by Monroe, Max
“Surfing and, well, something else I’ll keep to myself…for now.”
It didn’t take a genius to pick up what he was putting down.
My mind wanted to go there, but I had to keep myself from taking a bite out of the fantasy bait he’d just tossed out with that line.
Don’t do it, Lucky, I coached myself silently. Do not go there. Do not think about Ollie and sex and just how good he probably looks bare.
Once I got a handle on my pervy thoughts, I looked down at the shiny, black metal of the bike and forced myself to veer the conversation toward less dirty territory. “Is that thing even safe?” I asked and narrowed my eyes.
“With me in control? Yes.”
I snorted. “Confident, much?”
“When it comes to what I’m good at? I’m always confident, little fire.”
I sighed. “That nickname needs to be buried twenty feet in the ground.”
“Never.” He winked. “I’m far too attached to it.”
“You know, the only reason I missed the bus is because you seem to have a knack for making me feel insane.”
He eyed me closely, and I watched as his tongue snuck out past his teeth and wet his lips. It was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen in my life, and I immediately wanted to smack myself for even thinking it.
But seriously, guys. It was h-o-t. Hot.
“Well, in the name of being honest, little fire,” he said, and a tiny smirk kissed his mouth when that stupid nickname left his lips. “I can assure you the feeling is mutual.”
The feeling is mutual? I had no idea what he meant by that.
Or, maybe, I just refused to let myself understand what he meant by that.
Honestly, he was a conundrum.
Essentially calling me a shitty journalist and then waiting in the parking lot for me to make sure I got back to the hotel okay?
Yeah, it was confusing.
“Sometimes, you make no sense, you know that?” I questioned, and he ignored me completely.
“You have two options, Lucky,” he said and straddled his bike. “Either you get on the bike willingly, or I put you on it myself.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact,” he responded without hesitation and clicked the engine to life. It roared as he gently revved it a few times with his free hand. “I’m not going to leave you stranded in a foreign country. And no matter how damn stubborn you want to be, I’m making sure you get back to the hotel safely.” He held the helmet out for me again, and I couldn’t find a single reason why I shouldn’t take it.
Yes, he was a total jerk.
Yes, he made me feel crazy.
And considering the circumstances, yes, I was far too attracted to him.
I mean, what woman gets all hot and bothered by the simple movement of a man’s tongue between his teeth?
Obviously, the kind of woman who can’t seem to shake her attraction to the jerk fish in the sea. Otherwise known as me.
[sighs]
But let’s be real here for a minute.
He had a valid point about the whole safety thing. And, personally, I didn’t much like the idea of walking back to the hotel if the whole Uber thing fell through.
So, I took the helmet from his hands and slipped it over my head.
“I’m only doing this because I want to get back to the hotel without ending up on Dateline, not because you went all Aussie caveman on me.”
He just chuckled and held out his hand to help me onto the back of his bike. “Sounds like we’re both on the same page.”
“It’s probably the first and last time that will ever happen.”
He laughed again and reached behind him to wrap my arms around his waist. “Hold on tight, little fire.”
I dug my fingertips into the leather of his jacket, and before I knew it, we were off, out of the parking lot and onto the open road.
And for the first ten minutes or so, the only sounds that filled my ears were the whip of the wind and the soft purr of the engine.
I’d never been on a motorcycle before, had never really understood the appeal of catapulting yourself down the road without any doors or seat belts, but I couldn’t deny it felt good.
It was freeing, even. Like anything was possible.
I silently wondered if this was what birds felt when they soared through the sky.
When we stopped at a light, Ollie put his foot down and glanced over his shoulder to look at me. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he questioned, and a little smirk kissed his lips.
I shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“Just okay?” he asked. “Do you let out little squeals of delight when it’s just okay?”
“I do not squeal.”
“You definitely squeal,” he said. “And it’s damn adorable.”
I rolled my eyes, but at the same time, my cheeks heated at his words.
Mentally, I tried to blame it on the hot Indonesian sun, but I knew better.
Apparently, old habits died hard, and I hadn’t quite learned how to stop myself from being drawn to the wrong men.
But at least by that point, I felt confident in the fact that I knew better than to give in to any of my ridiculous cocky, bad-boy cravings.
[sighs and laughs softly]
This is one of those times where the saying famous last words probably holds true.
I told myself I knew better. Yet while I was on the back of his bike, with my arms wrapped around him like he was my human version of a life preserver, I wasn’t annoyed.
And I wasn’t disgusted.
And I certainly wasn’t mad about it.
No, I was thrilled.
And, Good Lord, he felt good beneath my fingertips.
So damn good, I had to mentally remind myself that enjoying that ride was the exact opposite of what I should’ve been feeling.
Eventually, I eased up my grip on his jacket and tried to focus my energy on something a little less intimate.
Such as, taking in the passing city sights of Bali.
