Like the Back of My Halo

by Hutchinson, Heidi

  “Are you happy?” she asked quietly.

  Brady pushed himself up higher on the couch and rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “In what context?”

  “With life? With this job?” She paused and shrugged one shoulder. “With me?”

  The lingering sleep cleared from his mind as his body went on alert. He tilted his head, not taking his eyes off her. In the same respect, she didn't look away.

  “Where's this coming from?” he asked, his voice just above a rumble from the tightness building in his chest.

  Her lips twitched and her gaze traveled over his face. “I've never spent this much concentrated time with anyone. I like my space. But being around you is so...” her green eyes rolled upwards as if searching for divine explanation. “Easy,” she finished, dropping her eyes back to his. “But not really,” she amended then licked her lips. “I can't stop thinking about the night we met. Do you ever think about it?” She didn't wait for his response, she dropped her head a little and muttered. “Probably not, you're much too sensible for things like that.”

  “I think about it.”

  Lo lifted her chin, a mixture of hope and fear swirling through the gorgeous green that stood out starkly in the dark of the apartment. Lightning flashed, increasing the intensity of the glow in her eyes. “What about our kiss,” she whispered. “Do you ever wonder, if maybe...?”

  Was she saying what it sounded like she was saying? Did their kiss mean something to her? Was on her mind every waking second and even some of the non-waking ones, like it was for Brady?

  Lo sighed and pressed her lips together. “I try to pretend like it didn't happen. As if we're just two people who work together...” She snorted. “I try to see you as a man, not a miracle.”

  His body hummed with the desire to take her into his arms and kiss her until her thoughts stopped and her mind was at rest again. He wasn't positive he could make it happen as easy as that, but he was more than willing to try.

  “I can promise you,” he said, forcing his voice out around the roughness it encountered. “I am just a man.”

  But what he wouldn't do to be more. For her. For them.

  “I find myself waiting for you to get angry, or frustrated, or distant—confirming all of my insecurities in one giant misunderstanding. But even when you're quiet, you don't scare me. And when you're upset, you're still reasonable. And it's making me nervous.”

  Brady's heart pounded so hard he knew it would be heard if not for the corresponding pound of the rain on the roof. He swallowed, the tightness in his chest making it difficult to breathe.

  “And I can't help but wonder if you're just happy. If that's what it is. Your base line is happiness, so even negative emotions are productive and non-injuring.”

  “Who injured you?” he asked, an unexpected darkness filling his thoughts.

  Lo's mouth dropped open slightly. “No one,” she whispered, then shook her head with a jerk as she backpedaled. “Not really. Me, I think.”

  Brady moved closer, suddenly needing to touch her. His fingers threaded into her hair as he cupped her face with both hands. Her eyes fluttered as she turned her cheek into one of his palms, needing the connection as badly as he did. It was her first real show of vulnerability and his protective instincts surged to life inside of him.

  “Why would you hurt yourself?” he asked, seeing the sincere concern in her eyes.

  “I guess I don't know any better.”

  His eyes dropped to her mouth, wondering if she really didn't get it. If she was really that locked up inside to think she was the problem.

  “Give me a chance,” he found himself pleading, his mouth getting dangerously close to hers. He was all in. In that moment, caught up in all that was Lo and all of her promise and the possibility of what they could be together.

  “A chance at what?”

  “At chance to love you.”

  He didn't wait for her reply, his mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss. It remembered her, had cataloged her lips and her mouth, had stored her sighs and softness in its memory. Kissing her was like coming home from a long, beleaguering journey through the desert on the verge of dehydration. He basked in her refreshing response, energized by the welcome of her mouth and her eager hands as they clung to him, explored him.

  Of all the things he wasted energy worrying about, this wasn't one of them. Her mouth under his was right.

  He trailed a path of kisses from her lips, across her jaw, to her ear where he whispered, “Please.” One of his hands tangled further into her hair while the other glided down her side and around her back, which arched beneath him as he easily maneuvered both of their bodies to be horizontal on the couch. The couch was entirely too small for the things Brady wanted to do. He would have to move her to a more ideal location in order to explore her the way she deserved and the way he wanted.

  “Wait,” she panted, not sounding like she wanted to wait at all.

  Brady's lips were on her neck, his tongue tasting her delicate skin—lime and saltwater. He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. And it excited him. Still, he lifted his head, finding her eyes in the dark.

  Her hands moved to curl around his neck, her thumbs running over his jaw. Wonder, desire, and concern looked back at him.

  “This is crazy,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  Her hands trembled where she touched him and Brady adjusted his long body, resting to the side of her instead of on top of her. He braced an elbow in the couch and his head in his hand, keeping his other hand on her side, holding her to him. “Is it?”

  “Yes,” she licked her lips and he watched her fight for control of her voice and her body. “You can't just kiss me like that.”

  Brady leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, keeping his eyes open so he could watch the pulse in her neck jump and her eyes flutter closed. “Why can't I?” he asked, hovering over her lips. Before she could answer, he closed his mouth around her bottom lip and then released it gently. The whimper that escaped her was involuntary and he grinned.

