She laughed as she sauntered off. “You have no idea.” She stopped, then turned to look at me, her eyes narrowed. “Here come the girls. Best behavior.”
Before I could say anything, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowded room. Three girls headed straight for me, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and awe.
One girl, a blond wearing a strapless blue dress, approached first. “We just wanted to say hi,” she said. She wore blue eyeliner and nail polish, both the same color as her dress. I'd never seen a chick so color coordinated.
“Hey,” I said. “I'm Kellen.”
I shook her hand and then offered my hand to the other two girls, as well. They were more nervous than I'd originally thought, laughing and stammering as we chatted a little about surfing. None of them seem particularly interested in hitting on me, which took me a little by surprise. Not because I thought they would but because that was how most chicks reacted to me. But then I remembered where I met most girls – in bars and at competitions. Those girls were looking to hook up; these girls were just looking to talk.
With the ice broken, more girls wandered over. Soon, I was surrounded by a couple dozen girls, all of them asking me questions about surfing, not about what it was like to be famous. They wanted to know about where I'd surfed and where the best breaks were and what board I used for surfing the local breaks. Several asked me to sign their banquet programs. One mentioned she liked my tie.
At one point during our conversation, I scanned the room. Gina still hadn't come back with my water. I spotted her next to the cash bar set up in the corner, standing next to some guy, smiling and laughing. I felt a surge of irritation as I watched her talking animatedly, using her hands to emphasize something as she spoke. I didn't want her to talk to someone else like that. And I didn't like seeing it.
Ellen pushed her way through the crowd of girls surrounding me. “Time to take our seats,” she said, ushering the girls to their tables. I followed her to the coaches table at the front of the room and took a seat next to her. Gina appeared a minute later and handed me a glass of ice water.
“I didn't want to interrupt,” she said.
“I could have said the same thing.” I grabbed the glass and downed half of it. “I think I'm dehydrated.”
“No, you were talking a lot and you're nervous,” she said, her voice low so Ellen couldn't hear. “Just drink. But not too much. Wouldn't be good if you had to pee while you were giving your speech.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“What?”
“The dude.” I tried not to sound like some jealous asshole but I wasn't sure I was succeeding. Not that I had any reason to be jealous. But it didn't matter.
“Wyatt?” she asked and the name came out so casual, so familiar, that I clenched my jaw to keep from spewing out something I might regret later. “He's one of the assistant coaches. The guy I initially spoke with to get this set up.”
The irritation disappeared and I felt like an even bigger asshole. She was just doing her job, making sure she and I both came off looking good. And here I was, stewing like some miffed boyfriend.
If she noticed my attitude, she didn't say anything. Instead, she turned to Wyatt, who had just taken his seat at the table, and began making introductions. Wyatt and the other assistant, a bald guy named Beau, seemed genuinely happy to have me there. The administrator, a dark-haired woman dressed in a navy blue pantsuit, didn't appear to have a clue who I was, which was just fine with me.
A server arrived with our salads.
“So,” Wyatt said to me. I pegged him at about thirty. Brownish hair, friendly green eyes. “It's seriously cool that you're here. Girls were really stoked when they found out you'd be speaking tonight.”
“Thanks again for having me,” I said, drizzling dressing over the pile of greens on my plate.
He finished chewing his bite of salad. “I was a little surprised,” he said. “You had kind of a rough weekend.”
I set the dressing back on the table and fiddled with the napkin in my lap. “Yeah. Surfing was good, the rest wasn't.”
The administrator was seated next to Wyatt and she squinted at me. “Did something go wrong? I was told you won some big competition. I apologize for my ignorance.”
Before I could say anything, Gina stepped in for me. “Kellen is a target when he's out in public sometimes, like any person in the public eye. Nine times out of ten, people are friendly and just want to say hello. But that tenth person can sometimes be looking for trouble. The tenth person showed up this weekend.”
