by Monroe, Max
[giggles]
The announcer’s voice rang out from the event speakers. “Five minutes,” he said, and I cringed at how quickly time was passing by.
“Get it, mate!” Ollie’s voice filled my ears, and I glanced over my shoulder to realize he’d left the commentators’ booth to stride up the beach and stand just at the edge of the water.
“Four minutes,” the announcer called out again, and I cringed that time.
Four minutes? Braden was running out of time.
He needed to jump into action.
He needed to do something.
But he just sat out there on his board, looking toward the horizon.
Ollie, on the other hand? Well, he jumped into action.
In a blur of quick movements, he turned on his heel, grabbed a board from the tent before sprinting toward the water again. Not even ten seconds later, he’d slipped off his flip-flops and T-shirt and headed into the sea, cargo shorts and all.
What in the hell is he doing? I wondered and squinted my eyes toward the ocean as he submerged himself in the water.
“Well, folks, it appears Oliver Arsen is joining Braden on this run?” the announcer questioned into the mic, just as confused as I was.
Everyone stood and watched as Ollie paddled out into the water.
A hush came over the crowd, but various versions of What is he doing? rang out in quiet whispers.
Once Ollie reached Braden, he stopped right beside him.
They both sat on their boards, their backs facing the sand, and I had no idea what was being said, but it was apparent that a conversation moved between them.
Ollie said something and reached out to pat Braden on the shoulder, and I pulled my camera up and in front of my face to snap a few pictures of the two of them.
Another wave brewed in the distance, and Ollie pointed toward the young surfer.
Whatever he’d said had spurred Braden into action.
Braden turned on his board and started paddling.
Ollie sat behind him, looking between Braden and the wave, shouting, “Go! Go! Go! You got this, mate!”
And then Braden was vertical, his surfboard securely beneath his feet and cutting through the water as one of the biggest waves I’d seen in the competition lifted him up.
He squatted down farther, holding his ground, and as the water curled around him and his board, he rode that fucking wave. Through the curl, along the edge, his hand slicing through the water beside him as he expertly showed the judges what a nineteen-year-old surfer from Alabama could do.
Everyone at the event pretty much lost their shit after that.
[giggles]
Hoots and hollers and cheers from not only the crowd sitting off to the side, but also, every single surfer inside the tent.
And, me? Well, I was so overwhelmed with joy that I felt emotion prick my damn eyes. Me, the girl who knew nothing about sports or surfing, for that matter, getting all emotional after watching a nineteen-year-old kid conquer his demons in the water.
[giggles]
Yeah, you guys, it was some Remember the Titans and Blue Crush kind of poignant shit, and I was nearly moved to tears over it.
Once Braden made his way out of the sea and his feet reached the sand, Jordy and a few of the other guys rushed toward him. They picked him up, celebrating his victory, and I snapped a few more photos of Braden in his glory moment.
But my camera also split its focus when Ollie stepped out of the water.
His cargo shorts were soaked and sagging from his hips.
But good God, I’d never seen such a glorious smile as he watched the spectacle of excitement before him.
I had no idea what he’d said to Braden, but it’d worked.
I snapped a few more pictures. Braden on Jordy’s shoulders. Ollie reaching up to give him a high five. The crowd losing their minds.
Braden wasn’t going to win the event, nor would he win the championship, but this had been his breakout moment. He’d more than proven that he could make some waves in the professional surfing world.
And hell if my heart hadn’t swelled inside my chest.
Not just because of Braden. But because of Ollie, too.
[sighs softly]
Actually, mostly because of Ollie.
In that moment, it was impossible for me to see him as anything but a good man.
A real jerk wouldn’t put someone else’s happiness above their own.
A real jerk wouldn’t go barreling into the sea in his damn clothes just to help a young kid be the best that he could be.
A real jerk wouldn’t make my heart feel like it’s two sizes too big for my chest.
[audible pause]
When I’d left the beach that day, I’d left with a head full of Ollie and a heart full of…well, Ollie.
Was I in love with him? I didn’t know.
But whatever I was feeling, it was a hell of a lot more than like.
He’d grown on me.
He’d seeped under my skin and entered my bones, and I’d reached a point where convincing myself to stay away from him not only felt like an impossibility, but it felt like the absolute wrong thing to do.
And now, I’m sure you’re wondering where the title of this podcast comes into play, huh?
[giggles]
Well, at a little after three that day, I’d reached the hotel and headed back up to my room.
And because it was actually the day that my first article in my surfing series went live, I’d chosen to leave my phone behind. I knew if I’d brought my phone to the event, I would’ve been too damn distracted with following the overall response to my column.
I had to make sure the last day of the Tahiti event had my full attention.
