The Surfer Solution

by Cathy Yardley

  Because you don’t want to be with someone who puts you last in line.

  He cleared his throat. “The thing is, you came to me. You asked me for help. And like you say, you’re the one who needs this to get over your stress at work. So when you cancel because of work...”

  “I didn’t cancel!”

  “Okay. When you flake out because of work,” he corrected, and her eyes flashed again, “then it shows me that you’re not really serious. And people who aren’t serious about the lessons are the ones who get hurt. And, frankly, I’ve got a lot on my plate, too, Allison.” He paused a beat. “You’re not the only one with a life, you know.”

  He watched as she absorbed that. Then she took a deep, quavering breath, and nodded. “I can respect that,” she said, her voice now subdued. “And I am really, really sorry.” She looked at the floor, the first time he’d seen her look quite this reticent. “What can I do to make this better?” she asked in a small voice.

  He hated seeing her like this. He felt as if he’d kicked a puppy or something. He sighed deeply, then nudged her chin up with a finger, getting more disturbed as he noticed that her eyes had filled with tears.

  Good going, Gilroy! Take a girl who's already on the edge, and then push at her because your ego hurts. He thought he was a schmuck because he’d gone a little crazy over a girl this beautiful. But he wasn’t helping her because of her face. He was helping her because she was Allison.. .a really strange, really neat combination of strength and fragility. The fact that she was beautiful was just icing.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a little bit gravelly with emotion. Then, on impulse, he put his arms around her. She fit neatly against him, and he tucked her head under his chin. After a second, she put her arms around his waist, hugging him back. “I just take this really seriously, you know?” More seriously than she’d realize. And at this point, he wasn’t just talking about the lessons—he was talking about her.

  “I take everything seriously,” she responded. “I just screwed up.”

  The words stabbed at him, and he nudged her away to look at her face. “You didn’t screw up,” he said. Then he laughed. “Well, you made a mistake, and you forgot a lesson. But I screwed up when I said that you didn’t want it as much as I do.” He paused, thinking about the words. “You do want it, right? The lessons, I mean?”

  “Definitely,” she breathed, and her eyes were bright.

  "Then I’ll apologize for jumping all over you and threatening to cancel lessons and we’ll make a deal—you’ll show up when we agree to lessons, or you’ll let me know in advance if something comes up. Deal?”

  She smiled, and it was like a punch in the gut. Damn, she’s beautiful. “Deal.”

  He felt the overwhelming desire to kiss her, and took a crucial step back.

  “So,” he said gruffly. “I guess we could continue your lesson tonight, if you’re not too tired.”

  She smiled brightly, then her face fell. “Uh, I don’t have any of my clothes with me.” She bit the comer of her lip, hesitant. “Because we were going to meet at my house, where I’d have the chance to change.”

  He suddenly got the inappropriate idea of her practicing, naked, in his living room. Took another step back.

  It’s not her problem, bro, it’s yours. He had a complete, full-blown, ridiculous crush on his pint-size student.

  He cleared his throat again.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not coming down with a cold or anything, are you?”

  “No, no,” he reassured her. “Uh... well. I could loan you some sweats,” he said, thinking that a good, thick layer of fleece might be just the thing to keep him from continuing in this vein. “And we could just practice here.”

  “Okay,” she said amiably.

  He went into the bedroom, digging out a T-shirt and a pair of his sweats. Then he let her close the door, and sat in the living room. He finished off the beer in a few quick swallows, hoping that the numbing effect of the alcohol would cool the racing of his blood.

  He’d never overreacted quite this strongly to a girl before, either, he noted with some distress. And he was going to be in close contact with the woman, daily if she had her way, And as cute and vulnerable as she was, he got the feeling the last thing she needed was her surf instructor putting the moves on her. She was stressed out as it was. If she wasn’t interested, he knew her well enough to know that she’d feel terrible about rejecting him. And she was comfortable with him as a teacher—she hadn’t picked another one. He had a responsibility here. There was a reason there were teacher- student ethics, he reminded himself. Just because it had never come up before in his life didn’t make it any less valid.

  She’s the student. You ’re the teacher. Now chill, damn it.

  He was pretty sure he had a grip on his emotions when she stepped out of the bedroom. Then, after a moment of stunned silence, he burst into laughter.

  She was swamped in his clothes. The T-shirt was more like a dress on her petite frame. And the sweats...she’d pushed the ankle elastic up to her knees, and the material still draped down to her feet. She tapped one of her bare feet impatiently.

  “I guess this is just suitable punishment for not having my act together and meeting you at my house,” she said with mock severity, even though her eyes gauged his reaction.

  “You look adorable,” he said, and then, damn it, cleared his throat one more time. “At least you won’t get your work clothes all screwed up. Okay, let’s start with warm-ups.”

  He forced himself to get down to business, walking her through the warm-ups and stretches. Still, he couldn’t help but notice the way the thin material of the T-shirt molded itself to her when she stretched in certain ways.

  It was around then that he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. He almost broke his neck, snapping his gaze away from her. What the hell?

  “Uh, okay.” He grabbed string and made the board outline on the carpet, after he’d moved the coffee table out of the way. “Practice your pop-ups.”

