Sea of Seduction: A Single Dad Sports Romance

by Jennifer Evans

  Victor Jose had come into my life after a hit and run driver had left him for dead. My heart stuck in my throat at the memory. Luckily, the pup had only suffered a broken leg, and the fact that I had to take allergy medicine to keep him was a small price to pay. What kind of a heartless person would leave a defenseless animal to die? I kissed him again and hugged him tightly. “You’re a good boy!”

  A knock rattled the door, and I ran while Victor Jose limped alongside me. I flung the door open.

  My hands flew to my mouth. “You brought it. Oh, dear lord, get that gooey pizza in the kitchen this instant.”

  My best friend, Rhys, stood in the doorway and moved his body sideways to enter, the extra-large pizza with pepperoni and sausage nearly causing me to faint from an olfactory orgasm.

  Victor Jose lifted onto hind legs and performed a circus dance, paws up in the air. “Hey buddy, you’d love some pizza wouldn’t you?” Rhys gazed over his shoulder. “Did you get the wine?”

  I raced ahead and pulled the bottle of Cabernet out of the wine chiller, holding it aloft. “Only the best for junk food night.”

  Rhys set the pizza on the counter and turned, hands on hips. “Are you going to give me a hug or what?”

  I smiled broadly and ruffled his hair. “When are you going to get rid of this goofy Alfalfa-thing you’ve got going on here?” I removed my hand and wiped it on my sweatpants. “Jeez, you’ve got enough hair gel on there to fill a clay pit.”

  He pulled me in for a hug. “You’re just jealous.” He held me at arm’s length and gave me the once over, a broad smile on his face. “Look at you! I do believe you had a good time with that hot Brazilian today. You, my dear, are glowing.”

  We burst into laughter. “This is going to be the easiest bet I ever won,” I said. “Now let’s get that pizza going.” I opened the box, inhaling deeply. “Oh, yes. Come to mama.” I gathered plates and heaped generous slices of pizza on both, then added one more slice to my plate. “Let’s eat on the deck.”

  We settled ourselves at my patio table overlooking the ocean, the sky turning a gorgeous display of pinks and purples. Victor Jose bounced onto my lap, and I pet his wiry fur as Rhys poured the wine. I held my wine glass aloft. “To my stay at Canyon Ranch.”

  When I teased my friend about the bet we had conjured up, my voice took on a girlish, high pitch. I held my glass higher. “I am so going to win this bet.”

  Rhys held his glass away. “Now don’t be getting all carried away just yet, madam.”

  “Fine, don’t toast with me.” I took a long swig of wine, the sweet relaxants in the liquid swept through me. “When I win this bet, you’ll be sorry you ever took me on.” I winked at him.

  I sat back in my chair, the last of the day’s tension drifting away and remembered how the bet had started.

  Rhys and I had gotten a little too tipsy on our last junk food night—an event we allowed ourselves to partake in once a week. In the name of longevity, we normally stuck to a high antioxidant diet, but one glorious night a week we ate junk food and drank too much wine and we started talking about the mysterious Brazilian surfing psychic who had moved to La Fortuna last year.

  “Why do you think he never has a girlfriend?” Rhys had drawled. “Maybe he’s into men.”

  “He’s not gay.”

  “Well, then, why doesn’t he? There’s always a horde of ladies flocking to his place.”

  Rhys had already drunk nearly the whole bottle of wine. “Let’s open another.” As he poured himself a hefty glass, he smiled. “I’ll bet you fifty bucks you can’t get him to have sex with you in five sessions.”

  I hooted with laughter. “Fifty bucks? What’s that going to buy me? A trip to Costco so I can buy an extra-large bag of kale? If you want to place a bet with the Queen, you’d better up the ante, buddy.”

  Rhys gulped his wine and gave me a sloppy grin. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Hit me with your best shot.”

  “You know how we’ve been talking about taking that trip to Canyon Ranch?”

  “Keep dreaming. That place is what? Four grand for a two-night stay?”