And thankfully, because of what I’d just witnessed on the beach, I already knew what article three of the series would be about—Braden Blanks, the underdog turned surfing star.
Obviously, though, when I got to my room, my curiosity was at an all-time high, and the first thing I did was snag my phone off the charger and tap the screen to find rows and rows of notifications.
Text messages from Allie.
Emails from Vanessa.
Instagram and Facebook and Twitter notifications from today’s posts.
Not to mention notifications from the Scoop site itself.
Please, God, let the article not suck, I silently prayed.
I clicked on Allie’s text first and was relieved when I saw her plethora of smiley and praising hands emojis and excited words. It appears I’m not the only one in love with your take on surfing. Way to go, Lucky! I knew you could do it!
Vanessa’s email was next. Short, curt, to the point, as always, but congratulations were laced within her words.
It was all good things.
I pulled up Scoop’s website and scanned through the comments on the article, and I was elated to see that readers were loving my amateur take on the world of surfing.
Instantly, all the pressure and anxiety that had taken up residence inside my chest since I’d woken up that morning dissipated.
I could breathe easy again.
Well, at least until the next article, right?
[giggles]
I grabbed my laptop from the nightstand and plopped down on the bed, prepared to respond to a few of the commenters to keep the article live and active, but I stopped when my phone chimed a notification.
A text message, you guys.
From Ollie.
Zoe sent me the article. And I guess it needs to be said, I was wrong about your journalistic approach.
I grinned like a loon at his words. And fired off a message of my own.
Hold the phone…is cocky Oliver Arsen admitting he was wrong about something??? I might pass out from the shock of it all.
He got a real kick out of that and even highlighted the part where I called him cocky.
Of course, he took it as some kind of pervy compliment.
Eventually, I took our playfu
l back-and-forth straight to the point.
Is there a reason for these texts, besides the part where you admitted that you’re wrong and I’m the smartest, most amazing journalist alive?
[giggles]
Well, almost straight to the point, I guess.
He didn’t get straight to the point right away, offering up a few more witty messages, but eventually, he did. Are you free tonight for a celebratory dinner?
When I asked him what we were celebrating, he said the Tahiti event, and I sarcastically added we should also be celebrating that I proved him wrong.
He had no qualms with that, and after a few more messages, it was decided.
Eight p.m. Dinner. Ollie and me.
Obviously, celebrating proving Ollie wrong sounded like the most perfect reason for a dinner in my humble opinion.
[laughs softly]
I even smiled at the thought, but that smile faded pretty quickly when I started to comprehend that Ollie had just asked me to dinner.
And more than that, I’d agreed without hesitation.
Was it a date? I didn’t know.
Right then, I probably would’ve told you No way, that’s ridiculous. It’s just a friendly dinner.
I probably would’ve even acted like that’s how I looked at it, too.
But the fact that I’d immediately hopped off my bed and started trying to figure out what I was going to wear said otherwise.
Little black Calvin Klein dress or bright and flowy Italian silk skirt?
Nude pumps or sexy gold stilettos?
For a girl just going to a friendly dinner, I was putting some serious thought into my outfit selection…
I even tried to rationalize it all in my head.
I just want to look nice, I told myself.
But I think we all know better, huh?
Yeah, I wanted to look nice, all right.
But I was missing two key words at the end of that thought.
For Ollie.
* * *
“Prepare yourself for the best food and view on the island,” Ollie said as he held open the front door of a restaurant called Blue Banana.
He’d picked me up at my hotel room at eight o’clock on the dot.
He’d forgone flip-flops and cargo shorts for a nice pair of jeans and a perfectly fitted collared shirt.
Hell, he’d even ordered a sleek black town car to escort us there, you guys.
Ollie had gone all out.
And, well, dressed in my favorite black dress and the sexiest pair of gold stilettos I owned, it appeared I’d done the exact same thing.
All of those things combined, I couldn’t stop wondering what the dinner meant.
Was it a date?
It sure as hell was feeling like one…
The instant we stepped through the doors, the hostess acknowledged Ollie by name and led us directly to a table that sat outside on the restaurant’s terrace and overlooked the water.
[sighs dreamily]
The place was gorgeous.
And even a bit swanky.
Twinkle lights covered the awning and the lush landscape surrounded the outside edges of the restaurant like a cozy nest.
Tealight candles sat on the table.
And the soft, tranquil sounds of the ocean provided the perfect ambiance.
The water. The terrace. The view. It was stunning, and dare I say, romantic?
Like, it was a date kind of romantic…
The hostess set our soft leather-framed menus on the table, and Ollie stepped forward to pull out my chair and help me into my seat.
He sat down across from me, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out the one and only question that was rolling through my mind.
“Is this a date?”
I couldn’t help myself. I just had to know.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but a smile quickly followed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Do you want it to be a date?”