  “Okay,” she said, and stretched out on the carpet, on her stomach.

  He glanced again, furtively. Nope. No bra strap. Probably thought it would’ve been too uncomfortable.

  Oh, for pity’s sake. Stop thinking about her breasts, you idiot!

  After an hour, he was sweating like he was the one doing all the work. “That’s enough for one night,” he said, a tiny bit out of breath, to his embarrassment.

  She pushed her sweat-soaked bangs away from her face. “Are you sure?”

  “You don’t want to be any more sore than you already are,” he said, refusing to look at her. There was sweat on her chest, causing the T-shirt to cling, just enough to get his mouth watering. You are such an idiot. “So, are we on for tomorrow?”

  “Definitely. I won’t forget this time,” she said. “Thanks, Sean. For everything.”

  You wouldn’t be thanking me if you knew just what I was thinking for the past hour. “Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice a little strangled.

  “All right. Let me change, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Just take the clothes with you,” he said.

  “Good idea. I’ll wash them at my house.” She stood in front of him. “I must be a mess. I always get this sweaty, just practicing in a living room.”

  He desperately forced himself not to look at her. “So.. .uh, what time tomorrow?”

  “Seven okay?” she asked. “Or is that too late?”

  “Not a problem at all,” he said eagerly, then realized he probably sounded too eager. “Just don’t cancel on me.”

  “Not a chance,” she said. “And Sean?”

  He focused on her face. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t give up on me,” she said quietly.

  He felt his blood calm, and he stroked her cheek, unable to help himself. “Not a chance,” he repeated.

       

  OKAY, ALLISON THOUGHT. This was it. A few days’ worth of carpet-le
aping under Sean’s watchful eye, an hour’s worth of wriggling into her wet suit... and she was now standing on a beach. It was late on a Saturday afternoon, with the sun starting to go lower in the sky. It’d be full dark by five o’clock, but she figured two hours in the surf would probably be plenty. Her muscles no longer ached the way they used to when they started. The important part was, she was ready for the challenge.

  He’d already been in, she noticed as she walked over to him. His blond hair was damp, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. There were beads of moisture on his wet suit already. He put his board in the sand and grinned at her, studying her slowly, from her bare feet to her ponytail.

  Even though it was breezy, the California concession to December, she felt a wave of warmth go through her body. She smiled back. “So? Do I look like an authentic surfer girl?”

  “You sure do,” he said, his eyes approving, and she felt the heat concentrate on her cheeks.

  Don’t blush, you idiot. She was a grown woman. This was not the sixties. And despite certain physical similarities, she certainly was not Gidget.

  “Of course,” Sean added, “you’re still standing on the sand. It’s easy to look like a surfer when you’re not in the water.”

  She probably should’ve been insulted, but her brain had already locked into work mode. “That’s what I’m here to tackle,” she said firmly. “Bring it on.”

  He sighed. “First, some safety rules.”

  She listened carefully, if somewhat impatiently, as he outlined the rules of etiquette for surfers... what to watch for, hand gestures to show that you or another surfer was claiming a wave. Signals to show you were in trouble. She repeated them back perfectly, moving from foot to foot—it was starting to get a little chilly she couldn’t help but notice.

  “All right,” he finally said, and she did a little dance. “You’re ready. Let’s get in there.”

  “About time,” she muttered, and grabbing her board (no simple feat, considering it was about a full foot taller than she was), she headed for the surf.

  Then put one foot in the water, yelped and abruptly dropped the board.

  Sean burst out laughing. “Okay, you don’t really look like a surfer anymore,” he noted as he watched her dance away from the lapping waves.

  “Cold! Cold cold cold!” She hopped, wondering if she was ever going to get circulation to her right foot. It was as if the water had frozen it solid...she could barely feel the sand squish between her toes. “It’s fnckin’ freezing in there!”

  “Um...it’s December,” he noted. “And at least you’re wearing a wet suit. I should’ve thought to get you booties.”

  “I’m not that big a baby,” she said, trying hard to neither pout nor wince as she put her feet back in the water. Now, at least, both her feet were equally numb.

  He laughed again. He had a nice laugh, she thought, although she imagined she’d like it a lot more if he’d stop laughing at her and her absolutely amateurish displays.

  “Booties is just what they’re called. I wasn’t implying anything,” he clarified.

  Fortunately, she already felt stupid, so his definition couldn’t really add much to her feeling of humiliation. “Right,” she said tightly, and then walked in calf deep. Thank God for neoprene, she thought silently. The wet suit at least allowed her to retain feeling in her legs.

  She struggled to pick up the board from where she’d dropped it, and was gratified when he leaned down and picked it up for her. She also couldn’t help but notice that his shoulders rippled from beneath the wet suit. The guy had guns, she thought appreciatively, wondering what he’d look like without the wet suit in the way.

  Not naked, she quickly amended...and damn it, there it was, that blush again. What was it about the guy? Ordinarily, she was a perfectly cool customer. She felt sure that she had a private and unpleasant nickname among her coworkers at the agency, and while she’d never been called it to her face, she felt sure the term “ice” or “frigid” was somehow involved in the title. Now she spends a week in the company of the Big Kahuna of Manhattan Beach, and she was turning into a red-hot simpering idiot.

