Maverick

by Cruise, Anna

  “You sure you're okay to drive?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn't I be?”

  “The beer.”

  “It was one beer, Kellen.”

  “I know.” She reached for the car door but I stepped in front of her and leaned up against it, blocking her access.

  “What are you doing?”

  I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I'd had one beer, not seven. But there I was, leaning against the car, positioning myself between her and the door. All because I didn't want her to go.

  “Kellen?”

  I stepped out of the way and grabbed the door handle. “Just opening the door for you.” It was a lame ass excuse but I wasn't about to tell her what was really going through my head.

  She looked at me, surprised. “Uh, okay. Thank you?” It came out as a question.

  “Just trying to build up extra points for when I screw up,” I told her.

  She shook her head and chuckled as she slid into the driver's seat. “You haven't screwed up.” She looked at me and her eyes grew serious. “And I don't think you're gonna.”

  I crouched down so that my eyes were level with hers. She looked beautiful, the streetlight and sliver of moon in the sky bathing her face in an almost other-worldly light. Her dark eyes almost matched the color of the sky and her lips looked darker, too, a deeper red that I wanted to touch. To taste.

  “I might,” I said, my voice low.

  “How?” she asked. “How do you think you're going to mess things up? You've been absolutely perfect so far.”

  “I might do something you don't want me to do.”

  She smiled and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. I couldn't remember the last time I'd wanted someone like this. That wasn't true, I corrected myself. I'd wanted plenty of chicks before. Wanted them so badly that we'd barely made it to a hotel room, much less a bed. But this kind of want was different. I didn't want to fuck Gina. I mean, I did, but not right then. What I wanted was her. Not her body and not what she could do to me or give me. I wanted her.

  “Like what?” she asked, a smile teasing her lips. “Ask me a million more questions?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe something else.”

  She waited expectantly and this time I couldn't stop myself. I leaned close and watched her eyes widen in surprise as I touched my lips to hers.

  I didn't expect fireworks. I wanted to touch her, to taste her, to see if the reality would be half as good as my expectations. That was it.

  But she sighed and shifted and her lips pressed into mine and I lost it. I groaned and leaned into her, my fingers reaching for and finding her hair, threading their way through the tangled mess, my lips moving against hers, forcing her mouth open. She tasted like spices and beer and my tongue tangled with hers. She didn't stop me. She didn't push me away. She kissed me back. Hard.

  “Stop,” she finally said, her breathing ragged against my open mouth.

  I pulled away and her head dropped to my shoulder. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might jackhammer right out of my chest.

  She breathed deeply, like she was trying to catch her breath. “What the hell was that?”

  I took a deep breath of my own. “It's called a kiss...”

  She lifted her head and glared at me. “No shit.” She looked even more beautiful than before, her eyes dark with passion, her lips moist and reddened. I felt desire surge through me and I had to use all of my self-control to not reach for her again.

  Because she was pissed.

  “I work for you, Kellen,” she said, her voice raised. “Remember? We're trying to repair your reputation, not give people another fucking reason to gossip about you.”

  “I know, I know,” I mumbled. I knew she was right. And even though the only thing I wanted to do was bury my lips against hers one more time, I knew I shouldn't have done it. “I'm sorry.”

  She looked away and I could see her lips trembling. I didn't know if it was from rage or if she was on the verge of tears. But then she looked at me, her eyes ablaze, and I knew.

  “You know, I was wrong.” She ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it back. My fingers had made a disaster of it. “About you screwing up. I think you want to.”

  “What?” I'd pulled myself back to a standing position and looked down at her, sitting in the car, her posture rigid.

  “You heard me. Everything's going fine and what do you do? Pull some stupid stunt like this.”

  “This wasn't a stunt, Gina.”

  She held up her hand to stop me. “Shut up. I know you. You're just trying to show who has the upper hand here. Show me that, even though I think I'm the one in charge, you're really the one calling all the shots.”

  I stared at her, wide-eyed. What the hell was she talking about?

  “Look, you may be the big shot here but I know my job and I know how to do it.” She was incensed. “And I know you don't give a flying fuck about the stuff I've lined up for you. I'm not even sure if you care about your reputation, about getting back on the tour. But I know one thing. Nothing gives you the right to fuck with me. So you can save your little seductions for women who give a shit about you. Because I don't.”

  I pulled back, stung. “Whoa. I don't know what the hell is going on--”

  She cut me off. “Me either. One minute I think we're friends, we're having a good time, and the next thing I know you're shoving your tongue down my throat and itching to get your dick wet. I'm not stupid, Kellen and I know it's not because you've suddenly developed the hots for me.”

  “Stop—”

  But she didn't. “I was wrong.” She shook her head. “I was wrong about you. You're exactly what I thought you were going to be like.”

  I knew what was coming and I braced myself for it.

  She leveled her eyes on me, her mouth set in a firm line.

  “You're an asshole, Kellen Handler.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I somehow managed to drive back to the hotel room without crashing my car.

  Not because I was drunk. Hell, the beer hadn't even given me much of a buzz, not with the massive burrito I'd eaten with it. No, I'd driven a little recklessly because I couldn't see straight, I was so angry with myself and with Kellen.

