by Ella Miles
“I’m not getting married tomorrow,” Danielle says.
“Oh,” I say, my voice dripping with sadness that isn’t the least bit real. “Would you like to come in?”
She nods, and I hold the door open for her. She walks over to the edge of my bed and sits down. I walk over to the mini fridge and pull two beers out. I open the caps on both and then hand one to her. She takes it, loosely holding it in her hand. She stares at it for a while, not able to look at me.
I keep my distance until she is ready to talk. Leaning against the counter next to the mini fridge, I sip on my beer.
“I broke up with Wade tonight,” Danielle finally says.
“I gathered that. Why though?”
She looks up at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Because I don’t love Wade anymore. I love you.”
I look at her seriously and say, “I want you.”
She hears I love you though. It’s clear from the goofy smile and blushed cheeks.
But that’s the one thing I won’t ever do. I won’t lie to these women. I can’t help it if they hear what they want to hear.
I put my beer down and walk over to her until I’m standing between her legs. I take the beer out of her hand and place it on the counter. Her eyes follow me.
I push her back on the bed, and then I take the off the T-shirt I’m wearing… She bites her lip as she stares at my abs that have formed from surfing every day.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” I say.
Danielle sits up and unzips the back of her dress, letting it fall to her waist, revealing her white lacy bra that holds her perky breasts in, away from me.
“Fuck me, Asher.”
I grin as I grab ahold of her dress and roughly pull it off her body. She lets out a gasp.
She grabs at my neck, trying to pull me in so that she can kiss me. I let her pull me into her. I let her kiss me, and then I turn the kiss into rough kisses that show her what I really want.
“You like it rough,” she says.
“Don’t you?” I ask.
“I like anything with you.”
I flip her over on the bed, and she lets out another surprised gasp.
I slap her ass. “I’m going to fuck this later, but first, I have to claim your pussy.”
“God, just fuck me already. I can’t wait,” she cries into the pillow that she is now face down on.
I sigh. “They never have patience,” I mutter to myself, annoyed that I can’t take my time to properly enjoy her body.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say, hitting her hard on the ass, causing her to cry out.
I shove my shorts and briefs down and pull out a condom from the nightstand. I quickly slip it on before she finds a way to get herself off without me.
“Ready?” I ask, pulling her panties down and positioning myself at her entrance.
“Just fuck me already.”
I do. I push inside her tight pussy that I know is anything but ready for me. I’ve barely spent any time turning her on, but if this is what she wants, I won’t object.
She moans loudly and then quickly starts screaming, “Yes…yes,” over and over.
I keep thrusting until I come, not concerned at all if she comes or not. I’m an asshole after all. Although most have called me worse than that.
She must have come because she screams loudly, followed by nothing.
I pull out of her and go to the bathroom to clean myself off. When I’m done, I stay in the bathroom with my hands clenching either side of the sink as I look at myself in the mirror. I can’t handle this woman much longer. It was hard enough to pretend to like her to get her to want me, but now that I’ve had her once, I don’t think I can keep up the act to fuck her more than that. I’m ready for the implosion to happen.
I walk back out and dig through my suitcase to find a fresh pair of briefs to put on. After I do, I glance over at Danielle, who is now under the covers of the bed. Her cheeks are flushed, her brown eyes heavy, and her long brown hair is a mess on top of her head.
“That was amazing,” she says.
I nod and force my lips to curl up into something that resembles a smile.
“I’m ready to go again if you are. Or if you want to sleep some first…”
I take a deep breath, ready to tell her that I’m through with her, that she can’t stay here, when I hear a loud pounding at my door.
I hold up a finger and then walk to the door in just my briefs, not caring who is on the other side. I throw the door open, and before I can register who is standing there, a fist flies at my face and hits me square in the nose. My body jolts backward with the hit, and I put my hands up to my nose as another hit rains down on my face, followed by another. My nose is pouring blood now, and I’m sure it’s broken. My eyesight is blurry, but I think I make Wade out through the haze. Or, at least, my prior experiences with ex-fiancés verify that he is most likely on the other end of the fist that keeps coming at my face.
“Wade, stop!” Danielle screams, running to my aide.
I hear Wade breathing heavily.
“I’m done. I’m done with both of you. You’re a rotten scumbag who deserves to be locked up in prison. And you’re a lying, cheating slut. I’m done with both of you.”
The blurriness finally leaves my eyes long enough for me to see Wade stumbling out of my room, clearly drunk. It’s a wonder he was even able to aim for my face. The door slams shut, and then I see Danielle standing naked in front of me.
“I’m sorry about Wade. He’s just upset that I broke off the wedding, that I no longer love him. He’ll get over it.”
I walk into the bathroom without saying a word and see that I was right about my nose. It’s most definitely broken as blood pours down my face. I grab one of the towels and hold it up to my nose to try and stop the bleeding, but I know it is going to take a while to stop.
“Here,” Danielle says, holding up a bag of ice.
I take the bag from her and hold it up to my face.
