The Surfer Solution

by Cathy Yardley

  Would you calm down? This is a lesson, not a date!

  Still, his nerves were jangling just a little as he walked up the steps and rang the doorbell.

  There was no answer.

  Frowning, he waited a minute, and then tried it again. Finally, he went up her driveway, peering into the garage.

  There wasn’t a car parked there. She must’ve left her light on, or had a timer. She wasn’t there yet.

  He laughed to himself. Here he was, rushing, and she hadn’t even made it home yet!

  He settled on her front porch, hoping he didn’t look toe disreputable. It would suck to have her come home as he was being carted away by the cops for looking like a burglar. In this neighborhood, there probably was a law against loitering while looking menacing. He zipped up his coat and tried to look as nonthreatening as possible.

  By six-fifteen, he was moving past annoyed and into irritation. He could’ve sold a few surfboards to that arrogant doofus by now, he couldn’t help thinking. Probably convinced the guy that the kid, and the girlfriend who was the kid’s mom, would really be impressed if he threw in a spring and a winter wet suit, and of course a surfboard rack so he could cart the board on the roof of that Lexus of his without ruining the paint job. But of course, Allison wasn’t here. He tried to think that maybe things had happened. Maybe she got caught in traffic—he didn’t even know where she worked, and anywhere in the L.A area, that was a possibility.

  He was giving her another five minutes. Then he was going to call her office, make sure she was there, and not stuck in traffic or in an accident.

  And if she wasn’t stuck anywhere or in any kind of trouble...

  He grimaced. He’d find out just how much of a schmuck he was being about a pretty girl.

       

  ALLISON STARED at her computer screen, realizing that the screen was getting blurry. She’d been there since six-thirty that morning, she thought, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, and it was now—she took a quick peek at her wristwatch—six-thirty in the evening. It wasn’t surprising that she was getting tired, she supposed. Still, the fact that

  the screen was blurry was something else. That meant only one thing: at some point in the past hour, she’d stopped blinking, or at least slowed down in the pursuit. They actually had a term for it in business school: she was going fish-eyed.

  There was a knock on her office door. “You know that I hate you,” she said, anticipating her boss.

  “Actually, you don’t,” her assistant countered wryly. “Never bad-mouth people who come bearing gifts.”

  She took a deep breath, and the scent of really strong, paintstripping coffee flooded her lungs. “Please tell me that’s—”

  “A Hammerhead, aka the Allison Special,” Gary said, putting a tall disposable cup in front of her. “Leaded coffee with four shots of espresso.”

  “Aaaaah,” she muttered after taking a deep sip. “This ought to keep me going for another hour or so.”

  “Are we going to be here that long?”

  She looked up. Gary was stoic and, as a general rule, he didn’t protest if she asked him to stay late. Probably because he, like herself, had no life, she thought with a little stab of guilt. “I just need one more revision,” she said, hesitant. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  He sighed, and she realized immediately that it would be. “It’s just...if you need me here, you know I’ll stay.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I owe you that much, and then some.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” she protested. “Are you kidding? You’re the best executive assistant in the world.”

  “Who just happens to have a criminal record that you’ve so kindly looked past,” he reminded her.

  “You were practically a minor,” she said loyally. “And you’re really, really good at what you do.”

  “All I’m saying is, I’d feel better about this if...” He paused, and she swore that he might’ve been blushing.

  It was times like this that she remembered that he was only twenty-three years old. She sighed. It wasn’t helping her get her presentation revised, but she guessed that would just have to wait.

  “Spit it out,” she said, taking another long pull off the coffee and feeling her heart rate accelerate.

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  “No, it’s not, or you wouldn’t have said anything.” Men. Why were they so brutally blunt about some things, and so downright shy about other things?

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” he said. “The presentation’s fine, Allison. I don’t mind doing the work, but I think you’re just spinning your wheels. You’re too stressed out.”