The administrator winced. “Ah, I see. Yes, I'm sure it can be difficult discerning who wants to be your friend for the right reasons.”
“Sometimes, yes,” I said, burying my fork in the salad.
Wyatt asked some more questions about The Open and fortunately didn't bring up anything more about the bar fight. He seemed knowledgeable enough about surfing and talking to him was easy. The administrator struck up a conversation with Ellen and Gina and, with their attention off of me, I relaxed a little.
Our salads were cleared and dinner was served, a plate with fried chicken, roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables. None of it looked appetizing but I also wasn’t hungry. I chalked it up to nerves. I ate a few bites of chicken and ended up pushing the rest of it around on my plate. There was more polite conversation about surfing, about their season, about San Diego, about beaches. If anyone noticed I was avoiding my food, they didn't say anything.
Twenty minutes later, we were waiting on coffee and dessert. I was the only one at the table to decline both.
Wyatt rested his elbows on the table and turned his attention back to me. “So, I've got a question for you.”
“Alright.”
“Is there any break you haven't gotten to surf yet? Any place you'd like to go?”
I thought back to what Gina had said in the car, about the traveling I'd done. I flashed through some of the more epic surfing trips and competitions I'd experienced. Mexico. Hawaii. South Africa. Thailand. “I don't think so. I've been pretty lucky. I've gotten to go pretty much everywhere.”
He nodded and his smiled faded. “Would you...do you think you would ever go back to Mavericks?”
My stomach knotted and I cleared my throat, but couldn't find any words. There was nothing there. I was frozen.
“What is Mavericks?” the administrator asked, looking around the table.
“It's a place near San Francisco,” Ellen explained. “It's a break with some of the largest waves on the planet each winter. Most people can't surf it; it's too dangerous.”
The administrator raised an eyebrow. “Oh, my.”
“I'm sorry,” Wyatt said, holding a hand. “Bad question. I apologize.”
I swallowed again, trying to cough up the words.
Gina reached out and rested her hand on my thigh. Even through the fabric, I could feel the warmth of her touch as she gently squeezed. If she'd done it an hour ago, I would have taken it a different way. Suggestive. Flirtatious. But I knew what she was doing; reaching out, making sure I knew she was there if I needed her, reassuring me that I could do this. I could get through the question and I could get through the rest of the night, too.
“It's okay,” I finally said. “It's okay. And, no. I don't plan to go back. There's...there's nothing for me there, man. I don't need to go back.”
Wyatt nodded, like he understood.
But, of course, he didn't. No one did. No one else was there that day. No one saw me goad Jay into making the drive up the coast. No one understood watching him go under. No one understood looking for him when he didn't come up. No one understood pulling his body out of the Boneyard.
Just me.
“Well,” Ellen said, standing. “I'm going to get this thing moving forward.” She smiled at each of us and made her way toward the podium at the front of the room.
Gina leaned over to me. “Focus,” she whispered. “You're fine. If you get stuck, just look
at me. But you can do this and you'll be great.”
I nodded.
“Just focus,” she said. “Forget dinner.”
I knew what she was alluding to. She wanted me to get Jay out of my head. Easier said than done.
Ellen did what was probably a standard intro for banquets, thanking people for coming and thanking the committee that had arranged the evening's events. Then she cleared her throat and the lights dimmed and a large screen behind her lit up. With a picture of me. It was one I knew well—me in Indonesia last summer, hoisted on Matty's shoulders, the Billabong Pro trophy in my hands. Oakley shades on, my O'Neill rashguard featured prominently in the picture, all my sponsors front and center. And standing next to me, his arms thrown in the air in celebration, was Jay. My knee started bouncing and Gina reached out again to steady me. She leaned close and I felt her breath in my ear, could smell her shampoo, as she whispered, “Focus.”