I counted the tropical trees and the buildings and even started counting streetlights.
But still, by the time Ollie pulled into the hotel, my traitorous body was doing the complete opposite of what it should’ve been.
My heart raced. A million tiny butterflies floated inside my belly. And my nose wouldn’t stop savoring the smell of him as it brushed across my face with the wind.
Leather and soft vanilla and sun and sand, Ollie Arsen smelled like a dream.
Or, in my case, a nightmare.
This man was literally everything I was normally attracted to and more, and I felt like a fish out of water trying to navigate myself away from his allure.
He was the arrogant man who had, no more than a few short hours ago, interrupted an interview and proceeded to tell me I didn’t know how to do my job.
He was also the man who’d judged my appearance when he’d picked me up from the airport.
He was a jerk.
And, yeah, remember, guys? I was done with jerks.
Once he pulled into a parking spot, he turned off the engine and popped the kickstand before hopping off the bike and holding out a hand to help me do the same.
The instant my feet touched the ground, I stepped back a few inches to put some distance between me and my human version of Eve’s apple.
“So, uh, thanks for the ride.” I handed him the helmet once I removed it from my head. Surely, my hair was a mess, but I was more focused on getting back up to my room before I did something stupid like press my lips to his and take a taste.
“Anytime, little fire.”
“You can go ahead and stop calling me that anytime.”
He smirked. “I thought we already settled this conversation.”
“Um, no,” I snorted and narrowed my eyes. “Pretty sure there was no compromise involved in me telling you to drop the nickname and you refusing to drop the stupid nickname.”
He just chuckled. “Just give it
some time. You’ll eventually learn to love it.”
“I highly doubt that,” I said over my shoulder as I turned for the hotel entrance.
Ollie’s long, casual strides easily caught up with mine, and before I knew it, we were side by side as we made our way across the parking lot and into the lobby.
“You hungry?” he asked, and even though my stomach was threatening to make a bid to eat itself, I shook my head.
“No,” I lied. “I’m actually going to head up to my room and get a little work done. I’ll probably order room service or something later.”
More like the second I stepped through my hotel room door, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I’m grabbing an early dinner with a few mates in the restaurant. Feel free to join us if you change your mind.”
“Uh…thanks,” I muttered, and instead of meeting his gaze, I offered a little wave over my shoulder and made a beeline for the elevator.
A few minutes later, I was inside my room with my back pressed against the closed door.
[deep sigh]
In that moment, I felt like the dumbest woman on the planet for not being able to control my fucking feelings.
Why am I always attracted to the wrong men?
Am I wired wrong?
Do I have some sort of hormonal imbalance?
Who knows.
But I felt like I needed some sort of full-body, emotional cleanse. Some kind of official closure that would help me lay the mistakes of my love-life past to rest.
Instantly, inspiration struck.
An idea. A lightbulb moment. A perfect outlet for my internal frustrations.
Once I made a quick call to room service, I pulled out my laptop, sat on the bed, and typed out an email to Vanessa.
First, I updated her on the current state of the Surf Arsen-sponsored surfing series—lots of waves and toned bods and a whole hell of a lot of me trying to sound savvier than I am.
And then, I pitched her an idea.
A new series of articles. I would call them “Dear Ex-Boyfriends,” and they would be a series of love letters, so to speak, to all of my lovers of relationships past.
By the time my room service meal of a cheeseburger and fries had arrived, a reply from Vanessa sat inside my inbox. It was a full twelve hours earlier in New York, but it wasn’t a shock to be hearing from Vanessa already. Ancient folklore taught me early on that bloodsuckers never sleep.
Thanks for the update.
I’m intrigued by this pitch.
Send me an example, and I’ll evaluate from there.
Short and curt in response, it was Vanessa’s usual MO.
But the fact that she used the word intrigued and followed that up with send me an example was basically the equivalent of her saying “Hell yes!”
I grinned at the prospect, and it didn’t take long before my fingers were flying across the keys of my laptop.
I was ready.
Ready for closure.
Ready for clarity.
Ready to curb my jerk cravings.
In my mind, it was the answer to all of my current problems.
It would solve everything.
But did it?
[laughs sarcastically]
Yeah, what do you think?
* * *
Episode 6: “An Enneagram, a side of a closure, a forbidden dance, and a kiss.”
Have you ever taken an Enneagram Test?
Essentially, it’s a series of questions that help you better understand your personality.
Per the test, there are nine personality types, and we are all a specific variation of them.
It’s pretty damn enlightening, you guys, and I highly recommend it.
Not only will it give you insight into your personality, but it will also help you better understand how compatible you are with other people.
My most dominant type? Type 3: The Achiever. The success-oriented, pragmatic type. I’m adaptive, driven, and image-conscious.
When it comes to work, I’m a go-getter. I’ll work myself to the bone, and crazily enough, I’ll enjoy every minute of it. I thrive off making progress. Off achievements. Off setting goals and working toward reaching those goals.
