The Surfer Solution

by Cathy Yardley

  “You did really well,” Sean said.

  She snorted. “Don’t humor me. I sucked.”

  He stared at her quietly.

  When she couldn’t take it anymore, she finally stared back. “Yes?”

  “If you’re always this hard on yourself...” He trailed off thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No wonder.”

  She bristled. “No wonder what?”

  “No wonder you’re having anxiety attacks.”

  She bit her lip. He had her there. “Well, at least I’m trying.”

  He took a deep breath. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like—” She stopped before the words that suddenly popped to mind leaped out of her mouth.

  Like a failure.

  “Tired,” she said instead.

  He studied her, and she had that disconcerting feeling again...like he was reading her mind. “You don’t do many things that you’re not good at, do you?”

  “I’m not good at plenty of things,” she said.

  “Yeah, but how often do you do those things you’re not good at, is my point?”

  She fell quiet. Boy, wasn’t he just full of insights today?

  “This isn’t going to help,” he said, and his voice was pensive. “I need you to loosen up.”

  Don’t even say “stress,” she warned her internal voice. Thankfully, it stayed silent.

  “I’m really sorry, Sean,” she finally said. “This is about as loose as I’m going to get.”

  He was quiet for a minute, and she braced herself for the inevitable—that he couldn’t teach her, that the lessons were over. That she’d have to find some other way to learn how to relax. “What are you doing tonight?”

  Startled, she blinked at him. “Um...working.”

  “Can you take a few hours off?”

  His eyes were hypnotic. She cleared her throat, to buy some time before she answered. “Uh...why?”

  “Because I think I know a way that we can get you to learn to be okay with making mistakes. A way to loosen you up, as it were.”

  “Really?” She felt suspicious, sure, but some part of her also felt really, really hopeful. “How?”

  “I want it to be a surprise,” he said. “I’ll pick you up from your house at around eight. Is that all right?”

  “Uh...” It sounded suspiciously like a date. Not that he’d be dating her—this was all in the interest of teaching. Call it surf academia. “Sure. Why not?”

  He smiled, and it warmed her more than the setting sun.

       

  “SO WHAT ARE WE DOING here again?”

  Sean smiled at Allison’s insistent question. “We’re here to teach you how to relax, so you can surf better.”

  Allison looked around the inside of the bar, Sharkey’s. A Hoodlum hangout. “So, I’m going to be surfing drunk from now on, am I?” she said with a hint of curiosity.

  He laughed. She was wearing jeans, which he had to admit looked strange but great on her, and a cherry-red top that tended to bring out the roses in her otherwise pale cheeks. She blushed a lot, he noticed.

  He noticed a lot of things about her, he noticed.

  “No, you’re not going to be surfing drunk,” he corrected.

  “So, what am I going to glean from this?” She glanced at him, suspicion ripe in her expression. “Because if you’re planning on getting me drunk and then relaxing, I have to tell you that I have a fairly high tolerance to alcohol. Which is weird, considering I rarely drink.”

  “Are you sure you’re not Irish?” He smiled at her. “Well, I have to admit, I was planning on making sure you had a drink or two, just to take the edge off. Hi, guys,” he said as he saw Mike, Ryan, Gabe and Charlotte walk in.

  “Hi there.” This from Charlotte, who nudged Ryan hard to get him to stop grinning so lasciviously. Sean was grateful— he would’ve had to do something if Ryan continued with the leering smirk. “I’m Charlotte. You must be Allison.”

  “Guess I must be,” Allison said, smiling shyly. “You’re all friends of Sean’s, huh?”

  “We’re the Hoodlums, yeah,” Ryan said, then winked when he must’ve noticed Allison was staring at him blankly. “He didn’t tell you about us?”

  “He told us about you,” Mike pointed out, and Sean could’ve kicked Mm.

  “He did?” Allison tensed up, drawing tight as a piano wire, and Sean winced just looking at it. “What did he say?”

  “That you were tense as all hell,” Sean put in. “Mike, go get the lady a drink, will you?”

