by Kat Bastion
“I had a good time today,” I whispered.
“The best time.” He rested his chin on my head.
“Yeah.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, then clung tightly to him. “It was.”
Mase didn’t mention our next date again. Not when I said good-bye minutes after our last heartfelt embrace. Not the next day when I’d spent time on the computer in his living-room-office researching rules for competitions and booking flights. Not as we continued fixing up his house during the daylight hours when he wasn’t surfing or windsurfing.
And not in our phone call each night when we talked about every little thing—work related and not—but nothing big was said.
I felt it, though—all the questions he wanted to ask but didn’t when his intent gaze lingered on my face a few seconds too long as he tried to figure me out. And with every passing hour spent with him—learning and trusting that he’d do me no harm, that he’d actually protect me—the pressure to share my secrets began to outweigh the reasons to keep them.
And we hadn’t kissed again. We’d gotten close: inadvertently stepping into each other’s space in the hallway while trying to avoid contact; him hovering just behind me while I booked the tickets, his body so close I could feel the heat of his skin, his breath rustling my hair tucked behind my ear.
In some powerful unspoken agreement, we’d both decided to give us some time. Whether or not it was because I couldn’t open up, I didn’t know. I sensed it had something to do with it.
But I thought about our kissing.
And the way his chest expanded sharply whenever we touched, I knew he thought about it too.
At the moment, not one thing about him gave any hint that he was thinking about us. Seconds ago, he’d opened up another one of those big architectural schematics, smoothed out the curling ends, then stuck polished lava rock paperweights on the corners. His hands were firmly planted on each side of the paper. His head hung over the center as he scanned the page, brows furrowed in concentration.
I tore my gaze back toward my laptop screen, back to searching potential competitions while comparing their dates to his schedule. Attuned to every little thing about him, however, I sensed when he shifted. Each breath. Every sigh.
He tapped a thumb onto the paper twice. “Got any time this week to work on the roof?”
“Thursday.” Three days away.
Cocking his head while he slid a ruler up the page then made a mark with a pencil, he hummed low. “What’s on for Wednesday?”
“We are.”
His breath caught, but he didn’t move. Stayed hunched over his drawing. After a beat more, he glanced up. “We are?”
“Yep. Second date.”
“I was wondering when you’d get to that.”
“Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.”
He stood to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. “Same goes.”
Blessedly, he wore a black T-shirt. A really thin black tee that molded to every groove and ridge, that hugged his biceps right at their widest point. Not that I’d noticed.
I gave a half-shrug, then glanced back at my laptop. “Didn’t want you to think you were all that.”
Didn’t want to risk my heart. Not when too many wanted to lock it up.
“Hmmm,” he hummed again louder. “But it must’ve gone well.”
“Maybe…” So totally.
A low grunt came in reply. He didn’t move. Stood the same five-foot distance away. On the other side of the worktable.
Without looking up, I sensed him staring at me. The heavy tension between us prickled heat over my skin, began to warm lower, more private places.
On a hard swallow, I clenched my knees together trying to get a grip on my rioting body. Concentrating on the same sentence about wildcard rules that I’d read four times without comprehending a word of it, I drew in a slow, deep breath. “You cool with testing out new boards?”
“When?”
“Wednesday.”
“So, it’s not a date.”
“Oh, it’s a date.”
Silence followed. He stilled to the point I had to look up.
His intent gaze pegged me. Hot. Molten hot. Then it transformed into a smug look.
I pressed my palms onto the table, trying to remain calm. “Boards. Testing. Yes or no?”
“Yeah. That’s cool.”
“Good.” I stood, tumbling the metal stool underneath me onto the ground with a clatter. I didn’t care. Didn’t bother to pick it up. I grabbed my phone instead, suddenly needing to get out of the room, needing to breathe. “I’ll call Makani. Let him know.”
In three quick steps, I almost made it out the door. Fresh air breezed across my face seconds before he stood in front of me.