  I played back the entire evening in my head. The minutes spent at his house before the banquet as I helped him with his suit. The drive down to San Diego and the conversation in the car, waffling back and forth between easy banter and difficult questions. The moment at the table with Wyatt, putting my hand on Kellen's leg, trying to reassure him. My chest swelling with some weird, misplaced sense of pride as he'd stepped up to the podium, big in the moment. The drive back to his house, the weight of the banquet lifted from him. Sitting at the kitchen table, eating burritos and drinking beer, having him pepper me again with a million questions. And then the driveway. Kellen leaning against my car. Crouching down. Kissing me.

  I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was I doing?

  I pulled into the hotel parking lot and made my way to my hotel room. I tossed my keys on the nightstand and stared at the stocked minibar. My eyes shifted to the bathroom and then back to the bar. I had two choices. Get completely shit-faced and try to forget what happened or get in the shower and try to wash away the anxiety and anger that had welled up inside of me. I hesitated for a minute, then lifted my dress up over my head. I stepped out of my panties, unclasped my bra and headed into the bathroom. I turned on the shower and steam filled the room. I stepped in, gasping a little as the hot water pelted my skin. The muscles in my neck and back were completely locked up and I let the water massage them into submission, let the heat and steam try to melt away the emotions coursing through me.

  By the time I turned off the water and toweled off, I was in a better place to think. I pulled on a T-shirt and an old pair of shorts and sat down on the bed.

  Kellen Handler had kissed me.

  Big fucking deal.

  We'd h
ad an emotional roller coaster of a day. For him, it had been the banquet and the suit and the comments about Mavericks. For me, it had been the questions he'd peppered me with over the last twenty-four hours.

  But that didn't excuse my going off on him when he kissed me.

  Why had I freaked so badly?

  Kellen's questions had unnerved me. I wasn't ready to disclose my entire life to him and I was surprised that he cared enough to ask. But I'd meant what I'd told him. He had done well and he was turning out to be different than what I'd expected. I'd fully expected a cocky, arrogant, immature prima donna who had no ability to see past the tip of his own nose and he'd certainly started out like that. But the more I was around him and the more I watched him, I didn't think he was really like that. Some of it was his public persona, but a lot of it was just a guy who was a little lost and needed some help.

  I liked that about him. Very much.

  He'd been a natural at the podium, no matter what he'd thought. He smiled, he made eye contact and the entire room had been his. I was fairly confident every girl in that room would've slept with him if he'd asked. He had those kind of looks and that kind of presence. The fact that he'd followed my directions to the letter and behaved like a professional told me more about him than I expected to know. A lot of clients, it was a game of push and shove to get them to fall in line. But Kellen had fallen in line immediately after the initial vocal complaints. And that told me that he wanted to change, that he didn't want to be surfing's bad boy.

  But then he'd leaned through my car window and everything went from focused to blurred.

  I hadn't been expecting it. I'd expected him to say goodnight, maybe make some smart ass remark or something, but that was it. When he leaned down, I knew what was coming. And I'd held my ground. Kissed him back.

  Because I'd wanted to.

  But as soon as I'd done it, I knew it was wrong. For a ton of reasons.

  Because I was working for him and we had a professional relationship, like I'd said to him. We couldn't get those lines crossed. That would just screw everything up that we were trying to accomplish and I didn't want to be one of those people who didn't define their personal and professional boundaries.

  It was more than just that, though, and I knew it. I wouldn't have gone off on him if it was just that.

  I set the alarm on my phone and then set the one on the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was an old habit that I'd never broken. Two alarms, just in case. I'd never missed a class, an appointment or a flight because I was never late.

  I turned off the light, closed my eyes and for a moment, thought I was going to pass out.

  But then Luke's face appeared and my eyes opened and I knew why I'd freaked out.

  Kellen was starting to remind me of Luke. Not in a doppelganger kind of way, but in the small ways that made me miss Luke so much. The sense of humor. The occasional harmless arrogance. The quiet insecurity. The fact that he loved burritos. The fact that he felt most at home in the ocean.

  And I think the fact that I saw a bit of Luke in Kellen, too, when I read about the fight he'd been in. It reminded me that I never wanted to feel the pain of losing someone like that ever again. If I let myself get close to Kellen in any way, the risk of losing him would always be there and I'd decided I wasn't putting myself in that position ever again.

  It had been three years since he'd been gone. I didn't miss Luke in the way that I did initially, like there was a hole in my heart that was never going to close up. It was different now. Like a long lost friend. The hopelessness had finally faded. I knew that life went on and I'd made sure mine had gone on. The memories now were more happy than sad. I could focus on the good times we had instead of the good times we'd never get to have. I could look at the ocean without flinching, without thinking of the last time I'd seen him and Leo and Anthony there on the shoreline.

  I turned over in the bed, pulling the sheets tighter around me.

  Leo.

  I didn't want to go visit him, no matter what Anthony said. But I knew I had to. It was the one time a year that I faced it all, that I dealt with it all, let it tumble out of the closet I kept it locked away in. It was cathartic. It wouldn't be comfortable but I'd do it. I knew I would because I always did.

