by A. J. Sand
It was fun while it lasted. Fuck it. I’m over it, he thought. Though the squeezing in his chest begged to differ. And he finally turned away from her and went to go join his friends. Even though the waves weren’t the best he’d ever seen out here, they were firing right now, maybe around four to five feet. But it could’ve been worse; the water could’ve been completely flat. The crowd came to see him and Brody, so they were going last, but the noise level was at a steady fever pitch when the first set of surfers hit the water.
Wes cheered on his teammates, clapping it up for morale, but his mind forced his gaze across the beach, and all his muscles tightening when his eyes fell to Lana. Somehow he’d just found her in the crowd again, hands on hips, talking to Brody. Wes wasn’t really a fighter, but he considered what it would be like to punch Brody’s teeth down his throat for a second. Anger pulsated in his stomach, and he clenched his teeth until his jaw joints hurt, until their conversation concluded. This really should not have been bothering him; it should not have sparked such an ache in his chest. There were women all over the place. He could literally put together an orgy before it was his time to surf if he wanted to.
But the problem is, you’re jealous, Deuce, he admitted to himself. You’re jealous because she’s amazing. She’s amazing and you hate Brody.
“Deuce! You all right, man?” Christian, who had just completed his set, slapped him on the back.
“Yeah. Great job out there, dude!”
“Thanks! You’re not worried about that guy, are you?” he gestured at Brody.
“Hell no.”
“Checking out the girls, then? The one standing on his right with the long brown hair and shorts…you were talking to her earlier, right? If she’s with Brody, that’s a goddamn shame. She’s beautiful.”
Didn’t he know it. He really needed to burn off a lot of his anxiety and annoyance, and his impatience to get in the water gnawed at him until it was finally his turn. His team was up by a few points, and Damon Eckhart’s airs were amazing enough to push them into such a lead that they were within winning range. Wes and Brody would both get eight minutes in the water, and they would alternate after four. Wes planned to crush him in the first half to the point that even if Brody promised one of the judges a rub and tug, it would still result in a loss for him, and it would be even better because Lana was watching. Yeah, he could admit that.
Since Team O.C. had won last year, Brody went out first, and Wes and Lana locked eyes again. A lot of his irritation evaporated when she smiled. She held up a finger and pulled her phone out of her bag. He shrugged as he shook his head and mouthed, No phone. Abel had it and he was a few feet away from him, but Wes didn’t feel like talking to her right now.
Later? she mouthed with a hopeful grin.
Yeah.
The crowd went crazy for Brody once he was back on the beach. He passed his surfboard off to someone and posed for pictures, before he walked straight for Wes and hammered his shoulder into his. The Oahu surfers got rowdy and quickly circled Brody, which only agitated his friends, and soon both groups were spewing venomous words at each other with security prying them apart physically and with threats. Wes shook his head, grabbed his board and jogged out into the ocean to meet the guy on the Jet Ski.
The timer sounded and the Jet Ski operator yanked him toward the breaking waves. Once he gained power and speed, he released the rope, left the surface of the water, and grabbed the rail of his board with both hands, turning one hundred and eighty degrees. He caught his balance when he landed in the splashing white wash then maneuvered the surfboard a few feet before he purposely slipped below the surface. He was up again in a few seconds, flipping and twisting over the water and landing every stunt. The crowd went crazy, cheers pressing across the night sky. Brody would match all those moves easily on his next ride, but his Frontside Air Reverses were sloppy, and he’d attempt it at least once and not land it, and this was where Wes would pull the win with his own signature move.
He was much more confident as his last set approached. He even clapped for Brody as he finished his second round and saluted him as they jogged past each other. Wes grabbed the rope again when the Jet Ski came around, and he was pulled back into the crashing waves. As he gained speed, he got into the required stance, slung his body into the elevated spin, and grabbed the edge of his board as he went up. But he released it during the two rotations and landed perfectly. He surfed the remains of the dying waves and pumped his arms up in response to the uproarious shouts. He pulled it off one more time then threw in more wild, crowd-pleasing flips before his four minutes were called.