  He held up three fingers. “Three nights and four spa-filled days.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “How about this. You make an appointment with that gorgeous Brazilian. If you get him to do the nasty with you in five sessions, I’ll buy you a ticket to Tucson. All expenses paid to Canyon Ranch, baby. And if you can’t seduce him in five sesh-aroos, I’m going to Canyon Ranch on your dime.” He leaned back and smiled broadly. “I can already picture myself on that massage table while you slave away at work.”

  I snorted my laughter and took another sip of wine. “You’re entering dangerous territory with that kind of bet. You ready to face bankruptcy court?”

  Rhys positioned his body next to mine, set his glass of wine on the table and stroked my hair. “It’s just that he never has a girlfriend. This town is small, honey. We’d have heard by now if he was getting any action.”

  “He has a daughter.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “I don’t know why he’s single.” It was odd that a ridiculously good-looking man like Dominick was available.

  Call it the wine, call it the junk food, call it way too much dark chocolate ice cream. I held my hand out. “You’ve got yourself a bet.” We shook on it.

  His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Yowza. I’m going to Canyon Ranch. Just wait, sister; it’s going to be me who gets the Reiki special.”

  The following day Rhys forced me to call and make an appointment with The Psychic Surfer and here we were.

  “So what’s he look like up close?” Rhys asked.

  I smiled thinking of Dominick’s animal magnetism. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists and squealed. “He is so gorgeous. Oh my gosh, you should’ve seen him. Sexy, masculine, one hundred percent male. And his accent. Wait until you hear it. He’s got this sexy Latin accent. His biceps are strong; his chest is one of those surfer’s chests, all hulked up and…” I lost myself in the memory of his smoldering gaze. “his glorious green eyes. They’re incredible. You should’ve seen the way he looked me up and down. The man was practically drooling. I am a shoe in.” I nudged his leg with my bare foot.

  Rhys leaned back and put his feet up on the opposite chair. He swirled his wine glass and inspected the contents. “He never has a date. So what if he looked at you like that? It’s going to take a lot more than a few card readings to get this guy to sex it up with you.”

  I remembered the framed photos of Dominick and his daughter. They graced almost every conceivable space, from the mantle, to the windowsills, to the wall. Was there a woman in his life? Would she stand in the way of me winning the bet?

  “Three sessions. Four tops.”

  “Yeah right.” Rhys shrugged. “But who am I to argue? It’s high time you got laid. How long has it been since David?”

  “Do you have to remind me? I hope I never hear from him again.”

  When he saw the look on my face, he collapsed a little. “Oh honey, I didn’t mean to make you sad. That wasn’t a good time in your life.”

  “You’re telling me?” Rhys was the person who got to listen to my crying jags in between the many fights with my dearly beloved and the three miscarriages.

  He patted my shoulder. “Come here, sweetie.” Rhys gave me a hug, and Victor licked my face. I inhaled the scent of Rhys’s designer cologne, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up that losers name. He’s gone for good.” He straightened and looked me in the eye. “Forget about David. Let’s talk about that hunky surfer and his killer body.” His eyes became wistful. “He looks like a pro.”

  I thought of the photo of Dominick on the cover of Surfer magazine. “He’s a pro all right. Thank god he’s not into that scary big wave stuff.” I brushed at a nonexistent crumb on my sweatpants. “I can’t deal with high-risk sports.”

  Rhys knew better than to go down that road with me.
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  He clapped his hands and Victor jumped up into his lap. He stroked the soft pup. “Let’s finish off this yummy pizza and open another bottle. Desperate Housewives is starting.”

  He grinned at me, and his face was so filled with enthusiasm that I forgot all about my past. Dominick was my future.

  My next-four-session future.

  I raised my glass. “To Canyon Ranch!”

  Rhys raised his glass. “To hot Brazilians.”

  Chapter Three

  Dominick

  I pulled my 1984 Chevy Silverado into the driveway of Goff’s country digs, taking a deep whiff of the towering eucalyptus trees. Goff was one of the big wave surfers on the Big Wave World Tour, those guys who went out and charged monster waves of forty-plus feet in height.

  He was also kind enough to take on the likes of me for big wave training.

