by Lauren Helms
“You know it.” I shoot him a smile and turn to get into my car.
“You know you’ll never leave Hermosa now, right? You’ve fallen under its spell.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat. “Oh yeah? How so?” I open my door and look at him over my car.
“Besides living on the best beach in the state, you’ll be able to get up early and hit the waves every morning. What more could a surfer want from life?” His words ring true. “You’ll never want to leave.”
I snicker. “I think you’re probably right, Chance. I’ll see you later.” I wave goodbye and head to the beach.
After a couple of hours in the ocean, I head home and do some unpacking before heading over to Aubrey’s for dinner. I’ve made it clear to her that, while I’m living over their garage, I’m not living with them. It’s not Aubrey’s responsibility to take care of me. I pay rent and I have a tiny kitchen in my apartment, so it’s not on her to feed me. Really, the apartment is perfect. It’s small, but it features a bedroom, open concept living area, eat-in kitchen, and bathroom. There is even a tiny closet with a washer and dryer hooked up. But I did promise I’d come over for dinner at least once a week.
“So, how were the waves this morning?” Aubrey asks as she flits around her spacious kitchen.
“A little choppy but manageable.” I slide into one of the stools at the island bar.
“You want a glass of wine?” she asks, pulling a glass out of the cabinet.
“Do you have any of that blueberry wine?” I ask. I’m not a huge wine drinker, but I love me some fruity stuff.
“Of course I do. Do you think I wouldn’t stock up on that stuff with you moving in?” Her grin is huge as she pours me a massive glass.
“Whoa, I’ll be nursing that all night.” I reach out, covering the top of the glass with my hand.
“You don’t have to drive, so enjoy it.” She cackles.
I shake my head at her antics and take a sip. Crisp, cold sweetness hits my tongue, and my eyes flutter shut. Okay, maybe I’ll drink this up sooner than expected. It’s so damn good.
“I’m excited to show you the ropes tomorrow. Liz still has a week before she’s out on maternity leave, so you’ll work with her closely this week. Take in whatever you can. Anything that comes up after she leaves, I can help with,” she says, setting the timer on the oven after shoving in a pan of lasagna.
“Good. I’m excited, too. Kind of nervous, but overall, excited,” I tell her while I watch her slather butter over big, thickly cut slices of Texas toast.
“You’re going to love it. Unlike your co-workers at Hill House, you’ll enjoy the people you’re working with. Plus, your boss is amazing.” She bobbles her head and giggles.
I join her. “Yeah, but I heard she’s a little cray-cray.”
“You heard right,” Chance says as he walks into the kitchen. Walking right over to Aubrey, he lays a tender kiss to her temple. “But, we still love her,” he adds as he pulls away.
She rolls her eyes playfully as Chance heads to the fridge and pulls out a beer.
“I can handle a little crazy.” I laugh at the two of them.
“Really, though,” he says as he walks back the way he came. “Aubrey has done something great with that shelter. You’re going to love working there.” He winks at her, shoots me a smile, and saunters back into the living room where there are cheers in response to a game of some kind. I’m going to guess soccer.
“All right, so you’ve got the apartment, you’ve got the waves, and you’ve got the job. The next up on my Kelly’s New Chapter checklist is to find a man. What’s your plan with that one?” Aubrey sings sweetly.
I sputter and cover my mouth so the wine I just drank doesn’t come spitting out all over the delicious-looking garlic bread. “I’m sorry what?”
“You need a man. How do you plan to find one?” she repeats.
“First of all, I don’t need a man,” I grouch.
“Okay, bad wording. You need sex, yeah? And you wouldn’t mind some loving and romantic dates, right?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Remind me why I tell you anything about my dating life,” I mumble around another drink.
“What dating life do you speak of? The date you went on with the guy who still had the hots for his ex? Or the mystery dude you’ve met twice but is too much of a coward to call you?” She levels me with a you know I’m right stare.
I glare at her and sigh. “Fine. You’re right. I have no dating life.”