He threw his surfboard off to the side and lifted both arms into the air once he was back on the beach. They knew it. He knew it. It was over. Victory.
“Okay! Okay! You guys don’t get to decide, but the judges have tallied their votes and they seem to agree with you! The winner of the Big O Night Surf is…Team Oahu, with Wesley ‘Deuce’ Elliott as your overall winner!” the DJ yelled into the microphone. The guys lifted him into the air and carried him all the way to the winner’s podium. Team Oahu gathered for pictures and to receive the golden O-shaped trophy. When the frequency of the commercial flashbulbs waned some, Wes cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “After-party’s at me and Abel’s! Please come! Unfortunately we have to respect the fire code, so a red bracelet is the only way to get in!”
Leko, Ribsy, Dylan and Abel flung handfuls of them into the grabby palms of the anxious. Wes grabbed some Lava merchandise he’d brought and tossed it to the crowd, too, finally stripping off his surf shirt and throwing that as far as he could. He took a final picture with his bicep flexed, pointing at his Deuce Is Wild tattoo on the underside of his arm before he stepped down. People were rushing past each other to interact with him; it was a whirlwind of inappropriate touching, cell phone photos and high-fives.
“Hey, Wes.” Sloane Benson was at his side once the excitement eventually died down, reminding him of why he loved living in California. She was the quintessential beach girl: tiny bathing suit, long black hair and perennial tan without a single visible tan line. She threw her arms around him and smashed a kiss to his neck. Sloane was actually something of an ex from a few years ago. He’d dated her exclusively but very briefly within the two years after Erin’s death.
“Benzo! Good to see you,” he said, squeezing her a little tighter. He froze in place when his and Lana’s gazes collided as she and her friends walked by. She slowed her pace, nodded and mouthed, Congratulations.
Thank you, he said with a civil nod back before she continued her walk. She could go hang out with Brody…or anyone else tonight, if she wanted. But a vague feeling of regret, a twinge of loss, tightened just beneath his diaphragm. It had only been a little over a month; he shouldn’t have cared. But…he did. “Good to see you, too. How’s San Diego?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes off Lana until she faded into the crush.
“Awesome. You’re welcome to come hang out, you know. I still contend that the waves are better down there,” Sloane said with a smile.
“Boyfriends better down there, too? ” he asked, nudging her arm.
“Not so much. We broke up.”
“Is that so?”
She cradled his face. “Yeah…and I’m totally on the rebound, which sucks because I didn’t get a bracelet to your party tonight…”
“You don’t have to worry about getting in, Benz…” he said with a half-smile.
“Oh really? And I was simply going to settle for just a hug tonight…”
“You can definitely get more than a hug...”
“Good…” she said in a drawl, before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Sloane linked arms with him as they joined the mass of people leaving the beach.
And it was in these moments, this kind of night, when Wes realized that maybe it was stupid to question how he had ended up with this life; maybe, sometimes, you were just born a king.
And kings certainly didn’t need to ge
t hung up on one girl.
Chapter 5 Not Naked but Bare
The music was already too loud, the house would reach capacity even with the bracelets, they would probably run out of food (but not the alcohol, thank God), and it was “high school basement party” dark in there, but Wes didn’t care; he was the ringmaster and this was his circus. He shot a friendly nod at Christian and Damon, who were standing guard at the door to make sure only people who had bracelets would be allowed entry.
Wes stepped into the kitchen with two bottles of Bacardi 151 rum and with Sloane hugging him from the back. Thoughts of Lana were forcing their way into his head, but he was pretty sure they were no match for 75% alcohol by volume! Plus, Sloane was all over him, and she had been by his side since they’d left the beach a couple hours before.
“Collared shirt. And it’s purple,” Abel said as he inspected his brother.
“Lilac,” Dylan explained as she trailed behind them. “And Sloane and I think it looks nice on him.”