  “Sure.” Now Mike was grinning, not lasciviously, but mischievously. “Exactly how relaxed do we want her?”

  “Not incapacitated,” Sean said sternly.

  “Incapacitated?” If possible, Allison tensed up more.

  Sean couldn’t stand it anymore. He leaned over, put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re okay. You believe that, right?”

  “Uh...” She looked around at the others, and… ah, there it was. That blush. A man could get addicted to that blush.

  “I just don’t want to make an ass of myself,” she whispered to him. He had to lean his head close to her lips to catch the words she obviously didn’t want the other Hoodlums to hear.

  “Ally,” he finally said, “do you trust me?”

  She blinked. Then she looked down, and then looked back at him.

  “You know, I do trust you.” She sounded surprised by it.

  “Then don’t worry.”

  She smiled.

  “Although I do have to warn you—you’re going to make an ass of yourself tonight.”

  Sproing! Return of the piano wire. He sighed. “Sit in front of me, will you?”

  She stared at him. Finally, he dragged her chair in front of his, and then began to physically work her shoulders. The knots in her shoulders were like cords of wood.

  “Sean!” she protested, trying to jump out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box, but his strong grip prevented her from fleeing. “I don’t think this is appropriate.”

  “Can I sign up for the next one?” Charlotte asked. “I’ve been working some rough hours, myself.”

  Sean grinned as Gabe moved himself behind his wife, doing the same thing that Sean was doing, rubbing his wife’s shoulders. Of course, he was a little more intent, and he kept punctuating his massage with whispers and nipped kisses on Charlotte’s neck.

  Sean glanced at Allison’s neck. She had her hair up in a ponytail. The little curve where the back of her head swirled into her jawline and met the pale, thin column of her throat. She’d taste like vanilla, he bet, and honey.

  Might want to curb that “tasting” talk, buddy. That’s really, really not the point here.

  No, it wasn’t the point. The point was, he was trying to get her to relax, which, whether she wanted to or not, she was starting to do under his fingertips. He got the feeling if he kissed her neck, she might go the completely opposite direction. In fact, she might explode.

  “Here we go, a drink for the lady,” Mike announced, then surveyed the scene. “Jeez. I go to the bar for a minute, and this place turns into a massage parlor?”

  “Don’t look at me, pal,” Ryan said, smirking. “I only work on women.”

  “What’d you get her?” Sean said, ignoring Mike’s scowl.

  Mike’s smile returned. “A fire-and-ice shot. She’ll love it.” He glanced at her. It was a pretty strong shot, but she said she could hold her liquor. Well, this was her chance to prove it. “Bottoms up,” he told her.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, but if you can handle it, then you’ll be feeling a lot less tense in about, oh, fifteen minutes.” If that.

  She looked at it, then at Sean, then back at the drink. Then, as if she were standing at the open door of an airplane she was skydiving out of, she took a deep breath.

  ‘To relaxation,” she said, and then she downed the shot manfully. Ryan and Mike applauded, an
d Charlotte laughed. To his amazement, she didn’t even cough. Her eyes did widen, though, and she swallowed hard.

  “Okay. Now you’re ready.”

  “Ready? To do what?”

  Sean smiled, bracing himself. “To pick a song, of course.”

  She stared at him blankly. “A...song?”

  “For karaoke.”

  She didn’t seem to put it together for a long minute, but he knew the second that she did. She had a look of horrified shock. “Oh, no. Oh, hell no.”

  “It’s okay. The whole point of this exercise is for you to get used to failing.”

  “You don’t understand. I’m terrible. I mean, really terrible. William Hung terrible. Legendary.”

  “Perfect,” Sean said. “Ally, nobody’s going to see you again.”

  “Except us,” Ryan added, smiling. “But don’t worry, we won’t tell.”