I tried. I looked away from the screen and stared instead at the space behind it, the wall that looked out on to the disappearing sun and the ocean that was ablaze with color. I listened as Ellen talked about me. She hit all the high points – the accolades I'd earned, the rankings I'd held, the win that weekend in Huntington Beach – and then she said my name and people began to clap and I realized I was up.
Gina patted my thigh and I pushed myself out of the chair. I ran a hand over my tie, took a deep breath and walked to the podium. My legs felt wobbly, like I'd just spent an afternoon in the water. I shook hands with Ellen and she took her seat back at the table. I waited for her to sit down, then pulled the speech from my coat pocket and laid it on the podium. I looked up.
Every single eye in the room was on me. It suddenly looked like a thousand people rather than a hundred. They were quiet, expectant, waiting for me begin. I'd been in front of far bigger crowds, but I'd been in the water. This time, there was no ocean and I didn't have my board. I didn't have the one thing I was good at to fall back on. All I had were words.
I cleared my throat and glanced at Gina.
She smiled and winked, like she knew something I didn't. Like she knew I could pull it off.
And, suddenly, I relaxed. All of the worries, all of the fears, just sort of fell away. Because she believed in me. And I believed what she was telling me.
I could do it.
I looked at the speech for a second, laid my hands flat on the podium and, with one last, deep breath, began my speech. My voice sounded foreign to me, tinny and hollow through the microphone, but the more I spoke, the less I noticed. I started slowly, reading carefully from the paper in front of me. There were a few laughs at the right time and, when I glanced up, they were still looking at me, still engaged. My confidence surged a little. The more I spoke, the more comfortable I was, recounting my first time in the water and the first time I'd managed to stand up on the board. I started looking away from the pages and just talking, remembering the words Gina and I had gone over. By the time I'd gotten to the end, I was worried that I'd skipped part of it or forgotten it. When I said the last word, there was lots of clapping and lots of smiles and I guessed that I hadn't completely sucked.
Ellen returned to the podium, thanked me and put her hand on the small of my back, gently sending me back to my seat so she could start the awards.
I took my seat again, reached for the water glass, and downed the rest of it in a couple of swallows. I set it back down on the table and wiped at my mouth with the linen napkin. I glanced at Gina, who was staring openly at me.
“What?” I whispered.
A corner of her mouth turned upward into a smile. “Big in the moment.”
SEVENTEEN
Kellen
I loosened the tie at my neck and felt like I could breathe for the first time in hours. “I'm starving.”
We were headed up the 5, back toward San Clemente. We'd sat through nearly an hour of awards. I'd clapped politely and tried to stay interested and attentive. When it was over, I signed a bunch of autographs, shook a lot of hands, and said thank you more times than I could count. The jitters were gone. And I was about ready to eat my hand.
“Chicken wasn't enough?” Gina asked.
“I didn't eat it.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she said. “Probably just nerves. It used every calorie you had in your body.”
“Probably.” I didn't tell her that I just really didn't like fried chicken. “You mind driving through somewhere before you drop me?”
“Sure.”
Ten minutes later, she pulled off the freeway and I routed her toward an all-night Mexican place. She pulled up to the drive-thru menu and I ordered a carne asada burrito. I was surprised when she yelled into the speaker to make it two.
“Guess you're hungry, too.”
“I didn't eat, either,” she admitted as she pulled the car forward.
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “I don't know. Just didn't.”
“You thought I was gonna screw it up.”
“No, I really didn't.” But then she shot me a look and grinned. “Okay, I might have thought that a little bit.”
“Jesus. I knew it.”
She cuffed me lightly on the arm. “Relax. I'm kidding. I knew you'd be great. I wouldn't have scheduled it if I thought you'd tank. Remember, I'm here to make you look good, not to help you self-destruct.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So would now be a good time to tell you a girl gave me her number?”
She pivoted her head in my direction, wide-eyed.
I held up a hand. “Kidding.” When she continued to stare at me, her expression expectant, I sighed. “Okay, so some chick tried but I told her I had a girlfriend. I politely declined, as directed by you.”