  She blinked. Then her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t because of the whole emergency-room thing, is it?” she asked suspiciously, in a low voice.

  “Well, that certainly backs up my opinion, yes,” he said, his freckled face scrunching into a stem frown. “Why are you working so hard on this one?”

  She sighed. “The in-house presentation is happening in just a few days. I’ve got to nail it. You know my game plan.”

  “Yeah, I just don’t know why you’re letting this one get to you. It’s more than just the account supervisor thing,” he said. “So what is it?”

  She sighed. “Once I get the account supervisor’s job, it won’t be as much of an issue,” she said. “And... I just feel like...I’m losing focus lately. I’m letting things slide.”

  He barked out a surprised laugh. “Slide? Are you kidding me?”

  She felt herself blush for no good reason. She was gratified that he hadn’t noticed it, but she had. She wasn’t able to focus the way she used to.

  The way she did before she started taking surfing lessons. Or, more to the point, before she’d met Sean Gilroy.

  She couldn’t quite explain it. She’d found herself daydreaming at odd times, like in meetings. And in the shower. And when she was supposed to be working, or driving to work. Pretty much anytime she was awake, she was fair game to a Gilroy fantasy.

  It was reaching ludicrous proportions. Thankfully, she had her work to keep her from being a complete and utter gibbering idiot.

  “I just know that you said you were going to have to relax,” Gary said, his voice high and cracked with concern. “So I figured, as your assistant, I ought to... you know. Say something.”

  She sighed. “I’m taking care of myself.”

  He pointed to the clock on the wall: six-forty. “Really.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll leave as soon as I get the kinks ironed out. Besides, I’m already learning to chill out a little. I even have a hobby.”

  She thought of Sean again.. .then suddenly, a little chime went off in her head.

  Sean.

  Hobby.

  Six-forty.

  “Oh, crap,” she panicked. “I’m late. I have to...oh, crap.”

  “Ladies’ room is down the hall and to the right,” Gary joked.

  “Just shut the door, ’kay?” she said, and was already dialing Sean’s cell-phone number before the door had closed all the way. She’d need him to understand. Of course he’d understand. He had a resting pulse of twelve, why would something like this cause a problem?

  She realized the pounding of her heart was only partially attributable to the mass quantities of caffeine she’d been consuming.

  The phone only rang once before Sean answered it. “You’re stuck in traffic,” he said without a greeting.

  She winced. “Actually...” She considered lying, just for a moment, but knew that she really sucked at lying and the stress of it would only exacerbate the situation. “Well...no.”

  There was a pause on his end of the line. “You’re not hurt, are you? In a hospital? You didn’t have another panic attack or anything, did you?”

  She winced again. He sounded so sweet, so nervous. “No. Nothing like that,” she said, feeling like an absolute toad.

  Another pause. Then, i
n a tone of utter disbelief, he said, “Please, please tell me you’re not...”

  “I just got a little caught up,” she pleaded. “Work ran a tiny bit late. I’m so sorry. I’ll be right over.”

  “I’ve been waiting for over half an hour,” he said, his voice flat.

  “I lost track of time,” she said, her voice pleading a little. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  She felt her stomach knot. When was the last time she ate? When Gary had pushed lunch onto her desk sometime that afternoon. “I said I’m sorry and, Sean, I really, really mean it.”

  “I mean it, too,” he said, and she realized she’d never heard him angry before, not like that. She didn’t know he was capable of feeling anything quite that strong. “Don’t bother. Stay at work. I don’t care.”

  If possible, she felt worse. Then, to her surprise, anger leaped to the fore, a defense mechanism that usually only crept out when she was truly backed into a comer. “Listen, I don’t know what else to say,” she said, trying to keep her voice reasonable. “It was only one time. I can promise that it won’t happen again.”

  “Once was enough. Besides being stuck on your steps for the past thirty minutes, I rushed a customer out of the shop to make sure that I made it here on time. And I told him, in no uncertain terms, that it was because when I make a commitment—when I give my word—I keep it.”