  “I refuse to do this,” Allison said, standing up. “I insist on going home right now. If I had known—”

  “You wouldn’t have even shown up.” And this had seemed like such a good idea at the time. “Allison, we’ll be up there with you. But the whole point is, I want you to actively pursue something that you’re terrible at. If you keep knocking yourself out and trying to be perfect at surfing, right out of the box, you’re going to get shellacked. You’ve got to learn not only to be okay screwing up—you’ve got to look for it.”

  “Oh, no,” she muttered. “Oh, God.”

  Charlotte leaned over. “We’ll go up there and sing with you for the first one. Won’t we, guys?”

  Sean nodded. “I’ll be with you,” he assured her. “The whole time. Don’t you worry.”

  Allison was not paying attention to him, but she’d stopped protesting. Now he could just see she was wishing for the earth to swallow her up. Of course, there was precious little chance of that, but he didn’t want to dissuade her.

  They dragged her up, en masse. It was a Saturday night, but there weren’t really any serious singers at Sharkey’s on karaoke night, not until later, like midnight. It took a full hour for Allison to get relaxed enough to pick a song—and she picked “Walkin’ After Midnight,” a nice easy Patsy Cline with very little range, which he appreciated.

  “Never would’ve taken you for a country fan,” he noted.

  “I’m a woman of many facets,” she said. “One of which is escape artist. You’re really going to make me go through with this?”

  “Mikey, get her another drink.”

  Half an hour and two shots later, the group of them went up for a loud and rowdy rendition of “Love Shack.” He didn’t think Allison did more than mouth the words. By this point, most of the patrons of Sharkey’s had also had a few drinks, and were feeling more friendly and less judgmental. The Hoodlums’ efforts were met with thunderous applause.

  He took Allison’s hand as the rest of them started to walk off. “Nope. This is it. Your solo.”

  She turned whiter, if possible. “But I sang!”

  “Not really,” he said. “Listen. I want you to not only sing, I want you to be absolutely the worst possible.”

  She looked close to tears. “Sean...please. Please don’t make me do this.”

  “I’m going to be right here,” he said. He looked at the deejay, who cued up the music.

  “I’ll do it if you do a song,” she said, her tone desperate.

  “All right,” he said easily. He would’ve agreed to anything.

  She stood up there, and the words started scrolling across the screen. Her first notes were low, almost inaudible.

  “Can’t hear you!” a heckler in the back yelled, and Allison actually took a step back.

  After sending the guy a glare that would’ve torched an iceberg, Sean stood in front of Allison, just to the side of the screen, and held her hand. “Screw them,” he said, capturing her gaze and holding it. “Just focus on me, and sing your heart out.”

  She sang a little louder, with a tremor in her voice.

  “Sweetie, just sing.”

  She smiled...and sang.

  It wasn’t Ella Fitzgerald, but by the end of the song, she was heard by the back of the room.. .and even a blind man would hear the sweet smile in her voice.

  When she sang the last note, the crowd burst into a roar that rivaled a stadium concert. Allison blushed, then went pale, then went teary. Then she bolted, with Sean hot on her heels.

  She went out the back, startling the guy smoking out there. She went even further, out toward the street. She was crying.

  “I’m sorry,” Sean said, feeling like a complete jerk. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I just thought...I thought it might help...”

  “I sang,” she said, even as her tears glistened in the moonlight. “Did you hear me?”

  He couldn’t help it. He reached out, stroking the tear ofl that petal-soft cheek of hers. “Sweetie, everybody could hear you.”

  “I’ve never done that.” There was a tone of marvel in her voice. “I didn’t even know I could do that.”

  “You weren’t that bad,” he said. “If you decide that you want to ditch that whole surfing thing, you might pick up some blues...”

  He wasn’t expecting it. She tugged him toward the curb pushing him onto the street. “Uh, Allison?”

  She was staring at the high curb, then at him. Then: without warning, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He didn’t quite know what was going on at first. But as soon as that heated, mobile mouth of hers hit his, most of his logical brain functions shut off like a light anyway, and he was lost to a world of pure emotion. He let his hands move to her hips, pulling her closer to him, and he leaned down to give her better access. She took advantage of it, kissing him deeply.