“Toast!” Wes summoned as many of the early arrivals as he could into the kitchen as Ribsy poured shot quantities of rum into red Solo cups. “Let’s make it a good one, boys…and girls.”
“What are we toasting to…besides you, my fabulous best friend?” Dylan asked, wrapping her arms around his torso.
“What do we always toast to?” he said as he slung his arm around her shoulders. “Here’s to living large…” He looked to Abel.
“Playing often...” Abel said, looking to Leko.
“Working hard…” He turned to Ribsy.
“Getting drunk…” Then all the eyes turned to Dylan.
“Kai isn’t here, baby, you gotta say it,” Leko said, nearly choking on his laughter. Wes joined in on the laughter when Dylan muttered the last part of the guys’ traditional toast.
“What’s that, Dyl?” Wes said, cupping his hand at his ear.
Dylan groaned. “And…fucking dirty.”
“AND FUCKING DIRTY!!!” they repeated in unison before touching cups and throwing back their drinks under an umbrella of cheering from the party guests. Now, he was ready to celebrate his night. He signaled to Christian and Damon that they should let more people in as he grabbed Sloane’s hand and led her off to the expansive living room, which was quickly filling with people trying to get closer to the DJ. After the distraction of people congratulating him and insisting on doing shots with him—people were literally just pouring streams of liquor down his throat, no cups—and Sloane, looking determined to reserve him the whole night, linked her fingers at the back of his neck and ground her backside into his pelvis to the powerful beat battering the eardrums of everyone in the room.
Tonight had been awesome. He just needed to shake the dull, distant ache in his stomach Lana had somehow left there earlier. After a few songs and a lot of welcomed groping from Sloane, Christian appeared at his side, looking like he was taking his job way too seriously. “Dude, there are a ton of girls here without bracelets, but one of them says you know her. She insisted, but don’t they all say that?”
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t remember, and I wasn’t even going to bother, but she said something really weird. And she made me repeat it over and over just now until I got it right. I don’t even think I did. She said, ‘Tell Wes…’ Shit. I forgot. It was something about souls being made of stuff…the same stuff… Shit, dude, I don’t know.”
“‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same?’” Wes said, smiling. Oh, she’s good.
Christian’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh…yeah. That’s it. How did you…?”
“I got it. I’ll be back, Sloane,” Wes said without any further explanation as he dashed to the door and caught sight of the anaconda length line tracing down the sidewalk. Someone started an inarticulate, slurring-heavy chant of “Deuce is wild!” People were shouting his name, begging to be let in. But he wasn’t really there for any of them.
He was mid-wave at the crowd when he saw her, and his heart suddenly became a resident of his throat.
Lana.
Wow. There she was. Being breathtaking without having to try. He had never seen her dressed up like this before, either. She was standing off to the side, brown hair curled but loose around her shoulders, strapless red dress hugging her frame. His biker chick with the books. The woman smart enough to know he would respond to a Wuthering Heights quote. That he would fall for it.
A pleasant roll of chills unfurled down his front when her gaze smacked into him.
It’s later, she mouthed then smiled. She smiled and everything else paled around her. The noise. The people. The air. The dull ache from earlier was morphing, his stomach filling with something warm, light, something delightfully orgasmic. Ignoring the pleas of the others, he stepped down into the yard, pulled her into a hug and inhaled the scent of her. Sometimes he could smell her on his sheets for days, taste her on his tongue long after she was gone.
Without even meaning to, Lana Langston was lingering.
He kissed her cheek as he yanked his mind away from the thoughts that aroused him. “If I tell you that you’re beautiful will you believe me even though I’m drunk?”
“I’ll believe it ‘cause it’s coming from you.”
“You’re beautiful, and I’m glad you’re here.” Her friends awwed until she told them to shut up. “You guys can all come in,” he added, gesturing at them, but he stopped Lana from going inside by closing his hand around her wrist. “I was an asshole earlier, Lan. It wasn’t my business. My issues with Brody should’ve been separate from our thing.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick with the apology…” She ticked her head over to the street, and Wes recognized the silver Cadillac Escalade belonging to Brody Swift.