“So, when you’re ready, I’ll help you.” She shrugs, turning to put the tray of garlic toast on the stovetop of the heated oven.
I snort. “I think I’m gonna chill for a bit. The last one really messed with my head.”
She cocks her head. “Kelly, you don’t even know him. And is one semi-breakfast date enough to mess with your head?” Her eyes soften. “Was it really enough?”
Sighing, I tell her the truth. “I feel stupid for saying yes to that question, but it’s the truth. There was so much chemistry between us at the bar, and missing out on seeing how hot that chemistry could have been was a bummer. But I didn’t even know his name at the time, so I moved on. But then, I kept seeing him—or thinking I saw him—like the universe was dangling our missed connection right in front of me. But meeting up with him on the beach was an eerily fated random chance, you know? The chemistry was still there. He got grouchy when he thought I had a boyfriend, and honestly, I really don’t think I misinterpreted what was brewing between us. I gave him my number, but he didn’t call. It stings. It feels like he was the one that got away.”
Aubrey’s eyes are full of pity, and I fight back the urge to roll my eyes at her.
“Don’t pity me. I’ll get over it—him. Because you’re right, I don’t even know him. I know where he’s from, what he does, his name, and where he works in Culver City. I don’t actually know the guy.”
Her eyes flash with excitement, and I narrow my own at her change of tone. “If you know all that basic, but specific, stuff about him, why don’t you do some digging and find him?”
I shake my head and sputter, “Because I gave him my number.”
“A woman is perfectly capable of making the first move, girlfriend.” She tsks, wagging a finger at me. “Admit it, you’re too scared to make the first move.”
Licking my lips, I fire back, “Isn’t the fact that I gave him my number indeed the first move?”
“Nope. Making the next connection is.” She crosses her arms over her chest, staring me down.
I don’t break eye contact with the slightly overbearing woman I call a best friend. She doesn’t back down from our stare-off. Her deliberately raised eyebrows and the titling of her head finally cause me to sigh.
“Fine. You win. Maybe, just maybe, I was hoping the universe would make this thing,” I twirl my finger in the air, “work on its own. Plus, he’s not even local. That’s a pretty big issue to overcome.”
“So, what you’re saying is you just wanted to put all the hard work on the universe, and if it was meant to happen, it just… would?” Her nose wrinkles.
I shift in my seat. “Yeah,” I squeak. At her words, my face and neck grow hot, and I have an overwhelming need to hide my face.
She nods slowly. “Right, but you know, nothing worth having in life just lands in your lap, yeah? And if it does, it’s not going to stay there without you putting some effort and work into it. Especially relationships. Those things are harder than anything else, but they also offer the most reward. If you’re so caught up in this guy that the universe,” she air quotes the word, “dangled in front of you, then put in the time and figure out if it can be something real.”
Biting my lip, I mull over her words. “I know you’re right, but have you thought about the fact that it’s been two weeks and he hasn’t called? Will I look like a fool if I track him down and reach out and he’s not interested?” My words are tense, my adrenaline picking up with the thought of the unnecessary embarrass
ment that situation could cause.
“Okay, I hear you. And I understand what you’re saying.” Her words are kind, soothing. “What if you just track him down? Find out more about this guy and then you can decide if it’s worth the risk. Maybe he’s not what he seems? Maybe you find his Instagram and it’s full of shady, creepy shit. Like he posts pictures of plastic bags in the street, or maybe he’s a player and posts pictures of different chicks every day.”
I snort out a giggle. “Is the only possible outcome that he’s a creep?”
Her smile widens. “No, the other outcome is that he’s exactly what he’s presented himself as, and you decide to risk it and call him.”
Pressing my lips together, I weigh my options. If I find him, I don’t necessarily have to contact him. But at least I’ll have found him, right? I’ll have done my due diligence.
“Fine. I’ll find him.” I say in a whisper.