“It stings,” I say, wanting to pull it away from my face.
She laughs. “It will help with the swelling and stop the bleeding.”
I keep it on my face and walk back to the bedroom. Danielle follows me.
“I think you should go,” I say.
“What? Why?”
“I don’t want to worry about Wade coming back and beating me up.”
“He won’t.”
“And I don’t think you and I are going to work out. You’re not worth my trouble.”
Danielle’s jaw drops. “I broke up with Wade for you though. I called off my wedding tomorrow for you. I want to be with you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“You made a mistake then. You should have stayed with Wade, or you should find someone else. I’m not the man for you, Danielle.”
“He’s not going to take me back now,” she says, her voice shaking.
I smirk. “No, I don’t think he will take you back.”
“You fucking bastard! You asshole!” Danielle shouts, raising her hand to no doubt slap or punch me.
At least, this time, I’m ready for the attack. I grab her wrist midair, stopping her from hitting me.
“You are an evil, vile person,” she says through tears.
I nod. “I am.”
She jerks her hand out of my grasp. “Why would you do this?”
I open my mouth to speak, and she holds a hand up to stop me.
“Never mind. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to spend another second listening to this crap.” She grabs her crumpled dress from the floor and quickly puts it back on, not bothering with her underwear. She cries the whole time.
Occasionally, the women recover after this. They are able to convince their fiancés to take them back. But I don’t think Danielle will. And I’m not sure she is strong enough to fully recover from it either.
She hesitates a second, like she is trying to decide if she should say anything or if I’m going to. When
I don’t, she storms out the door without another word.
I take a deep breath as I go over to the bed and lie down, ensuring the ice pack is still on my face.
Shit, I curse to myself when the ice stings my face again.
If I’m going to keep this up, I need to be better prepared. I can’t keep getting hit like this. Next time, I might get a concussion, and then I won’t be able to surf. I won’t let that happen. Next time, I’ll be ready for a hit.
Maybe I should take some boxing classes or something.
I grin. Despite the pain I’m feeling now, I’ll sleep like a baby for the first time in weeks. I stole her heart and then tore it to pieces. It feels good.
One Year Later
I see the towering wave in front of me. It’s huge and getting bigger by the second. It doesn’t stop me. Instead, I push my board to move faster as I surf into the wave. My heart pounds fast and hard in my chest as the wave surrounds me, forming a tunnel that can collapse at any second. If it does, I’m going to have to fight like hell to get back to the surface to be able to breathe. I’ve been crushed by waves like this before and ended up with a couple of cracked ribs that hurt like a bitch and take forever to heal.
I’m not going to let that happen to me again. But remembering that pain doesn’t stop me from attacking this wave either. Most wouldn’t bother. Not when it isn’t a competition. Not when I don’t have anyone out here to rescue me if things take a turn for the worse. It’s just me and the wave. That’s how I like it.
I love the thrill. I love knowing that one wrong move could fuck everything up, even my life. I could die if I don’t do everything perfectly.
This is what I live for though. I don’t live to win competitions even though I win a lot and the money is nice. I live for this feeling right now—the feeling that, at any point, the ocean could steal my life from me or I could conquer it and live for another day. There is no other feeling like it in the world.
I surf the wave and come out the other end of the tunnel, unscathed. I win—for now. I step off the board and let the cool, salty water refresh me before I begin heading back to the beach. It’s starting to get dark, and as much as I would love to stay out here all night, I’m hungry, and I have other cravings I need to satisfy.
Because I lied when I said that there was no feeling like surfing a wave that could destroy you. There is one feeling that is better—the feeling of stealing someone’s happily ever after. The thrill of chasing a woman already claimed by another man just does something to me that nothing else can. It twists my soul and makes me want more of the drug that pulses through my veins every time I finally make the woman mine instead of his. It’s a drug that pulls me in over and over again, a thrill I can’t resist.
But why would I want to?
I’m a thief and a surfer. Both things keep me completely satisfied. And neither makes me feel guilty. I don’t feel bad for the women or the men I hurt. I’m doing them a favor really. They believe in true love and happily ever after. They believe in the fairy tales they have been fed their whole lives. I just teach them how wrong they really are. In the real world, love doesn’t exist.
“That was some wave, Asher,” Luca, my only friend in the world, says.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be home, resting, after your concussion. Or are you finally taking my advice over the doctor’s and getting your ass back out here?” I ask with a grin before walking over to where my towel is slung over the back of my pickup truck. I toss my surfboard in the back before I take the towel and begin drying my shoulder-length dark hair.
Luca laughs. “Nope, just wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink and a bite with me.”
I stop drying myself off and grab a T-shirt to throw on. “Is that new girlfriend of yours coming?”
Luca frowns. “Hell no. She’s back on the mainland, visiting her family. But, even if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near her.”
I walk to the driver’s side of my truck and open the door. Luca is already climbing into the passenger seat without waiting for me to say that I want to hang out tonight. He already knows my answer is yes.
“Why not? I should meet her if you guys are getting serious, shouldn’t I?”