  When I walked into the kitchen of his double wide trailer, he was juicing a dose of wheatgrass. Goff looked like he’d just gotten out of bed, his blond hair sticking out in about fifteen directions.

  “Come on in, man.” The kitchen smelled like somebody had just mowed their lawn. He held up a shot glass filled with the deep green juice. “Want some?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why do you drink that stuff?”

  He spread his arms wide. “Grows hair on my chest.” He tossed the shot glass back, then slammed it down on the counter and filled another for me.

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you have to. Are you a man or a mouse?”

  I made a big display of holding my nose while drinking and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Hey, want to join me for breakfast?” He moved to the pantry and pulled out two boxes of cereal. “I’ve got Wheaties and Lucky Charms.” He grinned. “Pick your poison.”

  I opted for Wheaties while Goff chose Lucky Charms. We sat at the table to eat, and I picked up the box of Wheaties pointing to the picture of Michael Phelps. “One of these days that’ll be you.”

  He punched my arm. “In my dreams, buddy.” He grinned. “But it might be you.” He pointed his spoon my way. “We’re going to get you out there to Cortes Bank and you, my friend, are gonna ride one macker of a monster wave.” He narrowed his eyes. “You sure you want to do this?”

  I smiled at my friend. “One hundred percent. Looks like this year’s going to work. I’ve been glued to the weather conditions and swell charts.”

  Cortes Bank is a freak of nature. It lies a hundred miles off the coast of San Diego—a submerged mountain range seventeen miles in length. Talk about one of the most elusive and dangerous surf spots. It’s cold. Shallow. Shark infested. Fishing boats have been going there for years, coming home with stories of huge surf and big waves. Surfers like to say that one day the Banks could produce 100-foot rideable waves. The biggest of all time.

  After I got kicked off the pro tour, a fervor took over me; I needed to prove myself by surfing big waves. Cortes Bank was one of the reasons I had relocated from Brazil.

  The other reason was my mother. She had become fed up with my constant travel, and as much as she loved Lola, she’d finally had it out with me in an ugly fight, her Latin temper way out of control. “You raise your own daughter, you ingrato!”

  I smiled, thinking of my love for Lola. Her spirit was more adventurous than mine. She’d been thrilled with my decision to move to the States.

  “I just gotta warn you dude, the Banks ain’t for pansies.” Goff rubbed his temples. “I’ve seen stuff out there. Seasickness like you wouldn’t believe, grown men puking their guts out, dislocated shoulders. Damn, the boat ride out there alone is enough to make you cry for your mommy. Some of those swells bring chops so crazy we don’t even know if we’ll survive the trip.”

  Chills prickled my skin. Some would say I was flirting with death with my goal of riding the giant wave at Cortes Bank. My hands rubbed my arms until the goosebumps went away. I had survived plenty of gnarly wipeouts. I was a pro. “I can do this. I’m committed. Besides, I’ve got you.” I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Goff poured himself a cup of coffee. “Let’s sit for a few minutes. The pool can wait.” I got a mug for myself and sat next to my friend. “So, tell me how things are going at work. Met any cute chicks?”

  I thought of the sexy woman I’d met the day before. Coco Bennett with the creamy white skin. I ran a hand through my hair. “Can I help it if most of my clients are women?”

  He slapped the table so hard that the cutlery jumped. “Damn! I wish I’d have thought of opening that kind of business. Nothing to it, right? Just put out a sign, set yourself up in a town oozing with cash, set a few crystals on your windowsill …”

  Card reading had been part of my family tradition for muitos generations. How dare he make it sound trivial? When he saw my face, he stopped talking.

  “My grandmother taught me the business. Don’t make fun of it.”

  “Just messing with you, dude. How long have we known each other? Pretty much since we were teenagers ripping it up out there on the tour. Heck, I knew your family was eccentric, but I never knew you’d take this card reading hobby of yours and turn it into a cash cow.” He gave me a little salute. “Hats off to you.”

  I laughed, my mood lightening when I thought of how much my life had changed for the better since Lola and I left Brazil. La Fortuna was paradise to me. The weather was always perfect, and the surf was always so good.

