his own a cross between longing, lust, and discovery.
Elena weaved her fingers through his wet hair, her mind no longer in control. It was all heart, all body driving her. She pulled his face down to her with little resistance. He dipped his head low, his mouth mere inches from hers. Her heart thundered in her chest. She never wanted anything more than this. Than him.
“Hey, love birds!” Celeste called from the shore with a friendly wave, breaking their moment. “Looks like you two got here early for some fun. So cute.”
Elena tried not to let the disappointment show as Jackson dragged his face from hers. So close.
And yet, she couldn’t understand why that mattered. For years, she’d kept her distance from Jackson. So what changed? Was it merely because she’d spent more time with him these last couple days? Was it a sense of appreciation that he went along with this crazy scheme? Or was it because he was playing the part so well that she almost believed he actually cared about her?
She swallowed, her mouth dry. She hoped to God that wasn’t the case. Maybe she couldn’t make sense of her feelings quite yet. They were a jumbled mess after all. But she didn’t think she co
uld stomach knowing she felt something for Jackson, and it all might be a ruse for the camera.
It was poetic justice in a way, wouldn’t a fraud like her deserve that?
13
Brittany
“I can see why you called me out here,” Brittany said as she stood on the wrap-around veranda that overlooked the waves rhythmically rolling onto the shore.
Martha Bianco’s house was absolutely stunning, and her fundraiser to support the loggerheads of South Carolina would be one to remember with such a perfect venue. The home was three stories with pale seafoam green clapboard. All along the backside of the home was a mix of floor to ceiling windows and accordion doors leading out to two verandas on the upper floors and a patio with a state of the art built-in kitchen and pool area on the ground level. Every aspect of the house provided an immaculate view of Folly Beach.
Martha, a fifty-something-year-old with a beautiful blonde bob and kind eyes leaned against the railing, taking in the view and breathing in the sweet, salty air. “I thought it was important for you to see it.” She pointed just past the dunes to a roped-off area. “This is one of the protected areas for the loggerheads to lay their eggs. We have a bunch of them up and down the shore but could do with more. Even with these protected areas, a lot of the babies don’t make it to the ocean. With more funding, we can really make an impact on this dying breed.”
“How so?”
“Aside from the protected nesting areas, we’ll use the funds to clean up the beaches, create watches to keep predators away, and work with the community to reduce plastic and light pollution. That’s where you come in.”
Brittany nodded. Piece of cake. “No problem. Our agency has had a lot of success with these fundraisers, and you spared no expense.” The woman had been a success designing chic clothes for the Southern woman. Now she wanted to give back to the place where she grew up and loved.
“I’m very confident. You were referred to me by one of my friends. She said one of your colleagues had pulled together such a beautiful campaign for her fundraiser last year.” She scrunched her face in concentration. “I believe her name was Elle?” She shook her head. “No, that’s not it.”
Brittany tried not to let her annoyance show. “Elena?”
Martha’s face brightened. “Yes, that’s it. My friend raved on and on about her. Do you know her?”
“We work together from time to time,” she responded, her voice flat.
Not if Brittany could help it. She may be only a few years into her career, but she could run circles around Elena. She knew what people in Charleston wanted and delivered it. Elena was always trying to get crafty with her copy, and as much as Brittany hated to admit it, a lot of it was good. Brilliant, even.
But what Elena would never get is how people here liked things to be traditional. Those born and raised in the South stuck with their own. A decade ago—before all the transplants swarmed the area—it was impossible for an “outsider” to work their way into the ranks. Doing business or hiring people outside the inner circle was almost unheard of. Maybe things have changed now that the transplants had infiltrated in insurmountable numbers—especially in Charleston—but Brittany liked to tap into what she knew.
People in Charleston wanted to work with people they trusted.
Elena was most definitely not that, and it worked in Brittany’s favor time and time again. Even if Elena’s ideas were enticing or cutting-edge, more than ninety percent of the time, Brittany knew she could sway the client by tapping into that deeply ingrained need to support their roots. Their community.
And that tactic was exactly how she continued to one-up Elena. With a promotion opening up, she was doing everything she could to push Elena out. Nothing would make her happier to see the look on Elena’s face when Brittany proved she was better than her.
Little Elena Lucia. Always pretending to be something she’s not.
Brittany could usually see the resentment bubbling under the surface and took pleasure in pushing Elena’s buttons, but somehow the frustrating woman never snapped. She’d politely nod with a hollow smile—one that showed she was dying a little on the inside—but never said anything. Never pushed back. Elena was too afraid to rock the boat. Too scared to speak up and put a spotlight on the fact that she wasn’t one of them.