I climb in and start up my truck, waiting for the purr of the engine before it fully starts. It doesn’t start up right away. I get out and give the hood a love tap with my fist before I jump back in and turn the key over again to get it to start.
“You should really get a new truck, Asher. This thing is a piece of junk, and you can afford a lot better.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why would I want anything better? The truck still runs, and all I use it for is to get me from my place to the beach. Why would I want to get a new truck? It would be a waste of money. After one drive, it would be full of sand and look just as bad as this old thing. How would I know if the new truck could handle the sand as well as this old thing anyway?”
Luca nods to the truck. “This old thing can barely handle the sand. They do make trucks designed specifically for handling sand and rough terrain nowadays, you know?”
“When this one dies, I’ll think about it.”
I don’t have to tell him the real reason I don’t have nice things. People would assume I stole the new car instead of buying it. I’ve learned it’s actually better to live without the finer things in life.
I reach my hand out the window as I drive back to my house—if you can call my place a house. It’s more like a shack on the beach. But it has the most amazing view. I love feeling the warm, salty air as I drive the couple of miles back. Luca does the same. You can’t help but do that here.
“So, back to your girlfriend,” I say.
Luca frowns and grabs ahold of the frame of the truck as we bounce along the dirt road that leads back to my house. “You don’t get to meet her—ever.”
“What? What about if you decide to marry this one? You’ve been with her for, what? A month? That’s a new record for you. She might be the one. I need to vet her first. And I’ll have to meet her at your wedding anyway when I’m your best man.”
Luca shakes his head. “Not happening. You are never going to meet her. You don’t even get to know her name. You don’t even get to meet her at my wedding or even after we get married.”
“You do know, it’s not possible to hide her from me forever? Hawaii is a small island. I will figure out who she is.”
“Not if we move far away.”
I chuckle. “Not going to happen, dude. Once here, no one moves away from Hawaii. They move to Hawaii.”
Luca shakes his head. He’s not going to tell me right now. And I don’t blame him for not telling me. He knows that I have been looking for a bigger challenge, a harder chase. Most of the girls around here have been too easy to steal from their unsuspecting fiancés or husbands. That’s the nice thing about living in Hawaii though. Everyone comes here to get married. So, I always have an endless supply of women to hit on and steal. But, lately, it’s been too easy and the damage I have done has been minimal at best. If Luca really is in love with his girlfriend like I think he is, if he can see himself proposing to her in the future, then they could be my biggest challenge yet.
But I need to make sure they are really in love first, that they want to get married. Then, I can plan my move. So, for now, I’ll wait. I’ll wait for my best friend to fall in love, and then I’ll destroy him. It might destroy our relationship, but I doubt it. Most of the men blame their cheating girlfriends, not the guy their girlfriends fell in love with. Well, on second thought, they do blame me, but after a good square punch to my jaw, their anger at me usually dissipates. Occasionally, it lasts a bit longer, but then I’ve never been friends with any of the men whose girlfriends I have stolen. Luca might hate me after this, but it is a chance I’m willing to take.
I park the truck outside my shack of a house and climb out. “Give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready to head out,” I shout to Luca.
I run up to the door of my house. Luca doesn’t answer me, but I hear my truck door slam behind me, indicating that he climbed out of the truck. I push my unlocked door open; I never bother locking it. There isn’t anything in here that is worth stealing anyway. I don’t even own a TV. The most expensive items I have are my surfboards. Nobody wants to steal mine when they have their own. And, even if they did, my sponsors would just supply new ones.
That’s the key to life—not having anything worth stealing. That’s why I don’t own anything worthwhile. That’s why I don’t fall in love.
I walk toward the back of my shack. It’s just one room with a fridge and small stove that I rarely use for cooking, a bed, and a dresser. I don’t even have a bathroom inside. I have an outdoor shower and toilet. But it satisfies all my needs and ensures that any woman who gets close to me isn’t going to stick around for long. No woman wants to live in a shack on the beach, no matter how beautiful the sunsets are.
I reach my dresser and pull out a fresh pair of swim trunks and a new T-shirt. I only own one pair of clothing that isn’t swim trunks, and I’m not going to bother wearing it tonight. I prefer to live my life in swim trunks. For one, women find them sexy as hell. They know right off that I’m a surfer without me having to say a word, which makes my job easier. Two, they are way comfier than any other clothing around. And, three, I never know when I’m going to want to go for a swim or go surfing. It’s better to always be prepared.
I grab the fresh clothes and lay them on my bed before stripping and heading out into my shower. I rinse the salt water out of my brown hair that is far too long before drying off and heading back in to put on compression shorts, my new trunks, and T-shirt.
I walk outside and see Luca standing with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the sea.
I know he’s still nervous about getting back out there again. He took quite a hit the last time he was out there. It was a life-changing, almost life-ending, event. I know he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do now. He was never the best surfer out there. I’ve always been better. Always gotten more sponsors. Won more championships. I’m not bragging; it’s just the truth.