Why am I telling you about the Enneagram Test and my penchant for insane work hours?
[soft giggle]
Because, hopefully, it will help you understand I’m not a complete psycho and why, on the last day of the Bali event, I had no problems ignoring the gorgeous locale and focusing solely on work.
Hell, it didn’t even feel like a sacrifice.
Now, for most of that morning, I’d spent several hours on the beach, watching the last day of the Surf Arsen Pro Gold event. But once the surfing day had come to a close, I’d packed up journalist shop and headed to a little boutique coffeehouse about a mile up the road.
The entrance was discreet, and if the lady at the front desk of my hotel hadn’t told me about the place, there was no way I would’ve found it.
It was like a little diamond in the tropical rough.
Cool, carefree, hipster vibes were flowing inside this little husband-and-wife-owned establishment.
Pink wallpaper embellished with tropical flowers covered the walls, and it might’ve sounded like a bit much, but trust me, this wasn’t your grandmother’s wallpaper. Not to mention, the soft twinkle lights strung along the walls and within the potted plants that hung from the ceiling added this cozy, womblike vibe.
And the coffee? Well, it was so delectable I’d managed three cups and skipped lunch completely.
Basically, it was a writer’s dream, folks, and the perfect spot for a woman on a work mission.
From the moment my ass hit the chair, I had no issues diving fingers-first into my work responsibilities.
I finished up the first draft for article numero uno on the Surf Arsen-sponsored series and sent the doc to Allie for revisions and notes, and then plowed through the day’s priority list.
Scoop’s social media.
Email correspondence.
And fun, daily articles that, for the following day, included a top ten facial cleanser list, celebrity fashion mishaps, and a quiz that helped you determine your makeup style.
The time flew like paper in the wind, and the only time I lifted my eyes away from my screen was when the adorable female waitress with purple hair stopped by my table and let me know my cup was empty.
And, as you know by now, I’m a coffee addict through and through, so I never hesitated to promptly order another.
One cup, two cups, three cups, four, I can drink coffee all day, every day, and still won’t grow tired of it.
Let’s all go ahead and say a prayer for the well-being of my heart.
Surely, all that caffeine can’t be good.
[pauses and laughs]
Anyway, just before I’d switched gears to my Dear Ex-Boyfriends passion project, my cell phone vibrated across the distressed wood of the table, and Incoming Call Allie flashed across the screen.
“Hey there, stranger,” I answered by the second ring.
“How’s Bali, you little world traveler?” she asked, and her voice instantly made me miss her.
“Hot.” I grinned. “The Indonesian sun isn’t exactly kind to freckled gingers like me.”
She laughed softly. “So…I read your article.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she responded. “And it’s brilliant.”
I scrunched up my nose. “You’re blowing smoke up my ass, aren’t you?”
“No,” she responded without hesitation. “It’s far better than anything I could’ve come up with.”
I laughed at that. “Now I really think you’re full of shit.”
“Stop being so insecure,” she teased. “It’s good. Only minor revisions on my end.”
“You’re being serious?”
If there was one thing I was most certainly insecure about it, it was writing a series of articles on a subject I literally knew nothing
about.
“Yes,” she answered, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I love the approach, taking readers along with you as you learn more about the surfing circuit. And you manage to do it without it feeling like you’re doing it. It’s fun, it’s fresh, and I’m still laughing over the fact that you got Jordy Fuller to admit his celebrity crush.”
“Jordy Fuller is adorable.”
“On that, we definitely agree. Male and female readers everywhere are going to go nutty over him.”
Instantly, relief filled my belly at her words.
But that was quickly replaced by the irritating memories that surrounded my interview with Jordy Fuller.
“Well, I’m relieved you liked it,” I said and then added, “Your brother, on the other hand… Well, he wasn’t a fan of my interviewing style the other day.”
“What do you mean?”
“He interrupted my interview with Jordy and then questioned my validity as a journalist.”
“He really did that?” she asked, and a hint of surprise filled her voice.
“He really did that.”
“Wow. Talk about a dick move.”
“Pretty much,” I agreed on a soft laugh. “Your brother isn’t as nice as you seem to think he is.”
“That’s because he doesn’t know what’s best for this series of articles. He probably thinks you should provide in-depth surfing stats and shit.”
“Something like that.”
“Other than that, he giving you any problems?”
“Uh…” I paused as a million racing thoughts filled my head, but I quickly pushed them out and offered up a little white lie of, “No, not really.”
[sighs]
What could I say, you know?
Well, Allie, your brother is a bit of an asshole, and I’m insanely attracted to him even though he drives me bonkers?
No thank you. She is my best friend, and this was her brother we were talking about.
I figured it was best if I kept all the gory details to myself.
“Well, that’s good news,” she said, and I quickly changed the topic of conversation.