Pleasure Point: The Complete Series

by Evans, Jennifer

  Sadness mixed with anger worked its way up my spine. My breathing became labored. “You said you wanted me. You practically begged me to go on tour with you. You led me on!” I scooted my body away from his.

  He reached out and touched my arm. “Please try to understand.”

  “Surfing is more important than love to you.”

  “Don’t say it like that. You’re not being fair.”

  Emotions raged through my system, and I blurted out, “Who cares about fair? I gave you my heart. I gave you my soul, and you’re ready to pick up, stuff your surfboard into a board bag, throw it on an airplane and jet off all over the world? What about love?” Tears threatened, and I swallowed them back.

  “Don’t say it that way. Our relationship meant a lot to me too.”

  I buried my face in my hands. I deserved to be dumped. Carissa’s words rang in my ears. Maybe you need to take a break from men for a while. I had slept around; I had given my most precious places to men who didn’t deserve it. “I was nothing more than a notch on your surfboard.”

  We stared at each other, neither one of us saying anything. The wind whistled through my ears as the waves broke on the shore. Finally, Dominick moved to my side and put his arm around me. I tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway, and he gently wiped them away. I turned my head and buried it into the crook of his neck and cried. He made gentle shushing noises while stroking my back and hair. “I’m sorry minh amor.”

  I finally looked at him. “So that’s it? You’re leaving? When?”

  His voice was low. “Right after Oceanside, I leave for the contest in Rio De Janeiro.” He smiled. “I care about you, Rosalyn. So much.” He reached around his neck and removed his necklace. “I’ve thought this through and …” He held the beautiful cross on the leather cord between us. “I want you to have this. Every time you wear it, you’ll remember me.” He placed the talisman around my neck and patted the cross in place. “It looks pretty on you.”

  My fingers caressed the pendant. “But it’s your good luck charm.”

  “You’re my good luck charm. You made me consider my life, made me think about passion and what it means to me.” His eyes reflected sincerity. “Being with you and the fire you light inside me made me realize that kind of love does exist.” He looked down. “It also made me realize I’m not ready for that all consuming passion in a relationship.” He smiled. “Every time I paddle out, I’ll think of you, and I’ll use that feeling to be the best surfer on the tour.”

  And then Dominick leaned in and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft. His powerful hands ran up and down my back and through my hair as we fell into a deep kiss that left both of us breathless.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two weeks after Dominick left for Rio De Janeiro, Carissa and I sat on the beach watching the surfers. The warm California air tickled my nostrils, and I inhaled deeply, digging my toes into the sand.

  I told Carissa, “I’ve made a decision. I’m moving to Santa Fe.”

  “You mean New Mexico?”

  “Yep.” I twirled a strand of my hair. “I need a change and it’s one of the best artist’s communities around.”

  “Are you serious? What will you do for money?”

  “I’ll work here over the summer, wait tables or whatever, save up enough for a train and bus. I’ve already checked around through the want ads, and there’s plenty of people looking for roommates. Then, I’ll get myself involved in the art scene.”

  “Whoa. It sounds like you’ve thought this through.”

  “I haven’t thought it through all that perfectly, but I’m ready for an adventure.” I faced Carissa. “I can’t be one of those people who live their whole life on one square block. And besides, my mom’s driving me crazy wanting to know what I’m doing once school’s over. It’s almost like she can’t wait to get rid of me.”

  Carissa sifted sand through her fingers. “Santa Fe. I’ve heard that’s kind of a hippy community with all sorts of cool holistic stuff.”

  I lifted my chin. “Maybe I’ll even try some of the sacred herb.” I thought of how Dominick had convinced me to give it a try and smiled. “Maybe my parents are right about it. It does open your consciousness to a new way of looking at things.”

  We sat in silence, and finally, Carissa said the words neither one of us wanted to say. “Do you miss Dominick?”

  I looked away as tears pricked my eyes. “Only every second of every day.”