She was an idiot, though Brittany should be happy about that. A true Southern woman knew how to embrace tradition and still get what she wanted. Elena’s goal of fitting in always just missed the mark, working in Brittany’s favor. Made it easy to swoop in and steal clients. Winning this promotion would be a great reminder for Elena to stay in her own lane.
She was sick and tired of these outsiders coming into the South, taking all their jobs, raising all their housing costs, and forcing everyone to change their way of life. Some days, it felt like the Civil War all over again. Maybe not as bloody, but sometimes just as hostile.
Brittany looked off to the right and stilled. As if she’d conjured Elena from her mere thoughts, she swore the woman in the distance was her. That flawless tan skin and thick dark hair. But who was she with? She knew Elena had asked for time off from work this week, but assumed she had gone on a vacation, not stayed in town wrapped up with some hunk.
God, he was hot.
Brittany examined the man who was lifting the alleged Elena in the air. He was tall with an incredible physique. Muscular without being bulky, and some colorful ink filling his arm. His boardshorts hung low on his narrow hips as if he belonged in a surfing ad. Dirty blond hair shimmered under the sunlight, and his smile could make a woman weak in the knees.
Brittany craned her head when she heard a woman’s voice call out, breaking whatever trance was going on between Elena and her mystery man.
“Hey, what’s going on there?” she asked Martha as more people rolled up, now some carrying video equipment.
“I completely forgot they were filming today.”
Interest piqued. “Filming for what?”
“Oh, I can’t remember,” she waved off. “Something about a relationship writer. It’s a reality-based show to promote her new book. Something Ella.”
“Always, Ella?” Brittany choked out.
Martha snapped her fingers. “That’s the one!”
Brittany didn’t know much about this “Ella” person, just that she had a relationship blog that went viral. She never had the need to look too far into it since she’d been perfectly content and capable with her own love life. She wasn’t a sucker like all those pathetic people clamoring for someone to tell them they’d be okay and how to fix their poor existence.
“What are they doing filming here?”
“The marketing manager from the publisher called a couple weeks ago asking if they could film here since my section is technically private due to loggerheads. They offered a nice donation, too. She said something about the writer being from Charleston.”
Brittany’s wheels began to turn. “Is that so?”
“Of course, I jumped right on it. I’d do anything to support one of our own here. And the loggerheads.”
A Cheshire Cat smile spread across Brittany’s face as she looked out to the girl who she was now certain was Elena. It was almost too good to think of Elena—poised, trying-too-hard Elena—as the writer for this crap blog.
She couldn’t wait to get back to her computer and do some digging. It might be just the thing she needed to hang over Elena’s head and seal the deal on her promotion.
14
Jackson
He couldn’t stop thinking about that near kiss with Elena the whole time they’d been surfing with the rest of the gang. His lack of concentration definitely made him eat it a few times, but he hoped could convince the producer to cut that footage out for his company’s sake. It wouldn’t look great if the owner of a surfing brand looked like it was the first time on his board.
Those lips.
For first half of their time in the water, he had been attached at the h
ip with Elena as they went through the motions of surfing. However, as the day went on, he was often pulled away to give tips on the basics to help other couples.
Reluctantly pulled away.
He liked the feel of his hands on Elena way too much. How he was “forced” to help her onto the board and keep her steady. But it wasn’t just the physical part of it, it was the way her face lit up every time she caught a wave and rode it to shore. Maybe they hadn’t graduated to full-on standing—she managed to get up on her knees and ride though—but it didn’t matter to Elena. She looked so damn proud of herself, and he couldn’t help but feel proud for her.
That’s my girl, he would think. And each time the words popped into his head, he would pause. Not because he was slipping and forgetting his whole role in this charade, but because his heart would pound hard in his chest every time he thought it.
He wanted Elena to be his girl.
These last few days with her had opened his eyes. She was no longer his little sister’s cute best friend. She was a woman who sparked something in him and had him feeling things that he wasn’t used to.
She made him feel grounded. Accepted.
He craved her presence. The second he saw her face or heard her voice, all the tension in his body melted away.
Before the rest of the crew came, they had sat on their boards, the rolling waves rocking them and relaxing the pre-filming tension away. He had told her all about his business, what it meant to be the face of the company, and how important it was that his brand reflected the good he was trying to do in the world.
The way she had looked at him while he talked about the stress and fun that came with it was…addicting. She’d been engaged, asking endless questions. They’d compared his business meetings—usually on the beach, a couple on a surfboard, sometimes in a small local eatery—to her typical board room and business casual attire. It was like his stories had opened a whole new world for her, showing her that being successful and doing something you love doesn’t need to fit into some perfectly acceptable package that society dictated.