He stared down into my eyes. “Don’t be afraid of this…of us. Just handle it like I am.”
“Oh?” Does that mean you’re afraid too? “How is that?”
He lowered his head and brushed his lips over mine, sending a shudder through my body and my pulse soaring. I gasped when he slid his hand over my lower back and pulled me close.
“One moment at a time,” he murmured. Then his lips covered mine in a teasing, sensual kiss—better than any I’d fantasized about.
Mase…
“Whoa.” I got out of my truck and blinked. “No way.”
Coolest shit ever.
“Way.” She crossed her arms, smug smile dimpling her cheeks.
A sleek black helicopter sat on the tarmac, rotors spinning. Attached to the skids? Two longboards.
“Sure that’ll fly?”
Unconcerned expression on her face, she gave a half-shrug. “Dave said a setup like this flew in a commercial for Pepsi years ago. He grew obsessed about it and built one of his own.”
“Untried?” I cocked my head and stepped closer. The boards were strapped to specially made racks.
“Chicken?”
“No.” If the pilot felt good about it, I did. And if Leilani had planned the day out with that kind of adventure? “I’m game.”
“Good.” She grabbed the front of my rash guard, fisted her hands, then pulled me forward. My lips collided with hers into a fierce kiss.
When we came up for air, my pulse humming, I let out a hard breath. My thoughts scattered as blood drained from my brain. “Yeah, beyond good.”
On the craft, the cockpit door opened, then a red-headed stocky pilot stepped out and waved us over. We grabbed our two gear bags from my truck before leaving it parked in front of the hangar as the pilot had directed us when Leilani had called earlier.
He held a hand out for brief introductions, then gestured us inside. After Leilani took the third leather seat of four, I tossed our bags onto the floor between our feet and climbed in beside her. The pilot closed our door, took his seat and closed his door, then flipped several switches. The engine revved higher with a vibration we felt through the seats while we fastened our belts and put on our headsets.
The stale air inside had faint traces of metal and jet fuel. Before long, cold air conditioning began to flow over our faces. In the headsets, Dave’s voice echoed in a tinny tone as he glanced over his shoulder. “Ready?”
Arching my brows, I glanced at Leilani. She wore a wide grin, then gave a solid nod. “Ready.”
I nudged my knee into hers. “Ever flown in a helicopter before?”
“Yeah. Not often.”
“Where have you flown to?”
“The place we’re headed.”
A knife of disappointment stabbed through my gut. I wanted to be the first she experienced things with. But I shook off the childish feeling on a slow exhale. The islands were her backyard. And like the date I’d planned for her only days ago, she would’ve been most everywhere in it.
I slid my hand in hers.
She glanced up at me and smiled.
Ahhh…but she’s never experienced any of it with me.
And I intended to have that make all the difference.
The nose of the chopper pointed east, but when we reached the northeastern section of the island, Dave didn’t turn us south.
“Seriously.” I glanced at her. “Where are you taking us?”
“Somewhere private.” Her voice lowered, and I swear I heard her murmur, “A special place.”
The high cliffs of the Big Island came into view. Towering monoliths covered in emerald green stretched toward a crystal blue sky. Sparkling waterfalls ribboned down several crags. A rush of white egrets took flight, then calmed, spiraling upward on invisible wind currents.
“Wow. Breathtaking.” All I could manage to say. Not that the meager words did the experience any justice. I’d traveled to many places in my life. None matched the naked majesty before me. Pristine. Untouched.
When we cleared the far northern tip of the island then angled southeast, excitement began to thrum in my veins. Whitecaps were visible on glorious waves, shimmering under the sun. The wind soared toward shore at the perfect pitch, but although small clouds dotted the sky here and there, the sunny day held promise.
Line after line angled toward untouched shoreline: a surfer’s call.
I glanced toward the vastness of the open ocean to the northeast, where the currents of the trade winds journeyed from before they coaxed the cobalt sea toward shore.