  For a tiny girl, he had to admit two things: she could hold her liquor, and the woman sure could kiss.

  He didn’t know how long it went on, but it was both longer than he’d expected, and not nearly long enough. She was the one who pulled away, staring at him as if she couldn’t quite believe what had happened, either.

  “Allison,” he said, but she put up a hand and stopped him.

  “I don’t normally do that,” she said. “But I usually don’t drink. And I never sing. So I guess...I guess we can call this a night of firsts.”

  “As long as we’re not calling it a night of lasts,” he said quietly.

  She cogitated on that for a second. “What song are you going to sing?”

  He almost stripped gears mentally, trying to keep up with her change in topic. “Uh... hadn’t thought about it.” His mind came up with a few inappropriate ones—“Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw?” topping the list—and for some strange reason, the only other ones that were coming to mind were the drippiest, sappiest love songs he’d ever heard.

  He felt as if he’d been clamshelled by a twenty-footer in the Hawaiian Pipeline.

  He wanted to sing a love song to Allison. In front of all his friends.

  He cleared his throat. “How about ‘No Woman, No Cry’?” he suggested.

  “Okay,” she said, smiling...and then she took his hand.

  Oh, yeah. He was in trouble.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “OKAY, THIS IS HOW this is going to run,” Frank said, with all the relish of a commentator at the Colosseum, about to announce the release of the lions. “Three of you have new creative concepts that we’re going to test run for the Kibble Tidbits account. Each of you will have fifteen minutes to present your ideas, and then five minutes to defend the ideas. The one that wins my approval and the general approval of the team will be the one we go with in the new business presentation, to the client, on December thirty-first.” He paused for dramatic effect. “He or she will be the point person for that presentation. And, as if the stakes weren’t big enough— he or she will be in very strong consideration to run the account, should we get the business.”

  “What happens to the people who don’t get chosen?” Jerry, a new guy on the acco
unt team, whispered.

  “They battle to the death in the lunchroom,” someone else muttered back. There was a titter of laughter that was quickly quelled by Frank’s glare. ,

  Allison forced herself not to quail. Strangely enough, she wasn’t as nervous as she would be ordinarily. For the first time, she was completely, utterly preoccupied with something other than what was probably the second most important presentation of her career—one that would make the most important presentation of her career possible.

  You had to go and kiss Sean Gilroy.

  She closed her eyes. She had needed to get Sean to take her home, and in her drunken haze, she’d realized that she was probably going to feel some embarrassment when she sobered up. That, she discovered, was possibly the biggest understatement of her entire life. The next morning, she had awoken feeling like death and, when she remembered her behavior from the previous night, wishing that she had gone ahead and died. She’d called Sean, and in a croaking voice had canceled the lesson they’d had scheduled for Sunday. No way was she facing frigid waves and a wet-suit-clad Sean. He’d laughed, and volunteered to help her pick up her car from the karaoke bar. She’d taken a cab. Now she was scheduled to have a lesson with him that night, in his living room. She’d managed to avoid him for twenty-four hours.

  She was looking forward to that with even more dread than today’s presentation could even remotely engender.

  “So, the three people who are making the presentations are—Kate, Peter and of course Allison.”

  “Of course,” Jerry muttered, not caring that Allison could hear him.

  Maybe she should cancel tonight’s lesson, too, she thought as she watched her co-worker Kate stand up and start to give her presentation. She felt like a coward just considering it. And it wasn’t his fault that she had glommed on to him like a drowning swimmer and then kissed the daylights out of him. And he hadn’t made a move, hadn’t taken advantage of her. Worse, he’d acted as if everything was normal and made no mention of her passionate indiscretion when he’d called her that morning, checking in on her. So she could make two conclusions: one, that the kiss, while enthusiastic, hadn’t really been anything to write home about... and certainly hadn’t been enough to stir her mellow surf instructor into a frenzy of passion; two, it had been tepid enough that Sean obviously would have no problem teaching her. He probably just found the whole thing funny.