“Damn, you came to my party in that dress, and you brought Brody…” He shook his head. “That’s cold-blooded, dude.”
Lana blushed in her quiet laughter. “I didn’t bring him. I actually think he’s here for you… I tried to talk him out of it.”
Where were they talking about him? Like in the same room? His bedroom? Wes clenched his jaw, a feeling of displeasure pushing against his sternum from the inside. He had to get this shit under control, this reacting because of her.
“I didn’t want him to ruin your night.”
“It’s okay.” He was determined to prove to Lana that this wasn’t a big deal to him, but the fact that she was worried suddenly mattered to him. He could fake civility for her sake. He wanted to. He was usually the peacemaker in his group of friends, anyway. “I’ll even invite him in.”
“Wes…”
“Go inside, Lan, I’m sure Abel will want to flirt with you endlessly…”
Walking toward the car, Wes sucked in a breath as he tried to wrestle down the intuition that he was about to knowingly make a stupid mistake, but he needed Lana to know that he was better than Brody. He almost turned back when a deep grin dragged across Brody’s face; he was sitting in the passenger seat. Some of his friends were standing alongside the vehicle, drinking and smoking, and some were inside.
“Congrats, Elliott,” Brody said, jutting his hand out the window. “I guess there’s something to be said for winning a contest that doesn’t really mean shit on the grand scale of things.”
“I see your backhanded compliment and raise you one sore ass loser.” Wes eyed Brody’s hand but took it. “If you guys can tone the douchebaggery down just a little bit, you can come in if you want.” The words were forced, and Wes didn’t actually feel like a better person for having said them. Damn you, Lana.
A face—half-moonlit, half-shadowed—poked out of the back window. “What we want is to know how you like getting Swift’s sloppy seconds? Hey, Brody, tell Elliott which hole Lana likes it in best.” Rowdy laughter rose up around Wes, and he felt the fiery heat of anger curl through him. It intensified as the cackles continued. Peacemaker or not, he was too full of alcohol for this shit.
“Why don’t you get out of the car
and say that to me,” Wes said in a challenge, reaching into the window with a fist just as the guy ducked back in. Wes pulled the door handle toward him forcefully but it was locked, and one of the other guys shoved him backward.
He hated that phrase, but he wasn’t embarrassed. Almost everyone had been with someone’s “sloppy seconds” technically, but his fury stemmed purely from hearing a derogatory jab directed at Lana. She didn’t deserve that. No one did.
“Elliott, we’ll have you on your ass before your friends even turn that doorknob,” the driver yelled as Brody’s friends crowded Wes. He was right; he was no match for them out here by himself.
“You’re just going to let them talk about your friend like that?” Wes asked Brody with disgust. He personally never would’ve said that about a woman ever, much less one he supposedly cared about. Or let anyone else do it. He’d scolded Abel earlier for that tongue-in-cheek comment about Lana knowing surfing, the insinuation that she was a groupie.
Brody shrugged. “I didn’t say it.” Fist clenching, Wes narrowed his eyes on Brody, who only returned a glare. A quick smack to the face would’ve sent Brody’s head flying back, and Wes would’ve been extremely amused…before Brody’s friends pummeled him into the dirt. But it would’ve been worth the resulting black eye and bruises on Lana’s behalf.
“Yeah, but you could’ve said something. That’s what decent people do.” He knew the dormant aggression between him and Brody would only be able to just brew for so long, especially because it felt like it was doing so in a pressure cooker. When he looked back toward the house, Lana was walking over and he didn’t want her to be in the vicinity if anything else vile was said. Just the thought of her feelings getting hurt right now was akin to having nails pushed into his eye sockets, and he had an intuition that none of these guys would have a single reservation when it came to disrespecting her to her face. He didn’t need another reason to dislike Brody, but he certainly had one now.