I flashed a knowing look. “I asked you first.”
He shrugged. “Well, I don’t usually date—”
“I figured that much.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” His brown eyes flashed with amusement. “Yes, I don’t usually date, but if I did date, I’d definitely date you.”
I’d definitely date you.
I had the urge to blush and roll my eyes at the same time.
It was a swoony fucking line, no doubt about it, but it was also exactly that, a line.
Was I supposed to feel faint and just pretend he didn’t dodge the question?
I even asked him as much.
Ollie’s response? He chuckled and handed my menu to me.
But eventually, he said, “How about this? We enjoy this dinner, and maybe by the end of it, we can both decide whether or not we want to count it as a date.”
I searched his eyes for any signs of bullshit, but all I found was steadiness and honesty and assurance. It only felt right to agree with him.
“So amenable, little fire. I’m shocked.”
“What did you think I was going to do?” I asked on a surprised laugh. “Argue with you until you gave me a real answer?”
“That wouldn’t be too far out of line with what I usually receive from you.”
“I’m not that stubborn,” I retorted with a little pout, and he smirked.
“Yeah, you are, but I like that you keep me on my toes.”
[laughs softly]
Yeah, you guys. Apparently, I kept him on his toes…
Talk about a shock.
To me, it felt reversed. I never knew what to expect with him.
And over those past few weeks, even though I’d pegged him as the biggest jerk I’d ever met, his actions hadn’t met those assumptions.
Teaching me how to swim.
Taking care of me when I was sick.
Helping Braden overcome his fear.
They’d been the opposite of what I’d initially assumed.
[short pause]
When a server dressed in black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a bow tie stopped by our table to take our orders, I’d ordered a glass of rosé and a French Polynesian-inspired meal with rice and pineapples and chicken. And Ollie had requested a typical guy meal of steak and potatoes and a beer.
“So, what happened out there today?” I asked once the server took our menus and left the table.
“What do you mean?”
“With Braden Blanks.”
“Oh,” he said, and his mouth formed a little O of surprise. “Well, I reckon he just needed a kind kick in the arse to get his board wet.”
A kind kick in the arse? That was putting it mildly.
Ollie had done more than just that.
He’d gone into the ocean nearly fully clothed.
“What did you say to him?”
He shrugged and sat back in his seat a little. “I just told him what I would’ve wanted to hear when I was a scared nineteen-year-old bloke trying to make a name for myself.”
I grinned at that. “The famous Ollie Arsen was once a scared nineteen-year-old?”
“You surprised?” he asked, and I nodded.
Of course, I was surprised. I had yet to see him as anything but cocky and confident and so damn self-assured he should start a YouTube series on self-esteem.
“Well, I know it might come as a surprise, but I wasn’t always this perfect specimen of a bloke. I had my moments when I started getting heavy into the circuit. Been scared shitless more times than I can count. Fucked up royally during a few competitions in the beginning.”
Oliver Arsen scared? I almost couldn’t fathom it.
Still can’t, in fact.
He was, hands down, the most self-possessed, enigmatic man I’d ever met.
But I kept those details to myself…
Our conversation flowed like the glass of rosé the server had poured.
I asked him about his surfing career, and he told me he’d gotten into the sport when
he was ten years old. It was a bit of a conundrum how the Arsen family was basically a rugby dynasty, yet Ollie never once felt obligated to join in on the tradition.
He called himself the black sheep of his family, and I laughed and told him I’d heard Allie use those exact words before.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “And, I have to admit, it’s a bit crazy that the black sheep of the family has several surfing championships under his belt and runs a multimillion-dollar surfboard company.”
He took a sip of his beer. “I reckon that’s a little hard to wrap your head around, yeah?”
“For sure.”
“Well, I’m not always the best at keeping in contact with my family. It pisses them off a bit.”
“I can relate,” I said and took a sip of my wine. It was cool and fruity on my tongue, and I savored the taste with a soft smack of my lips. “My sister Hazel isn’t the happiest with me right now.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “I keep forgetting to call her while I’m on this assignment. Luckily, my dad and my other sister, Willow, are a little more understanding of the situation.”
“It’s not easy when every time you turn around, you’re on another long-distance flight to another country.”
“Also, the whole time zone thing,” I added. “Every time I think about calling home, I realize it’s like three in the morning there.”
“I’d like to say it gets easier, but it doesn’t.”
I laughed. “Thanks for the reassurance.”
“But, hey, at least we’re headed to California tomorrow, yeah? You’ll be back in your home territory.”
I nodded at that. “I already plan to stay in New York for a few days before I head to France for the last events in the competition.”
“I’m going to stop there as well to see how my sis is faring.”
“Really?” I asked. “I’m sure she’ll be thankful for that.”