  “Allison, knock it off,” Sean said curtly.

  She spun, staring at him. What, he can read minds?

  “No, I can’t read minds,” he said, startling her, “but it’s easy to tell that you’re thinking about something else. Probably work. And if you’re not going to be one hundred percent focused on this, then I’m taking you back in. You could die out here if you do it wrong, Allison. You’ve got to be all in or you’re going to get rolled. Clear?”

  Suddenly, the all-business stance that she’d started the afternoon with snapped back into place. “Crystal clear,” she said, and walked with purpose out into the water, shuffling her feet the way he’d taught her so she wouldn’t step on anything, like a stingray or some spiny fish that would get angry at her stepping on it.

  As she got in to her neck, she abruptly realized that while she felt as if her wet suit was beyond skintight, there was a slight gap between her actual skin and the suit.. .and in that tiny gap, the icy water managed to sneak in. She gasped at the cold.

  “You’ll get used to it in a minute,” Sean said, standing behind her. The sound of the waves was both loud and soothing, but he was close enough that she could hear him without his yelling.

  She nodded, setting her jaw grimly. “What do I do now?”

  “Get your board out in front of you.”

  She slid the board on the waves, struggling to hold on to it as the water battered it forward.

  “Okay...get on.”

  She remembered the sessions on her carpet. Of course, her carpet hadn’t been a wet piece of fiberglass. With more determination than finesse, she managed to pull herself belly first on the board.

  Abruptly, a wave snuck up behind them. “Watch it,” Sean said, one second before it crested just before them. He tried to hold the board, but it slipped...and she slipped off the board, getting completely submerged. She came up, spluttering and embarrassed.

  “Damn it!” she exploded as her head suddenly felt cold. “I was on and everything!”

  “Get used to it,” Sean said placidly. “Okay, let’s try it again.”

  It took the better part of twenty minutes for her just to get on the board and stay there. When she finally got on, she felt tired, but grimly determined. “Now...now what?” she huffed.

  He looked at her, his sky-blue eyes darkened with concern. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, brushing his comment aside. She felt like enough of a feeb, thanks. Offhand, she wondered if she was the worst student he’d ever taught. And if she was the only woman he’d ever taught.

  Immediately, a wave rolled the board over, and she was plunged into the icy silence of the ocean.

  “Damn it!” she roared, spitting out the saltwater she’d accidentally ingested as the waves had knocked her in.

  “Whoa! Whoa. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” she countered, trying to get a grip on the board. It was tethered to her ankle, a protective measure, but it wanted desperately to let the tide carry it back to shore.. .and her with it, consequently. She was moving from tired to exhausted in a hurry. “What sort of idiot can’t even stay on the board? On her belly? This can’t be that difficult!”

  “Everybody learns at their own pace,” Sean said. “Maybe we should go back in.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, I’m really not,” he said, and despite his laid-back demeanor, his eyes meant business. “You’re tired, and we’ve been out here for half an hour.”

  “Let me just try to stand up. Just once.”

  He sighed. “You wouldn’t happen to be Irish, would you?”

  She blinked at him. “Okay, Mr. Non Sequitur. What brought that on?”

  “Well, I’m half-Irish, and my mom always said that’s the reason I’m so stubborn,” he said, his eyes twinkling wit
h amusement. “I was just wondering what your excuse was.”

  She grinned at him reluctantly, feeling some of the irritation at herself and the board slip away. “Well, I’ve got a cute ass,” she said, throwing his words back at him.

  “That you do,” he said with enough appreciation that she was startled... and warm, despite the arctic temperature of the water. “But I don’t think it really contributes to your stubbornness.”

  “No,” she answered when she found her voice again. “But it does mean guys like you will put up with my stubbornness and let me keep going.”

  He sighed. “Here, I’ll push the board. We’re not going to really try catching one. It’s choppier than I thought it would be today.”

  “Okay,” she said, and she clung to the board for dear life. With all her strength, she pulled herself on, and was gratified that she stayed on, feeling the movement of the ocean beneath her.

  What does this feel like? It was vaguely familiar, the soft rocking, the up-and-down motion...

  Immediately, she started blushing yet again.

  “Focus!” Sean yelled, and just like that, she pushed her wayward thoughts aside. The board was her world.

  “Okay,” Sean said. “Steady...steady...now pop up, just like on the carpet.”

  She pictured the move she’d been practicing all week. With one fluid movement, she “popped” up, half jumping to her feet.

  And then fell ass over teakettle back into the ocean.

  When she surfaced, she felt like crying.

  “Okay, that’s enough. We’re going back in,” Sean said.

  “One more time,” she countered, but was startled into silence when she felt his arms on her waist.

  “No. That’s enough, Allison,” he said, warming her neck with his breath. “We’re going in now."

  She couldn’t breathe, and it had nothing to do with the water or being tired. She simply nodded, and followed him back to shore. She unstrapped the board from her ankle, and was grateful when he carried it back to shore, where their towels were.