Big waves had saved me. And it was with that thought in mind that I finished packing, eager to get out there and charge the monster waves at Dungeons.
* * *
I held on to the grab bar in the Land Cruiser Butch and I had rented. The truck bumped over the road, and I took in the landscape of the densely forested valley surrounded by mountains, expensive homes looming like sentinels. Sandy Farnsworth could buy a house here, I mused—a mansion where she could set up her private oasis with boy toys, far away from her husband’s prying eyes. I shook my head with amusement at the meeting I’d had with her. I had to give the woman credit. She was creative, she knew what she wanted, and she’d come up with a plan. She was probably searching for her next Jax Priest right now.
Jammin Energy Drink had us booked into a big house on two acres of the valley floor. There was a sparkling pool and spa, and I let out a low whistle when I walked in. It felt like a palace, so different than most of the places we’d stayed on our travels. If anyone thinks that the lifestyle and travel of a big wave surfer is exotic and glamorous, they’re wrong. We usually crashed out in sleeping bags on basement floors or on pull-out sofas on a fellow surfer’s living room. In Costa Rica we’d stayed in hostel-style cabinas, and toothless fisherman greeted us in the early morning light as we paddled out to the lineup.
Filled with adrenaline we pulled up to the surf break and raced down to the shore. Butch pushed the hair from his face, shaded his eyes with one hand, and said, “It’s insane.”
The swells were accompanied by the brutal fronts that created them. Most of our sessions over the next couple of days would be amid a mess of wind and chunky swell. Even on its prettiest days, the wave is unpredictable, and on its uglier days, well, I only hoped I’d live to tell about it. Standing on the shore, staring out at those waves, I was glad my mother wasn’t around for me to give grey hairs to.
Jet-lagged, but amped for the surf, I set out into the ocean with a handful of crew members. It was freaking loud and scary. I paddled up to Butch, who had gotten out a bit before me. “It’s fucking sketchy! I’m catching one and getting the hell out,” he yelled.
A sane person would have turned around and paddled back to shore. No one ever accused me of sanity, though, so I paddled furiously and went into the zone that I always reached when surfing big waves; the whole universe shrunk down to just me, my board, and the powerful ocean I was a part of. Nothing else mattered. I needed every last whit of strength I had. It’s why I trained so hard all year long. I was ready. Looking back on it, though, maybe that paddle out wasn’t my brightest idea.
A macker caught me inside, and my leash was pulled from the strings. My board washed into Shark Alley. I lifted my hand up, and a safety ski grabbed me. We fetched my board, and I reattached the leash and paddled back out. I waited about half an hour, while adrenaline coursed through my system, my head buzzing, my body on full red alert when another macker swung right to me. I whipped my board around, and paddled hard as the wave jumped. I looked straight down, my board clinging vertically to the face and realized I had put myself in a bad predicament. A chop caught the nose of my board at the top and swallowed it, sending me cartwheeling forward onto the wave’s pitching face. I flew backward and caught an upside-down glimpse of Sentinel Cliff. People say that when accidents happen, it feels like slow motion. I remember looking at the cliff and thinking, Neat view! There was a tranquil moment then I was over the falls and that monster wave smacked me down with a vicious explosion that compressed my head. I thought, Wow, you really do see stars.
Luckily, the hold-down wasn’t too long, maybe fifteen seconds, but the impact was brutal. When I broke the surface, I couldn’t judge up from down because my head was spinning. My board was, amazingly, still in one piece. I clung onto it just as Butch wiped out on the wave after mine and ended up near me. “You okay?” he yelled. I must not have looked okay because he headed me into the channel. Another wave on the last section nailed us and pushed us into the safety of the deeper water.
“Man, what a ride!” I said, whooping and hollering at my friend.
“Jax Priest, you are one sick bastard,” he said with a grin over the roar of the ocean.
I suppose I was one sick bastard. And you know what? I didn’t really care.
Holly
“Are you still mad at me?” Stan asked.
“I guess not. I really liked Jax, though.”
Stan and I were walking the puppies through Heisler Park in Laguna Beach, unwinding after a long day’s work. Heisler Park was one of the world’s most photographed spots, known as The California Riviera because of its majestic cliffs that overlook an expanse of brilliant, blue ocean. The historic Hotel Laguna stands front and center at Main Beach with green grass, vibrant flowers, and verdant palm trees swaying in the breeze.
“Well, you’ve always got me, bud,” he said.
“Jax was pretty upset the night he dropped me off.”
Stan drew in a breath. “The whole thing is unreal.”
“You’re telling me?” I touched Stan’s arm softly. “You didn’t know she was going to be nutso.”
“Don’t remind me. So, what happened?”
“Jax went ballistic.”
“Ballistic?”
“Well, not really ballistic. Let’s just say he got away from me as fast as he could.”
“You really liked him?”
“Yes, Stan, I really liked him.”
“What was it about him? I mean, you’ve been single a long time.”
“He was sweet. He had this playful way about him.”
“Sounds like a surfer to me. Those guys never grow up.”
“Don’t make fun of him. He’s been through a tough time.”