She looked like she was trying to decide if I was telling the truth.
I held up my hands. “You can check my pockets if you want,” I said. “I didn't take it.”
Her expression warmed slightly. “I believe you. I think.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Whatever.”
We pulled up to the window and she reached for her purse but I was already ready with a twenty I'd fished out of my wallet.
“You don't have to pay for mine,” she said.
“It's a burrito,” I said. “And you've been driving my ass around everywhere.”
“You pay mileage.”
I laughed again. I should have known. “Just take it.”
She hesitated, then handed the cash to the guy in the window. He handed her the change and a bag that was already showing grease stains on the bottom. A good sign.
She dumped the bills and the bag in my lap. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” I breathed in the aroma coming from the bag. “Now drive fast so we can eat.”
She got us back to my place in four minutes but didn't kill the engine. Instead, she idled in the driveway. “I should go,” she said.
I knew what she was thinking. It was late. We'd spent the entire evening together. Our work for the day was over.
But I didn't want her to go. Not because I didn't want to be alone; I just didn't want her to leave.
“Come eat with me first,” I said.
“It's late.”
“How old are you?” I teased. “Ninety?”
She made a face. “No, it's just...”
I pushed open the passenger door, taking the food with me. “Come on.”
A moment later, she cut the engine and followed me into the house.
Rip was sitting on the kitchen table, like he knew we'd be bringing food. I stripped off the coat and tie and tossed them on the back of the couch in the living room.
“You should hang up the jacket,” Gina said.
“Why? Am I gonna have to wear it again?”
She stepped out of her shoes and padded barefoot into the living room. “Maybe.”
“I'll get it dry cleaned then.” I set the bag next to Rip on the table. He sniffed it and stuck his paw inside. “You want something to drink?”
She hesitated.
“It's not a trick question,” I said, opening the fridge.
“I think I want a beer. If you have one.”
I was surprised but didn't say anything, just held up one of the bottles of Pacifico. “This cool?”
She nodded. I popped the cap off and handed it to her.
I got a bottle of water for myself and twisted the lid off.
“You're not having one?” she asked, holding her beer up in question.
“Uh, no.” I took a swig of the water. “I was instructed not to drink, remember? By you.”
She smiled and brought the bottle to her lips. “One beer. I'll let you have one.”
I rolled my eyes but I was smiling. I drained the water bottle and grabbed a beer before joining her at the table. She'd already pulled the burritos out of the bag. I unwrapped mine and tore off a piece of tortilla. I tossed it to the floor and Rip jumped down after it.
“He likes human food?” Gina asked, fiddling with the foil beneath the burrito.
“He likes all food. He's a machine. He'll end up eating half. Guaranteed.”
My stomach rumbled like a signal to start eating and I tore into the burrito, taking two huge bites.
Gina watched.
“What?” I asked, looking down at my shirt. Maybe I'd spilled some hot sauce or something.
“I'm glad you didn't eat like that at the dinner.”
I tore off another hunk, chewed, and swallowed. “I'm not a complete animal.”
She smiled. “No, I guess not.”
We ate in silence, Rip occasionally pawing at my leg, begging for more. I dropped a few more pieces and fifteen minutes later, my burrito was gone. I rolled up the foil into a ball and tossed it into the living room. Rip went skittering after it.
“This is really good,” Gina said. “Really good.”
“The beer or the burrito?”
“Both.” She polished off the burrito and picked up her beer.
I nodded. “Yeah. I usually eat there once a day.”
“I would, too,” she said. She brought the bottle to her lips again and took another drink.
I tried not to stare at her. The alcohol had loosened her up a little. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes a little glassy, a smile permanently planted on her lips. Her hair had loosened even more from her sloppy mess of a bun, and she reached up to undo it. Within seconds, her hair fell to her shoulders and all I wanted to do was reach out and touch it, to see if it felt as soft as it looked.
The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories Page 151