  “It’s cool that your painting won first place at the art fair.” I wiped away a tear and Carissa said, “Hey, you got something out of the deal, right? Even if it was just a blue ribbon.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and gave a light squeeze. “You’ll meet someone better. You’ll see.”

  I forced a smile. “Next time I fall in love I’ll be the one in charge. It hurts too much the other way around.”

  We stared out at the ocean. About fifteen surfers jockeyed for position in the lineup as a set of perfect waves rolled toward shore. Carissa said, “You’re making me think about what I want. Point Loma’s gorgeous, but it could be I need a change too. Maybe I’ll join you.”

  I beamed at my friend. “Really? That would be amazing.” My spirits rose thinking about the possibility of a new life, one where I was the master of my future. “Let’s do it!”

  “I’ll definitely think about it. California’s so beautiful, though. You’re really moving, huh? Do you think you’ll ever come back?”

  “Who knows.” One of the better surfers caught a gorgeous head-high wave, his athletic body executing perfect S-turns up and down the glassy swell. “If I do, maybe I’ll take surf lessons.”

  Carissa held my hand and looked me in the eye. “Rosalyn, I know your heart’s broken. But you’ll get through this. Are you okay?”

  An image of Dominick and his perfect surf God body flashed across my mind. I had loved him and his passion for life, surfing, and sex.

  My smile was shaky. “No. I’m not. But I will be.”

  * * *

  I pulled Ol’ Betsy up to a parking spot on the cliff overlooking the majestic Pacific Ocean and turned down the Led Zeppelin. Robert Plant’s voice belting out “Good Times, Bad Times” faded into the background.

  I patted the dashboard. “Welcome to Point Loma, baby. We’re home.”

  The drive from Santa Fe had been long, but my excitement about being back at the beach built with every mile that ticked past. I leaned back in the driver’s seat with a smile and inhaled the brisk ocean air. A wave of happiness surged through me.

  My friend who told me we could never look into the rearview mirror of life was wrong. Loving Dominick had become one of my sweetest memories.

  But all that was a long time ago. Twelve years to be exact.

  Three surfers pulled up in the spot next to mine and clambered out of a dusty Ford. Enthusiasm practically shot off their bodies as they raced to the railing overlooking the surf spot.

  “It’s sick,” said one.

  “Freaking gnarly,” yelled another.

  One turned to the other and said, “I’m gonna kick your butt out there pansy ass.”

  The three burst into laughter and ran back to their car, unstrapping boards from the top, another yanking his surfboard out of the backseat.

  I smiled, caught up in their fervor. Surfing was such a spiritual sport. Maybe I’d learn myself.

  One of the cute surfer boys caught my eye, smiled and winked. His vacation-like attitude was contagious and made me feel extra excited about my new life. I laughed and gave a little wave.

  I had nearly forgotten how passionate the surfing community was. The boys cranked loud rock music and danced around the parking lot as they readied their boards and pulled on wetsuits. “Dude, quit jerking yourself off and wax your board!” one said.

  The music filled my being, happiness surging through my system like a drug, my senses heightened. Everything looked vibrant, the green of the palm fronds in sharp contrast to the stark blue
of the ocean, a flock of pelicans flying overhead.

  One of the surfers was an exceptionally handsome young man. I tried not to stare as he hiked his wetsuit up underneath the protection of a towel, then dropped the towel and bent over to wax his board. His curly blond hair looked like silk, and I wanted to touch it. When he stood up, he caught my eye and jogged to my open passenger window. He cocked his head and smiled. “You paddling out?”

  I stared into eyes so turquoise; they looked like an artist had colored them in. “Maybe.”

  His smile showed off perfect white teeth. He gazed at me a few seconds too long, and I tried not to stare at his perfectly sculpted chest and shoulders. Finally, he said, “You’re beautiful.”

  Caught off guard, all I could do was stammer out, “Oh. Well. Have fun out there!”

  “You got it, goddess.”

  The three boys tucked their boards under their arms and sprinted toward the staircase to the beach. The blond surfer boy turned and gave me an enthusiastic wave.