  “Why is this such a big deal?” she snapped, letting the rein slip on her temper. “I’ve already said I’m sorry. I’ll buy you dinner, I’ll...I don’t know, I’ll make it up to you. But I’m only forty minutes late, I’ve apologized, and it’s not like my lessons are time sensitive. It’s not even in the ocean yet, remember? It’s on my living-room carpet! What, were you afraid the tide was going to go from high plush to low shag?”

  “That’s hilarious,” he said, his tone suggesting that he found it anything but. “You’re the one this is supposed to be important for. Not me. I’ve got other things to do, and I’m hanging up now.”

  “So that’s it? I flake on one lesson, and you’re just cutting me off? Thanks for the apartment, have a nice life?”

  She could hear him take a deep breath. “The only reason I agreed to take you on wasn’t for the damn apartment,” he said in a voice so low she had to struggle to hear him over the crackle of the cell phone. “I agreed to teach you because you said you needed help. Because you had to learn to relax. Because...oh, hell. Because of that night, in the dressing room.”

  Now she was definitely blushing. “Then help me,” she whispered.

  “If you’re serious, you have to want it,” he said. Then, after a beat of silence, he added, “And I know that, now that you’re back at work, and the attacks haven’t been creeping up... you’re just going to call me when you need me, or when you’re not really caught up in work. And frankly, I’m sorry, Ally, but that really doesn’t work for me.”

  “But...” she protested, frustrated.

  “’Bye, Ally,” he said, and then she heard the annoying buzz of a dial tone.

  She stared at the phone. He’d hung up on her. Just like that. He’d hung up on her.

  She felt a little shell-shocked. Then, the anger that she’d been suppressing and smoothing out suddenly bubbled up like lava.

  Mr. Surfer is saying that I’m a flake? He’s giving me grief because I’m not being committed enough? Was he serious with this?

  She felt a cold sort of calm engulf her, accompanied by a low buzzing in her ears. With that, she stood up, opening the door to her office.

  Gary looked unnaturally busy, moving papers from one side of his desk to the other. It was obvious that he’d been desperately trying to overhear what she’d said, and was now just as desperate to look as if he’d been doing no such thing. “Bad phone call?” he said with elaborate casualness.

  “About the presentation,” she said in that same low tone of voice, confident that at least she could fake being calm.

  “Sure. You want me to order dinner? Stay late? No problem. No problem at all.”

  “It’s staying as it is,” she said decisively. “I’m just leaving it alone.”

  It was funny—although people wouldn’t realize he was surprised, she could tell from the way his eyes widened behind his wire-rimmed glasses that he was clearly startled. “Uh, okay.”

  “Just make copies of the handouts when you get in tomorrow, okay?” Still that calm. It was as if the fury burning through her was so hot, she couldn’t feel it.

  “Sure.” He looked at her. He was used to seeing her, too, so he wasn’t fooled. “You going to be okay?”

  “Definitely,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

  She walked down the hallway. She wasn’t okay, not right that moment. But she was about to get into her car, and head over to Sean’s.

  One way or another, she was going to feel okay, though. Especially once she’d talked to Sean Gilroy, and given him a piece of her mind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SEAN SAT ON HIS FUTON sofa, in his new apartment, nursing a Corona and staring out the window. There was a sliver of moon, just a slender crescent, and it was too dark to see the ocean. Still, he could hear it, and more importantly, he knew it was out there. Just imagining it was the only thing keeping him calm at the moment. He was too pissed off to actually go out into it. The surf was too strong, for one thing, and in his current state of mind... He shook his head. How many times had he told the kids he taught not to hit the waves when they were upset? If he were one of his students, he wouldn’t let himself go out there. So there it was.

  He was, he realized with some surprise, stressed.