  Her hands flexed against his chest and she cleared her throat, trying to regain control again.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked, threading his fingers through her hair at her temple, distracted by her intense beauty. He hadn't been this close to her, this intimate. His thoughts clouded with his desire for her.

  “I'm not afraid of anything,” she repeated her ridiculous life motto. His eyes cut to hers, calling her on her bullshit without having to say the words.

  “I'm afraid of falling in love.”

  His heart twisted in his chest. “I would think that's the goal, beautiful.”

  Her thumb traced over his bottom lip and her eyes stayed locked there as she answered. “I don't know if I'm strong enough to lose you.”

  That was the danger, wasn't it? You could love someone and they could leave. Forever. Relationships didn't work out all the time. Knowing the little bit she had shared about herself, he could see it as a very real thing for her. Her parents, her home, her life, it was in constant motion. Like the waves she'd learned to ride. Never knowing if she would make it back to shore or if she'd get crushed by the wildness of loving.

  And yet she didn't give up. She always got back on the board.

  Could he promise her forever?

  No.

  And it would be asinine to try. Life sometimes took people in different directions. Sometimes people fell apart as easily as things. They were all temporary in their existence. The only infinity he had ever touched was when he was letting the sea make the choices for him and all he could do was keep his balance.

  But he wanted to. He wanted to lie and say forever.

  More than that, he didn't want it to be a lie.

  “Then we'll take it slow,” he murmured.

  The look she gave him turned wistful and almost sad. “So you can grow roots in my heart that run deep. Which means when it's over, I'll be forced to cut
them out to give them back to you.”

  “No,” he said. “You don't give back gifts, that's bad taste. Whatever I give to you, you keep.”

  “And will you keep what I give you?”

  “Fight to keep it, babe,” he said, lowering his head and taking the rest of her questions away from her.

  She didn't know it, and he wasn't sure he could ever convince her. But maybe he could show her. She was safe with him. In all the ways possible. He wasn't scared of her scars or her questions. He wasn't scared of the end. He wasn't scared.

  Not of her.

  Not of them.

  15

  Live, Love, Tacos

  The blog of Lo Fredericks

  Ireland

  Not a lot of people know this, but I was baptized in the cold waters of the North Atlantic. An icy cold baptism done in rough waters off the coast or Ireland. I was eight.

  I can't help but feel a connection to the cold and the tiny, bold country. I completely believe learning to surf in those waters made me the athlete I am today. There's an expectation from the sea, a history that comes before us all of the competitors and explorers who braved the water first.

  Not a lot of people (speaking for the non-surfer crowd here) realize the popularity of surfing in Ireland, or the history that accompanies it. When people think of Ireland, they think of cabbage, potatoes, sheep, and shamrocks. Those things are all important, too, don't get me wrong, but the surfing is divine.

  Soaring Bird provided us with a variety of wetsuits (no bikinis on this trip), and I have zero complaints. I loved all of them. The fit, the versatility, the warmth—it was all good.

  The board could have used some work. I'm not sure if it was the shape or the length, but something wasn't jiving until later in the week when the waters were particularly rough, then it was like riding melted butter on a roasted cabbage (that means it was delicious).

  If you're planning a surfing trip to the Emerald Isle, I would heartily recommend staying in the Surf Shack in Bundoran. It's clean, well kept, and the staff are friendly and knowledgeable. Don't be afraid to explore the surrounding areas, get to know the locals, and try all the food. But you know I make the majority of my decisions based on my stomach.

  As far as my partner goes...

  He's still gorgeous and gifted.

  I'm trying to remain unbiased in my opinion of his athleticism and it's proving difficult. I'm a little bit obsessed with his technique. How is it this guy is a hobby surfer? He should be competing in the best circuits in the world.

  I'm not gonna lie, he's better than I.

  In every way imaginable.

  ***

  Open Heart Surf

  The blog of Brady Samson

  Ireland

  Her name is Halo. She goes by Lo, which is cute and suits her. But Halo makes so much more sense. When you see her in person, you'll know what I mean.

  Our first day here, she dragged me out to the cold sea and showed me what it meant to love the life. No matter the size of the wave, or the water temperature, she accepts it. She challenges me to do better and I already thought I was pretty good.

  I'm humbled by her talent. I find myself craving her praise. Having someone like her, telling me I'm good at what I do... Find that. Find someone who teaches you to be a better version of yourself. Don't back away from the challenge they lay down.

  My only regret is not finding someone like her sooner.

  Visit Ireland, plunge into the cold waters and feel yourself changed by the history and rawness of the experience.

  I'm sad to be leaving so soon. I think a part of me will stay here forever.

  But I am looking forward to the next destination, wherever it is. Hopefully I will have more to share. Until then, enjoy these pictures and my current favorite song, “Miracle” by the Foo Fighters.

  ***

  Brady

  “So are you guys flirting this often in person, or is it some kind of strategy for the blog?”