  Love, passion, happiness and excitement filled my being.

  I knew I would find love again.

  And I did.

  Just not in the way I expected.

  Peaks of Passion

  Pleasure Point Series Book One

  Reader Advisory: This book has deeply sensual, steamy love scenes described in graphic detail and is recommended for readers aged 18 or older.

  To Kerry, my real life Jax.

  “Surfing is very much like making love. It always feels good, no matter how many times you’ve done it.”

  —Paul Strauch

  Point Loma, California

  2000

  Jax

  When I look back on it, I know I’ve led an interesting life. By the time I turned twenty-nine I’d already experienced more love and loss than most people do in their lifetimes—four times by that point to be exact.

  Surfing saved me.

  I spend my days dropping into monstrous waves that explode with ferocity. And my nights? They’re spent riding glorious waves of passion with luscious females. I always hope, but none of these women ever compare to Rosalyn.

  I need to tell this story.

  It’s the only way I can make sense of what happened.

  * * *

  “Stand up!” I yelled.

  I’d just pushed Rosalyn into her first wave. Her athletic body faltered a bit, then sprung right up until she stood on the blue soft-top surfboard surfers liked to use for beginners. Her arms spread out gracefully, like a ballerina. When she reached the end of the wave, she fell off the board into the ocean and emerged, laughing and clapping, her hands held high over her head. I whooped and hollered, clapping along with her. “Way to go!”

  My mom’s friend, Rosalyn, had just moved back to Point Loma after living in Santa Fe, New Mexico for … well, since I was little I suppose, because I didn’t remember her.

  “Be a sweetie and take Rosalyn out for surfing lessons will you?” my mom had asked me that morning. I guess Rosalyn was somebody who’d been super close to my mom when they were growing up. Whatever.

  My days went something like this: When I got done with school and after homework was finished, I’d pull on my wetsuit, grab my board, and race down to the best local surf spot, Sunset Cliffs, for epic surf sessions. I spent all available daylight hours until the sun set, surfing, practicing my cutbacks, and ducking into those beautiful tubes. So, I was kind of irritated that my mom wanted me to take this person I’d never met out for surf lessons, but Rosalyn was turning out to be okay. Real mellow and fun to be around.

  “Paddle back!” I yelled, mimicking the motion with my arms. Rosalyn made it back out to where I stood in my wetsuit.

  “I did it!” she said, straddling the board, her long, curly, blond hair plastered on her skull and down the back of her wetsuit, a huge grin on her face. “This is fun. Can we do it again?”

  I smoothed the wet hair out of my face, smiled, and said, “Sure. But I may have to charge you extra.” I held on to the board where I instructed Rosalyn to lay prone, and scanned the horizon for the next set of waves to push her into. When the next good wave rolled through, I said, “Okay, get ready world, here comes Rip-It-Up-Rosalyn,” and I pushed her into another wave while she squealed with delight.

  When we were done with the surf lesson, I secured the surfboard to the top of Rosalyn’s sweet 1992 BMW 318i, and she got behind the wheel. “You strapped in, kiddo?” she asked. She put the car in gear and said, “I got this car for a thousand bucks. That’s a pretty good deal, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I got that kind of deal because it was in a flash flood in Santa Fe. Undercarriage is a little rusted, and it’s got almost two hundred thousand miles on it, but this baby runs like a champ, don’t you Betsy?” she said, patting the dashboard. “Open the glove, will you babe? Let’s play some music.”

  I rummaged through the messy glove compartment, which was jammed with plastic forks and knives from fast food restaurants, and a whole shitload of cassettes. “What do you want to listen to?” I asked, pawing through her collection, which included Alanis Morrisette and Led Zeppelin. “Dude! You got Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

  She smacked the steering wheel hard and laughed. “Dude? Is that what you guys in California call the girls?”

  “Okay, dudette. Is that better?”

  “Just gimme that Led Zeppelin.”