“Correction—we will find him.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You drink, I’ll get my laptop.” She hurries out of the room, and I do what she demanded and gulp down my wine.
She’s back in a blink of an eye, and she shimmies onto the plush stool next to me. Opening up her laptop, she asks, “Okay, let’s do this. Do you know his full name?”
“Yeah, it’s Ben Ford, I think,” I tell her, and her eyebrow raises. “No, I’m positive. His friend said his full name but called him by a nickname, too.” I close my eyes and try to think back. “Ben ‘Fortify’ Ford is what he said.” My eyes snap open.
“Hmm. Okay. And you said he’s in Chicago?” She types his name into Goggle.
“Yes, he’s a professional gamer.”
“Ah, yes. Strange profession but interesting, for sure.” She hits enter, and within a nanosecond, the page produces results.
“Bingo. Looky here! The first result is about Team NoMad and there’s his name.” Her mouse hovers over the link, then she clicks. The page that populates is some kind of official gaming league with stats and schedules. We quickly find his team’s name at the top of the list. After a few more clicks, we end up on Team NoMad’s homepage.
Aubrey clicks on the members’ page, and as the page loads, my belly fills with butterflies. There’s a professional group photo on the screen, and I zero in on the handsome man I’m looking for.
“Shit, those are some attractive people,” Aubrey hums. I scan the picture and agree, but my eyes are drawn back to Ben. His messy black hair and dark eyes and cocky grin capture my attention. He stands at the end, his arms crossed and the sleeves of his shirt pushed up on his forearms. All those mesmerizing tattoos cover his arms, and my mouth starts to salivate.
“Which one is Ben?” Aubrey startles me with her question.
“The one on the end.” I point.
“Damn, girl, you into bad boys now?” Her tone is mixed with shock and awe.
“I don’t think his looks match his personality. Does he have a profile or something?” I ask, the urge to find out more about this man growing by the second.
She scrolls and clicks and the page loads. A larger picture, clearly from the same shoot, fills the screen, and a bio populates on one side.
I scan the details my mind is hungry for as Aubrey lets out a sigh. “I’m not gonna lie, I’d be hung up on him, too. He’s fucking hot.”
“I heard that,” yells Chance from the other room.
“Babe, you’re the only man for me, and I’ll never be more attracted to anyone else than I am to you,” she reassures her husband.
She lowers her voice this time. “I get it now, girl. I absolutely do.”
I lean into her and nudge her shoulder with my own and grin. “Do you see any kind of contact info?”
“Oh, yeah, looks like this links to a Twitter account. But it says if you want to contact him, you should email their manager.”
I bite my lip. Of course, I wasn’t expecting a personal email or phone number plastered on the Internet for the world to access, but I don’t want to reach out via a middleman or on social media.
“Let’s have a look-see at what Benny Boy tweets about,” Aubrey mummers conspiratorially. I chuckle, remembering his response to that nickname at Club Punch.
We scroll through his Twitter feed and find that it’s all just game related. So basically, it’s a foreign language to me. Aubrey must agree because she sighs.
“I don’t know what a lot of this means, but he doesn’t seem like a creeper. He’s got nearly two million followers. His interactions with others aren’t douchey. Cocky sometimes, yes, but he doesn’t come across as a tool.” She scrolls through more tweets.
“I’m so relieved,” I snarl, not even bothering to hide my sarcasm.
“You should be.” She chuckles. She clicks back to his profile, leans over the island, and grabs the notepad and pen tucked under the lip of the bar. She scribbles something on the note and hands it to me. “Here’s his Twitter handle and his manager’s email. Do what you want with it; contact him or don’t. I won’t push you, but at least you have this info.”
I take the small sheet of paper and stare at it before nodding. I fold it in half and shove it in my pocket.
A mix of emotions battles it out in my mind. Seeing him again, even just a picture, has ignited all kinds of feelings within me. But the hesitancy I still have about reaching out at this point clouds my mind. I honestly don’t know what I’ll do. If only I could get another sign from the universe.