  Brady frowned, tucking the phone between his shoulder and chin as he used both hands to zip up his suitcase.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I'm not complaining,” Shane said. “Don't get me wrong, I love it. The traffic to the website has jumped about 400% since this thing started, and grows every week. I'm trying to figure out if I'm just a genius for coming up with this idea in the first place, or if the credit is due to you two being marketing masterminds.”

  Brady chuckled. “You aren't making sense. Did you let Greta make your coffee today? You know she likes it more jacked than the rest of the world.”

  “Stop playing stupid,” Shane chastised. “You know what I'm talking about. People are salivating over you and Lo. Don't you read the comments on the blogs?”

  “Nope, can't say I do,” Brady replied honestly. “I'm a little busy with the last job you gave me.”

  And making out with the most beautiful girl in the world. But he didn't need to tell Shane that.

  “Well, whatever you're doing, keep doing it. I did not expect this huge of a response. I love the pictures you guys are posting. You're doing a great job, Brady.”

  Brady's eyes drifted up to find Lo leaning a shoulder against the open door. His smile was automatic. “Thanks, Shane, I'll pass it along,” he said, not taking his eyes off of her.

  Damn, she was gorgeous. Even more so now that he had permission to kiss her whenever he wanted. He was never going to get enough. He knew he would always want just one more day. At least one more of everything.

  “Oh, by the way, your next destination is Gold Coast, Australia.”

  16

  Lo

  Lo flexed her fingers and then tightened them again in Brady's strong hand. She turned their hands over, examining the differences in the skin and the size. His were so much larger, stronger. Hers were tiny by comparison, but strong in their own way. She had never really acknowledged her hands before. Not beyond the daily tasks they completed to assist her life.

  She was very aware of them now. The way they held things she wanted closer to her. The way they let things go.

  The expression of knowing something “like the back of your hand” always eluded her. She didn't know her hands, let alone the backs of them. If she had been shown a video of her hands doing something, she wasn't sure she'd be able to identify them. They had never been a huge point of focus for her.

  Not until Brady started holding them.

  They weren't perfect, marred by scars and use. Her forefinger on her left hand was perpetually swollen because she'd jammed it in a door when she was ten. The knuckles on her right hand were always healing a fresh scrape from using her fist to propel herself off the sea floor when the waves had pounded her down. But they were hers. And she decided she liked them. She especially liked the way they touched Brady without fear. The way they seemed to know he was safe and meant for exploring.

  She ran her free hand up his arm and under the hem of his t-shirt. Her fingertips traced the curves of the muscles there. Yes, she was much more appreciative of her hands than she had been before.

  “What are you doing?”

  Her eyes flicked up to see Brady watching her with amusement.

  “Touching you,” she replied in truth.

  His lips tugged up on one side and his hand tightened around hers. The elevator stopped moving and Lo stalled, enjoying the feel of his eyes on her.

  The doors opened up and Brady pulled her down the hall to their assigned apartment.

  Their residence for the next week was part of a floor of rooms in a hotel customarily rented out by surfers. The beautiful Gold Coast of Australia was frequented by amateur and professionals alike as a go-to destination for some of the world's most perfect waves. She was looking forward to the crash that came after their long flight. Hopefully there would be snuggling and touching and kissing. Jet lag wasn't so hard to suffer through with Brady.

  She went to the fridge immediately as Brady deposited their bags in the living
room.

  “Which bedroom do you want?” he asked as she twisted off the lid to a bottle of water.

  She shrugged, putting the bottle to her lips and taking a long swallow.

  He studied her, hands on his slim hips, lips pursed. Finally, “Okay.” Then he picked up both of their bags and tossed one in each room.

  She tried to ignore the discontent in her stomach at seeing their bags separated. But how insane would she have to be to think they'd be sharing a room? Not yet, not this soon. If he had assumed that, she'd have called it quits on them instantly.

  This thought struck her and she stared at the cheap but clean linoleum floor before her.

  Did she just test him?

  She shook her head, trying to rid it of Miller's accusing voice and the final arguments they'd had that effectively ended their relationship.

  No, she didn't play games. She wasn't one of those girls. She was down to earth and honest. Except Brady had asked her which room she wanted, had given her the chance to vocalize what she wanted, and she had shrugged.

  Warmth stole through her body as Brady slid his arms around her from behind. He found her neck by nuzzling her hair out of the way and pressed a kiss to her skin.

  “Nap or food first?” he asked, followed by another lingering kiss.

  Brady was unbelievably good with his mouth. He could make one kiss last several long minutes and still leave her wanting more.

  “I haven't eaten since London,” she said, relaxing backwards into his arms. “But a nap sounds lovely.”

  “Babe, that was yesterday,” he said, the concern evident in his tone.

  “I know.” She sighed.

  “Tell you what,” he said, taking her hand in one of her huge ones, grabbing the key off the table with the other. “Let me buy you dinner, get your belly super full.” He grinned, pulling her against his side and kissed her on her nose. “And then you can pass out like a chubby puppy. You'll be good as new by tomorrow.”