We stood on the cliff, overlooking the surf spot known as Rockpile Beach. The place was strictly for locals because of the multitude of dangerous rocks the surfers needed to maneuver around. One stood on a boulder that jutted out from the water. I watched as he waited for a wave to roll through, got himself into position, and without paddling, was picked up by a perfect wave.
“I liked him. And if he calls again, I’ll go out with him,” I said.
“Think he’ll call?”
It was all I could think about. “I hope so.”
“Holly, listen to me. You don’t need a guy who’s going to make you jump through hoops.”
“They’re not hoops.”
He sighed dramatically. “Maybe not.” He narrowed his eyes when he looked at me. “It’s more like when he says ‘jump’ you say ‘how high?’ You’re the one who’s always been in control. Not the other way around.”
“He’s sweet, Stan.”
“There are other sweet guys.”
“He’s different,” I said.
“How?”
I thought of Jax’s unassuming ways, his protectiveness, his sensual charm, his sexuality, and his pain. “He just is.”
“Well, be careful. Last thing you need is him crying over his brother in your bed.”
“I don’t think he’s going to call.”
“That mad at you?”
“More like mad at you.”
Stan put up his hands in defense. “Not my fault if you’re falling for him, bud.”
We leaned our elbows against the rails, and watched the surfers as the sun slowly set. Was this really all there was to my life? Watching a sunset with my male friend?
I wanted more.
If Jax called, I would be ready and willing to go out with him again.
Jax
After the rough day of surfing, as I lay icing my sore neck in the private room I had been assigned, Butch sauntered in and handed me a cold beer. The rest of the guys were in the kitchen telling stories of their gnarly wipeouts and yes, the Jammin Energy Drink photographers had gotten their footage of some of the better rides.
Butch sat on the bed, his back against the wall. “You want to talk about what happened the other night with your date? What’s her name again?�
��
I took an extra long swig of my beer. “Holly.”
“You’re going out with her again, right?”
I tossed the ice pack across the room. “No.”
He toyed with the silver peg-leg charm he wore on a chain around his neck. “I think you’re overreacting. So what if she knows that freak-show who was married to good ol’ what’s her name?”
I sighed. “I know it’s not her fault she knows the guy, but do I really need to be reminded? I mean, what are the odds?”
He balanced his beer on his peg leg.
My eyes widened. “It’s going to spill!”
Butch picked up the bottle. “Shut up and listen to me. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing. Are you going to spend the rest of your life running away from everything that reminds you of your brother? Look at it this way, maybe it could help you toughen up.”
“What do you know about it? You’re not the one who had to kiss Holly, get all worked up, and then have her tell you the worst news, remind you of the one thing you’re doing your damnedest to forget.”
“Well, Mr. Priest, I’m not the one who all the chicks flock to either. Hell, I know it’s not perfect, but we don’t live in a perfect world.”
I rubbed my sore neck. “I thought I was past the really bad part of losing Tyler.”
“The counseling helped, right?”
I stood up and retrieved the ice pack. “Not big on telling my problems to pop psychologists. But yeah, I guess it helped.”
Butch stared at me. “Weird how life works. Seemed to me you like Holly.”
I sat on the bed next to my friend. “Still can’t get over it.”
“Small world.”
“Does it really have to be this small?”
“So she knows the guy. You can’t keep running away.”
“Yes I can.”
Butch stared at me and took a swig off his beer. “How come you never let anyone get close to you?”
The last thing I wanted was someone else feeling my inner pain. “You’re close to me.”
“Not what I mean. I mean somebody that could do you some good.”
“Somebody who tells better jokes?”
“What’s wrong with my jokes?”
“They’re pretty bad.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
I didn’t want to meet his gaze. “Because it hurts too damn much when they leave.”
“So what? It can be pretty awesome when it works. I think you should give Holly a chance.” He leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I know you’ve had a rough go of it. We all have. That’s why I think this could be the thing that pulls you out of your funk. It’ll force you to focus on just Holly. Maybe even forgive a little.”
“Forgive?” Anger worked its way up my spine. “Her best friend—”
“So what! Think how bad he must feel. Can you imagine what it must’ve felt like for him? The guy’ll never have another private moment. He’ll never meet a woman who hasn’t googled him first. His life is over. But you, Mr. Priest, have got your whole life ahead of you.”
I took a long sip of my beer. “Yeah, what kind of life?”
“Quit feeling so sorry for yourself. Let me ask you this: Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have a family?”
“I don’t need a family.”
“I know I’m entertaining, and you can’t resist my jokes.” He poked me with his beer bottle. “But look at it this way, even if Holly doesn’t turn out to be ‘the one,’ she could be good practice.”
“Practice for what?”
“For flexing your relationship muscles.”
“What’ve you been doing, reading self-help books?”
“Just listen to me. We’re thirty-one, we’re surfing, we’re in our prime, but one of these days we’re going to want somebody we can teach to surf. And I’m not talking about the kids who sign up for surf lessons at the shop. I mean a family that we can share a life with.”
“What’s that got to do with Holly?”
“Listen, man, I think this could be just the thing that puts you back in the game.”