  She popped in the cassette and cranked the volume while Robert Plant belted out “Whole Lotta Love.” Rosalyn sang loud and off-key while reaching into the ashtray and extracting a roach. “Roach clip’s in the glove compartment, sweetie,” she said. “And get my lighter out of my purse.” I found the roach clip and then searched around in her purse for her purple lighter. My mom had taught me to respect the privacy of others, but Rosalyn didn’t seem to mind me combing through her bag. Her suede handbag was one of those big hippie-type bags with fringe hanging all over it and inside along with the spearmint gum and the tissues was a round plastic container, which could only be Rosalyn’s birth control pills.

  I flicked the lighter, and she lit the roach while steering with the other hand, took a deep toke, held her breath, and exhaled the smoke in a steady stream followed by a small cough. “Want some?” she asked, handing me the roach clip.

  “No thanks. Trying to quit,” I said, which set her off on a fresh wave of laughter.

  “You’re okay, kid.” She slapped the steering wheel again and said, “Dude, surfing’s the bomb! Why didn’t you tell me how much fun it was?” I started to answer that I didn’t have the chance because we hadn’t been around each other, but she went on to say, “As long as I’ve known you, Mr. Jax Priest … You been holding out on me?”

  And that was Rosalyn. Full of life, energy, a pep in her step and goddamn gorgeous.

  “When’s the next lesson?” Rosalyn asked when she dropped me off in front of my house.

  “You name the day.”

  She smiled, put the bimmer in park, hopped out of the car, and jogged around to give me a big hug.

  “Thanks, sweetie. That was so much fun.” She squeezed me so tight that I could feel her boobs and pelvic bones pressing into me. I hugged her back awkwardly then breathed deeply of her scent. She smelled sexy and earthy, like sandalwood.

  * * *

  “Yo,” my brother Tyler said when I walked into the room we shared. I switched off MTV where he was watching a Pearl Jam video. “Hey! Don’t touch that.” Tyler glared at me from behind a curtain of dark hair, his head bent, his fingers on the fret board of his Fender Strat. He’d begged and begged our parents to get him that guitar for Christmas until they finally broke down one year and bought the damn thing.

  “How can you concentrate with that stupid music playing?” I said.

  “Shut up. You’re just jealous ‘cause you can’t play.” He looked up at me and pushed his hair out of his face. “So how was the surf lesson?”

  I jumped onto my bed and
landed like a gymnast executing a perfect landing into a safety net, my arms tucked next to me aerodynamically.

  “Pretty cool.” I folded my arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling, my feet crossed at the ankles.

  “What’s Rosalyn like?”

  What was Rosalyn like? I was trying to figure that out because I was still tingling from where she’d hugged me, the heat of her body tattooed against mine. “She’s cool. Wonder why mom never talked about her much.”

  Tyler shrugged. “Can’t say, bro.”

  “She smokes pot.”

  He leaned forward. “No fuckin’ way.”

  “Yep. Made me light her roach for her.”

  Tyler set his guitar aside, then let out a whoop. “Think she’ll let us smoke with her?”

  “You can if you want. Not my thing.”

  “Not really my thing either. But, if I want to be a rocker, guess I’m going to have to learn. Smoked some down at the beach the other day before surfing, and know what happened?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Paddled over a wave, and my board smacked me in the nose. Didn’t even feel it. Didn’t even know I was hurt until I saw blood pouring onto my board. Stuff’s strong. Not for me either.”

  “Well, Rosalyn seems to like it pretty good.”

  “Better not tell Mom.”

  I made like I was zipping my lips up and throwing away the key. “Think I’m stupid?”

  He smirked. “Not always the sharpest tool in the shed.”

  “But I can kick your butt in the water any day.” I grinned, the feeling of Rosalyn’s body making me tingle and my mood lighten.

  “Yeah, says who?”

  “Says me, you pussy rock star wannabe.”

  Tyler stood up and pulled his fist back like he was going to punch me, then jumped on top of me, his hair falling in my face while he put me in a headlock. “Take it back. Take it back, or I’ll—”