Turning back toward the island, I pressed closer to Lani, felt her warmth against my side as I watched the rugged landscape of Hawai‘i reveal herself.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Her lips curved into a warm smile.
“Yes.” I stared at her, getting lost in dark-chocolate eyes filled with emotion.
Her breath caught and a blush pinked her cheeks. “I meant the island, surfer boy.”
I shrugged, then glanced at the landmass. “Eh, it’s okay. I’ve seen better.”
A shocked gasp accompanied her outraged expression. She elbowed me hard in the ribs. “Take it back.”
“Yeah, it’s incredible.” Jagged lava cliffs covered in thick green jungle met charcoal sand beaches. Deep blue waters brightened to stunning turquoise where sea met shore.
On a slow, wide arc, Dave angled us into a massive gulch. “Gonna take you back to my favorite waterfall.”
Lush green cliffs towered on either side of us. We followed a stream of blue water that occasionally appeared through the foliage below. He pulled back on the cyclic stick and we began to ascend. As we flew mauka, he began to s-curve in our flight path, meandering back and forth with a slight adjustments. It enabled us to take in both sides of the wide impressive gulch carved by hundreds of thousands of years of water erosion.
“Up ahead,” alerted the disembodied voice in our headsets.
A foamy white ribbon rippled down from the apex of the gulch, splashing over treetops as it plunged several hundred feet down through the jungle. “Niiice.” Then I wondered if she’d been back here. “Have you flown back here too?” I nodded out the window.
“No.” She shook her head. “Other parts, not this.”
My stomach dropped when he rotated around, then I began to feel a little queasy. “Ugh.”
When I glanced at her, suspecting my skin had turned a shade of green, she gripped my hand. “Me too. Look out at the horizon; it helps.”
As I stared at the thin hazy edge of what I could see, an unusual sense of rightness flowed through my veins—at once buzzing with excitement and settling heavy with a peaceful calm. That she wanted to share an adventure with me, take me where she’d been—and where she hadn’t.
After flying back out, then skimming over open water, Dave rotated right. I stared at the edge of the ocean as we headed south along the coastline. Within a few minutes, steam rose up out of the water.
“Kamukona,” Dave said. “It’s where the lava meets the ocean. Dangerous down there. Tourists shouldn’t get too close; the super-heated plumes rising up are noxious, filled with hydrochloric gas and microscopic particles of volcanic glass.”
Lifting the bird higher, he brought us mauka and flew us over black flattened flows of lava. A few gaping holes had reddish-orange magma rushing through them. “Wow.”
“This is Pu‘u ‘Ō‘ō, flowing from Kīlauea’s south flank. Its path changes daily.”
After doing a figure eight above the amazing otherworldly landscape, he brought us back toward the ocean the way we’d come. He gave us a couple of minutes to view new land being formed, forged from the center of the earth then cooled and hardened by her surface waters. Then he turned us back north. Minutes later, he slowed and descended, then hovered about thirty feet above the water.
“This the spot?” he asked.
I looked down. A gorgeous wave arced with a nice crest below us.
Leilani glanced over my shoulder. “That’s the one, Dave. We all set?”
“Roger. Bomb’s away.” An unnerving scraping clunk sounded.
“What was that?”
“Boards launching.”
Leilani grabbed our bags one at a time, tossing them into the front seat beside Dave. “Can you drop these straight out onto the beach?”
“Yep. You got it.”
I frowned. “And how are we getting down?” Dangling rope? Ladder?
“Jumping.” She took her headset off, held her hand out awaiting mine with a nod at my head. Then she secured both into a Velcro loop behind the far seat.
“Jumping.” I repeated her word, letting it sink in, but it did nothing to take the shock out of my brain.
She gripped the door handle, then shot me a taunting smirk. “Just don’t slip.”