“I am in the game. I’ve got surfing, I’ve got Gary who surfs with me—”
“But Gary’s not your son.”
“Quit harping on this family thing.”
“What happens when Gary moves away?”
“Quit making me feel worse.”
“I think we both need to be open to the possibility. I want that. I say you give Holly a chance.”
“Why do you always have to be so damn philosophical?”
“Because I’m smart. And good looking. And funny. And a great surfer.”
“And modest?”
“Just think about it.” We were quiet for about a minute, and then Butch squinted at me. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Didn’t you say Holly’s in her forties?”
“Yep.”
“How come you like the older chicks so much? I know your girlfriends have been hot and all, but you seem to really like the sexy forty-somethings.”
I peered at my beer bottle. “I … just do. They have more experience. Girls our age are … girls.”
Butch stared at me as though expecting me to go on. He said, “What kind of experience? Like, they know about 401ks and stuff? Or maybe they’re grateful to have young studs like us?” We looked at each other and laughed. I had never told anyone other than Tyler about Rosalyn. “Gratitude. There’s a concept.” His eyes leveled with mine. “I’d be grateful to have a date. It’s been a while.”
I sat up, pressed the ice pack against my neck and drained my beer. “Hey, thanks for the beer. I’m going to get some sleep.”
As I lay in bed, my head pounding and my neck sore from the brutal wipeout, I thought about what Butch had said. Maybe he was right. I had been crazily attracted to Holly. Why not see where it went?
Some of the guys were screwing around in the kitchen, cooking dinner, shooting the shit, and smoking a couple of joints. My room was close enough that the aroma of marijuana wafted my way, and that’s when the memories came flooding back. Damn it, why did I have to be reminded of Rosalyn so much lately? The sandalwood that I smelled on Holly was Rosalyn’s scent, and now Roz’s ever-present weed? I didn’t believe in synchronicity or fate or any of that stuff, but maybe I was attracted to Holly for a reason. Maybe she would be the person to help me get out of the funk I’d been in for the past year.
The skunky scent of pot was stronger now, and it triggered an insistent, primal urge. I was becoming aroused, sucked into a tunnel of passion, love, and romance. My head felt intoxicated, my body felt like it floated. I was being transported into a vortex of lust, the feeling of riding the perfect wave, warm seawater cascading over my body.
Maybe Butch was right.
I was going to call Holly. Screw it. I liked Holly, and I was going to call her before I lost my nerve. I smiled. Since I was in South Africa, maybe she’d be down for a little phone sex. I didn’t know if she’d be receptive to me, though. I’d been a total jerk last time we’d been together. At that point, the furthest we’d gotten was that red-hot make out session, but once I allowed the possibility in my mind, I couldn’t wait to make love to her.
I picked up my phone to check the world clock for the time difference so I could properly time my call to Holly and noticed I had a text message. It was from Sandy Farnsworth: Hey sexy surfer boy. Hope you’re considering my offer. Call me.
That woman was persistent.
Holly
I sat on my deck, fresh from a ten-mile run on the beach, endorphins happily coursing through my body when my phone rang. It was Jax! My heart jumped, and I forced myself to wait at least two rings before I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Holly.” He paused. “You got a second?”
Of course I did. “Are you back in town?”
“Still in South Africa.” His voice was low and husky.
; I sat up straight. “Are you okay? Are the waves safe? You’re not hurt are you?” I was talking too fast and forced myself to take a deep breath.
He chuckled softly. “The waves are not too big. Listen, I was wondering … I know last time we were together I wasn’t very happy, and I thought maybe if you wanted, we could get together when I get home?”
I smiled so broadly that I was glad he couldn’t see my overly happy expression. “Of course we can get together. And we don’t have to talk about—”
“Great! When I get back, we can pick up where we left off. And Holly … I’m sorry I was so mad the last time you saw me.”
I looked down. “It’s okay.”
“So. What are you wearing?” He laughed. “That has got to be about the worst pick-up line anyone’s ever used.” A pause. “What are you wearing?”
I smiled, looking down at my running shorts. “Let’s just say that I’m all hot and sweaty.”
“Really? It sounds like you need somebody to lick that dampness off your gorgeous body.”
That was bold. But I went along. “Hmm. I think I know exactly who I want that someone to be.”
“Why are you so worked up?” he said.
Going along with the spirit of things, I said, “Been sitting here thinking about you.”
“Will you touch yourself while we talk?”
Heat rushed through my body, and I quickly darted inside the house. “What do you have in mind?”
“You have a full-length mirror?”
I had one in my bedroom. “Yes.”
“I have this vision of you in front of your mirror watching yourself undress. Will you do it?”
“And then what?”
“Then you sit in a chair, spread your legs, and touch yourself while I stroke my cock.”
Damn! Jax wanted phone sex? My voice was weak when I said, “I’ll bet you’d like to be here and watch me do it.”
“Baby, you don’t know how much I’d love that. I’ll bet you’re all deliciously wet. Are you in front of your mirror?”
My body filled with anticipation as I moved a chair in front of the mirror. “Yeah.”
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 34