7
Ben
At the sound of a ding, a flight attendant announces we can remove our seat belts. I do just that, then lean forward and dig out my headphones and phone from my backpack. I push back into my seat, trying to get comfortable for the nearly four-hour trip to Cali.
It’s been a month since my last visit, and I’m itching to head back. I’d be amiss if I didn’t admit to myself that part of the reason for wanting to be back in Cali was Kelly. I think it’s too much to ask the universe to give me one last chance to meet up with her and get things right, but damn if I’m not hoping it happens. I rest my elbow on the armrest while I swipe through my Spotify playlists when I bump into the arm already resting there.
“Sorry, Bern,” I mumble and move my arm, looking over to my teammate, Bernie.
“No worries.” She smiles as she turns on her Kindle. The image of a naked man, with a shirt hanging around his chest fills the screen. What the hell is she reading?
Normally, I travel to Cali on my own, but she’s heading to some kind of fandom con for her favorite show. She doesn’t love traveling alone, so we decided to head out at the same time. She’ll come home before me, but I’m happy to fly with her when I can.
Bernie is a pretty close friend, she’s on my team, and she’s a fucking kick-ass gamer. She’s also funny and chill, and if she wasn’t my teammate, I probably would have tried to hook up with her at some point.
Years ago—when we all formed Team NoMad—Dex, Simon, Link, and I all agreed Bernie was off limits. When Link left the team and Chuck filled his spot, we communicated the same to him. Though, I’m pretty sure that to this day, he’s still scared of her. She would probably blow a gasket if she found out about our rule. But it was necessary and one of the reasons our team has flourished is because we don’t have drama.
I find the playlist I’m looking for and settle in for the flight.
Several songs in, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. Arching a brow, I look at Bernie. She nods to my phone and I pause my music.
“At the risk of sounding all romantic, you should find her while you’re in the city this week,” Bernie says before popping some mini pretzels into her mouth.
I grunt and pull an earbud out of my ear. “That’s random.”
“I’ve been thinking about your surfer girl. I think you need to find her.”
I shift toward her. “Why are you thinking about her? And how do you purpose I find her? Culver City isn’t small.”
Bernie smiles sweetly, and I can tell I’m in for one
heck of an explanation.
“I’ve been thinking about her because I know you really like her.” I open my mouth to ask her how she would know that, but she waves me off and continues. “All the times we’ve talked about her, I could tell you’re bummed things didn’t work out.”
“Yeah, I’m still not one hundred percent sure how you found out about Kelly,” I mutter. For real, though, about a week after I got home from my last trip to Lasso, she cornered me after an hours-long practice session and told me how sorry she was I lost “surfer girl’s” number. My eyes nearly budged out of my head.
She tried to get me to talk about the whole ordeal. Because I guess meeting a girl at random multiple times over several months and not getting her number is considered an ordeal.
Needless to say, while back in Chicago over the past month, I’ve gotten the heavy reminder from both Garland and Bernie that I indeed fucked up with Kelly. Truth be told, I don’t need their pesky reminders. I’ve got Kelly on my mind a lot and it’s becoming an issue.
“Well, you know I’m friends with Garland, right?” She looks slightly annoyed.
“Garland has a big mouth,” I rant, remembering that he and Bernie are friends. However, I didn’t know they were good enough friends to gossip about me and my surfer girl.
“That he does. But I’m glad he told me about surfer girl. And, actually, to answer your other question, I have an idea on how to find her.”
“Surfer girl has a name.” I glare and her smile grows.
“See, you’re into her. You want me to call her Kelly, which I will since you asked so politely.”
I shake my head. What the fuck?
“Okay, Bern, let’s get this over with. How do you suppose I find Kelly?”
“You need to return to the scene of the crime.” Her eyes wide and shoulders puffed, she seems to truly feel like she has the best idea. But I’m not sure I follow.
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Crime?”
“Go back to the places you saw her and try to find her again.”