  He turned on his small stereo, listening to some neo-folk music he’d picked up from a coffee-shop band he’d listened to. He saved the CD for special occasions, when he needed a little soothing. After a full day of baby-sitting for his sister Janie’s two young ones, he usually played a couple of tracks. After helping Oz move to his new house, he’d listened to the whole thing.

  He got the feeling tonight, he’d listen to it a couple of times. While drinking beer. Possibly let the thing run all night.

  He’d never met anyone who was able to get under his skin as quickly, and as thoroughly, as Ms. Allison Robbins.

  So how many times are you going to be a schmuck?

  The thing was, he never really had been. He’d never really gone out of his way to get in a woman’s good graces. He hadn’t needed to, honestly. He’d had plenty of girlfriends. All casual, all relatively brief, as his sister liked to point out. She’d even gone so far as to say that he was lazy. And it wasn’t as if he’d never been shot down. He’d asked out plenty of women who had said no. He’d just thanked them and moved on. No sweat, no blood, no foul.

  This was different. This sort of stuff—bending over backward, putting everything else in his life on hold for a girl who really couldn’t care less—there was a reason for not doing it.

  You may be overreacting just a bit, Gilroy.

  She’d only been forty minutes late. But it was a sign, he argued with himself, downing the rest of his beer. The thing was, he knew, in his heart, that this was different. He’d booted a guy out of the store. He’d rushed to her house like some teenage boy. Just to teach her. Hell, just to see her.

  He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, and while it wasn’t a problem now, he wasn’t so dumb that he didn’t recognize just how much of a problem she’d be down the line.

  No, better to just cut the cord as soon as possible. Sure, he felt badly, and sort of indebted because of the apartment. But he’d probably be moving soon, wouldn’t he? And hadn’t Gabe warned him not to give lessons? He was just being smart. A preemptive strike. That’s all. And once she got over her snit, she’d probably just get sucked back into whatever the hell was on her computer. She’d go on the meds. She’d do whatever.

  Whatever she winds up doing, the bottom line is, it’s not your problem.

  There was a knock on the
door. He closed his eyes. There were a few options of who could be knocking on his door at seven-thirty on a weeknight. His landlady, who came up his stairs just to complain that he was pondering too loud. His friends, who were off to be their usual helpful selves. Or...

  He opened the door. Allison, still in work clothes and a determined expression, stood on his step.

  “We need to talk,” she said, and pushed around him, walking into the living room.

  Or it could be a woman who has more determination than good sense, his mind supplied. Fantastic. Well, she might be determined, but he was downright pigheaded stubborn. And he was just too fresh from his whole “feeling stupid” experience to know that there was no way in hell he was going to keep teaching her.

  “Allison, you’re wasting your time. I think—”

  “I handled the whole thing badly today,” she said. “But I know that, before I leave tonight, you’ll see why it wasn’t actually all that bad, and we’ll be able to move forward with absolutely no problem.”

  Don’t let yourself be charmed by this one. Stand tough. She might think it was all cut-and-dried, but he wasn’t going to play that way. He crossed his arms. “You did handle the whole thing badly,” he agreed. “And I don’t just mean being late, which did suck, incidentally.”

  He saw her eyes flash, and he knew that she was just as ticked off as he was. “I’ve already apologized,” she said between gritted teeth. “And I’m not going to walk over hot coals because I’ve got too much on my plate.”

  It was an interesting phenomenon. She looked like Tinker Bell, but with that voice, she sounded like Dirty Harry. Now, that’s my girl.

  He shook his head. She wasn’t his girl, he reminded himself. “I’m not trying to add more to your plate, Ally,” he said, keeping his own voice calm.

  “You know my life is busy,” she said. “You knew that was the whole reason I’m doing any of this!”

  “I know that,” he said, feeling a few twinges of guilt creeping in. Of course he knew that she was stressed out, and busy, and that she had a ton going on. So why had he made such a federal case out of all of this?