  I picked up my coffee mug and bolted back a swig of Goff’s potent brew. “Yeah, the business has turned out to be a gem. It pays a lot more than surfing, that’s for sure.”

  Goff spread his arms wide. “Surfing’s paid for this mansion, hasn’t it?”

  “You call this particle board doublewide a mansion? Keep dreaming, amigo.”

  We stared at each other and burst into laughter.

  “Better get you in that pool if you ever want something as magnificent as this,” Goff teased.

  We changed into board shorts and walked down to the barn where Goff kept all his surfboards including his big wave guns for humongous waves.

  As we walked, I took in the property. While I preferred to live as close to the beach as possible, Goff lived on a three-acre property about a forty-minute drive from the ocean because the real estate was affordable. Here he could have a modest home with a pool, a barn, and his humble abode for a fraction of beachfront prices.

  After Goff had shown off his latest surfboard, we moseyed over to the pool.

  “Okay, you know the most important part of big wave training, right?”

  “Learning how to relax and hold my breath.”

  “Yep.” He licked his finger and made a tick mark in the air. “A gold star for my student. When you get pitched over the face of one of those monsters—and I say when, not if—you need to relax, hold your breath and just go with it.”

  I stared into the pool where two cinder blocks lay at the bottom. “Ready?”

  “Ready!” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s go.” He set his stopwatch and grinned.

  We jumped into the pool and swam to the bottom. The early morning sun streamed through the water, casting a kaleidoscope of colors throughout. My body felt limber and loose, as I reached the cinder block. Goff gripped his block, and we nodded to each other starting the trek from one side of the pool to the other.

  The goal was to hold our breaths and train our bodies to relax while working hard.

  As I walked, the water swishing around my board shorts, I thought of my goal. I hadn’t excelled on the pro tour, but not because I was a slacker. Sometimes I took surfing too seriously, making it my hobby, my passion, my job, my life.

  My goal was to ride the biggest wave of my life out there at Cortes Bank. It meant more to me than winning the pro tour. Call it my own private celebration, one between Lola and me, something that would make her proud. There would be no trophy, but there would be the knowledge that I’d accomplished something that only a few brave souls had atte
mpted.

  The Big Wave World Tour consisted of only twelve surfing professionals in the entire world. These surfers, guys like my good friend Goff, had a different attitude than the rest of the surfing world. They took their sport seriously, but they also had a laid back demeanor. I suppose riding those monsters like the ones out at Mavericks, Jaws and Cortes Bank humbled a person real quick.

  My arms burned as I made it to the end of the pool, begging for oxygen. I forced myself to relax, the cinder block a heavy weight in my arms. I glanced at Goff, and he looked vital, full of life as he took long strides. My lungs had reached their limit, and I finally dropped the block and rose to the surface. I checked the stopwatch. Two minutes and fifteen seconds.

  I sat on the side of the pool, taking deep breaths, my feet dangling into the water waiting for my friend. Three minutes … four … when the stopwatch had almost reached four minutes thirty seconds, Goff emerged from the water and took a deep breath. I clicked the stopwatch. “How long did I make it?”

  “Four minutes, twenty-seven seconds.”

  “Damn. I was going for five minutes.” He emerged from the pool and sat next to me. “How’d you do?”

  “Just over two minutes.”

  His face grew serious. “Dude, you may kick my butt on a short board. And you’ve got the best aerials out there. But you are going to have to do some serious training here if you want to take on the Banks.”

  I splashed into the pool and held my arms wide. “Let’s go, master. Your servant awaits your graciousness.”

  We spent the rest of the morning training in the pool until I was able to hold my breath for three minutes.

  When I hopped into my truck, happy and exhausted, there was a message on my cell. I listened to Coco’s sultry voice. “Hey there. Yesterday was fantastic. You really know your stuff.” She let out a seductive laugh and all I could think about was jerking off and spraying those sexy tits of hers with hot squirts of cum. “I’ve been meditating with the angels. Looking forward to Thursday. See you then.”

  My hand grazed my crotch. I was rock hard.

  Great. Just what I needed.