  But I knew it would feel different this time. Because of Kellen. Because he reminded me of Luke, because he lived to surf, because he was asking about my brothers and because he was going to want to know why I wasn't going to be available in two days. I'd need to come up with something. I didn't want to lie to him, but I didn't want to tell him what I was doing either.

  And I was going to have to apologize to him. Without explaining everything. Because I didn't want to open those doors.

  I closed my eyes again.

  Luke wasn't there.

  No one was.

  And I was used to that.

  NINETEEN

  I was up early the next morning, Rip standing on my chest, looking down at me, waiting to be fed. I'd never needed an alarm clock after Rip had moved in, but that morning I didn't even need him. Because I hadn't slept.

  I tossed off the sheets and pulled on one of the pairs of shorts that littered the bedroom floor. I shuffled to the kitchen and, before I did anything else, filled his empty bowl. Rip buried his head in it, his tiny teeth grinding up the kibble, his head bobbing up and down.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and walked out to the patio and thought about Gina. She'd kept me up all night. I replayed the entire night in my head multiple times. But mostly, I focused on the driveway. Leaning in, kissing her, feeling her respond to me. And then ripping me a new one immediately afterward.

  I swallowed a mouthful of water and sighed. I probably shouldn't have kissed her. She was right—we were working together, it wasn't professional, all that bullshit. That wasn't the part that pissed me off, that kept me awake most of the night. I got that. It made sense. Don't kiss the chick you're working with. I understood why that might not be such a hot idea.

  But then she'd gone off on me. Accused me of pulling a stunt, telling me I'd just done it to show her who was boss, which made exactly zero sense. And then she'd called me an asshole.

  I sighed again. None of those things had been the reasons I'd kissed her. None. But she hadn't let me get a word in, just sat there and yelled at me and then tore off, her taillights disappearing down the road.

  I'd never gotten so chewed out for one kiss. And it shouldn't have mattered. It was a single fucking kiss. And there were a million chicks who'd wanted to be kissed by me. Kissed and a whole hell of a lot more.

  But those million chicks weren't Gina. And she mattered.

  I tried to shift my attention to something else and looked out at the ocean. The fog was thick and wet, almost like it was raining, and I couldn't see the water's edge even though I knew it was right there. Resigned, I grabbed my phone and opened the web browser. The surf report didn't give me anything to be excited about. I took a deep breath. I couldn't even go surf to try and forget what had happened.

  I turned to my emails, scrolling through them quickly. There was one from Heath, asking how the speaking thing had gone. I replied quickly, a one sentence response. Matty just checking in. His warranted a single word reply. Some stuff forwarded from my website, people looking for autographs and pictures. Normally, I'd blow them off or pass them on to Heath. But then I flashed back to Gina calling me an asshole. I didn't want people to think I was a jerk, that I was better than anyone else. So I answered the emails myself this time. There was one from an eleven year old kid, telling me I was his all-time favorite. He'd watched me in Huntington Beach and he'd made up his mind that one day he was going to win The Open, too. He asked if I had any tips, anything that might help him.

  I thought for a moment, watching the fog drift across the beach in front of me, sipping the water.

  Then I sent him a long email, detailing some of the small things I'd learned about reading the water, positioning my feet, ba
lance, anything I could think of that might help. When I was done tapping away on my phone, the email was eight paragraphs long. I couldn't ever remember sending that kind of reply to a fan before. I made a note of the kid's name. Nick Miller. Then I hit send.

  I was not going to be an asshole.

  I went inside and thought about making breakfast but I wasn't hungry, so I jumped in the shower instead. I tried not to think about Gina as I soaped myself. About the kiss. About what it would feel like to stand in the shower with her. She thinks you're an asshole, I reminded myself, and that quickly extinguished the thoughts I was having about her.

  I toweled off and grabbed a clean pair of shorts. I was about to toss on a t-shirt when I stopped and stole a quick glance at myself in the mirror. I thought about where I was going and what I would be doing. The apology to the scumbag from the bar. I knew what Gina would tell me to wear, what she would tell me to look like. I turned to my closet instead and pulled out one of the few collared shirts I owned, a blue Quiksilver polo. I checked my reflection in the mirror, then after a moment, tucked the shirt into my shorts and grabbed a belt from my closet. I couldn't remember the last time I'd tucked my shirt in. Well, except for the suit from last night. It felt awkward. But I knew what I needed to look like. I knew what Gina would want. And, even after the shit she'd pulled the night before, I didn't want her to be disappointed in me.

  A thought hit me then, something I hadn't thought about. What if she didn't show up today? What if she'd gotten so pissed, so bent out of shape, that she'd decided not to work with me anymore? I doubted she would do something like that—she was far too professional—but it still made me wonder. She had been that pissed.

  Five minutes before eleven, there was a knock on the door and I didn't mean to but I let out a sigh of relief.

  She was here. Just like she'd said she was going to be.

  I opened the door. “Hey.””

  Gina stood in front of me, sunglasses hiding her eyes, her face expressionless. “I'm sorry about last night.” Her tone was flat, emotionless.