With a hard yank, she jerked the handle. As the door slid open, she carefully lowered and took a seat on the edge of the floor. Then she gripped a handle fastened to the metal framework where the boards had been. A narrow step jutted out from the framework, above the skid.
After planting the ball of her foot on the step, she glanced back at me with a wide smile. Raw happiness glittered in her eyes. And it hit me at that instant as I stared into the soul of a girl who set herself free once in a while—what life was about for her, what she needed. Even if she’d bound her true nature by rules for some unknown reason.
What stoked her the most?
Being wild.
Unlike our last date, she’d dressed sportier: boy-short bottoms, rash guard top. Her thick black hair had been pulled back and wound into a tight bun, but the rotor wash caught tiny wisps and danced them over her face. The sun gleamed a healthy shine on her skin. Her smile? Infectious.
I grinned back at her. “You’re fucking nuts,” I shouted.
“You love it.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Her smile softened. Then she took a deep breath, turned toward the ocean, tightened into a crouch, and sprang outward.
My breath froze as she sailed out and down through the air, one second tops, before plunging down under.
She broke the surface seconds later, waving with a big smile.
I glanced at the pilot. He stared straight ahead—probably focused on keeping us steady.
When I paused another moment, I heard a shout. I gripped the handhold, leaned forward, then stared down.
Hands cupped around her mouth, she yelled some unintelligible word again.
Not rocket science to fill in the blank: chicken. Like hell.
I planted my foot, leaned forward, then took the leap, aiming toward the wild girl who turned a second date into a crazy adventure—one I wanted to live full-throttle.
After I plunged into the cool clear water, I swam toward Leilani.
The graceful lines of our longboards bobbed on the surface a dozen yards toward shore. With quick strokes, we reached them. She wasted no time, hoisting up onto her belly in fluid motion. I rolled onto mine, then turned my board. On a single-minded mission, she pulled ahead, paddling swiftly toward the sweet reef break we spotted from above.
I briefly wondered what ingredients had created the gift from the sea ahead of us. The perfect rise of a coral formation down below? A str
ong storm in an ideal location to send percussive winds our way? Maybe the reason leaned toward magic…because we were here to surf it.
When we reached the break, hanging back from where each wave rose to shoulder height, she paused.
“Well?”
“Sick.” Impressive. All of it: the insane jump, the incredible day, the thrilling buzz—her.
She stared longingly at the wave. “It is. Doesn’t happen often. Was hoping it’d be here.”
“What made you think it might be?”
“Time of year. Plus, another tropical storm is churning out there in the same position.” She nodded toward the southeast.
I stared at her. Couldn’t help it. Dark blue fabric molded to her sinful curves.
She tilted her head as mischief sparked in her chocolate-brown eyes. “We talkin’ or ridin’?”
Before I had a chance to give the obvious reply, she gave a sharp angled slap to the water, splashing me. Then she tore off, paddling toward the center of the wave.
I immediately followed, watching what direction she turned. The wave drew up into a beautiful peak, offering up both a left and right break. When she popped up, she angled left. I dropped in, then swung right.
Not the biggest wave, nor the widest barrel, but it had a narrow cleft and smooth glassy wall. The water swept us along, powering mellow rides with our longboards.
No cutbacks or tight tricks. No air. But then, we’d caught plenty on the jump down. And the day wasn’t about what I could do. It had become about the we.
Plus the steady glide gave me a greater gift than an adrenaline boost; it gave me a chance to absorb my surroundings. Sparkling blue flowed onto glittering black sand. Rich green stretched up to a cloudless sky.
Better than all of that, over my shoulder, a girl surfed the same wave, soaked in the same scenery. I pulled out before the wave collapsed completely. It had been an amazing ten-second ride.
And as I paddled through the clear water, circling around to meet back up with her, I couldn’t wait to do it all again. Because she’d let herself go in broad daylight once more. No tequila to get drunk on. No endless stars to wonder underneath, feeling limitless and safe.
When she began to head my way, she wore a look of fierce determination and pride.