He could see her body tense as she stood, hunched over, until at last she tumbled in the ocean froth but, man… standing on her second try. Well, almost standing.
He was clapping, genuinely and loudly, when at last she paddled back out. “Nice job!” he said and, for once, she didn’t reply with snark or sarcasm.
“Yeah?” she gushed, rushing her board up to face him and, as they faced each other, side by side, clinging to his board for safe keeping.
“Very nice.”
“I’m gonna try to stand up the whole time,” she gushed, pushing away from his board.
“Get it,” he encouraged as, once again, she raced off. And again and again and again.
Sage took to surfing with a dogged, if not natural, talent and, nearly an hour later, had stood up at least a dozen times. Winded, her shoulders starting to redden with the sun, she paddled back, clearly spent.
“Can we grab some conch fritters and draft beers now?” she asked in a pitiful voice, making him laugh out loud and slap his board.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he said. Sage rewarded him with a smile and Derek let her paddle back just in front of him so he could enjoy the view
.
Chapter Nine
Sage sipped her beer, listening to the distant sound of the ocean, hardly believing that, after thirty-two years, she had finally conquered those smashing, crashing, thrashing waves.
“I love that look,” Derek murmured, quietly, as if not wanting to spoil her reverie.
She turned to him with a warm smile, his face tan and a little salt from the ocean still clinging to his cheek. “What look?” she asked dreamily, her body, mind and soul so at ease she might have even been dreaming the entire moment.
“That ‘I just caught a wave for the first time’ look,” he explained, raising his own beer for a toast.
She clinked glasses and narrowed her eyes. “That would be an ‘I just caught over two dozen waves for the first time’ look, mister, and don’t you forget it!”
They laughed, heartily, and she sipped her drink, lazily. He was right, though; there was no feeling quite like sitting in a soft, low Adirondack chair, skin tight and warm from too much sun, salt still drying on her skin from a beach shower, her limbs warm and already sore from using muscles she’d never even known she had while learning how to surf.
Derek’s back porch was surprisingly spacious and a generous overhang protected them from the late afternoon sun. She had suggested one of the two beach bars right there by where they had been surfing, but he’d begged off, suggesting that they stow the surfboard rack first and then “hang out” on his porch.
She’d smirked and helped him load the rack, both of them tugging at the rubber handle bar as they carried it, lumbering across the street. There was a shed next to his cottage just big enough to back the board rack in and lock it tight. A good thing, since they’d been lugging around about three grand worth of rented surfboards.
Now they sat, sandy and sticky, lazing in the wooden chairs on his spacious deck. In the living room, his iPod oozed some kind of chill, remixed reggae music on a wireless speaker, set just right at “background music” mode and, drowsily, it added to the relaxed vibe as they sipped their beers.
“Either way,” he said, legs long and bare as he sat in his baggies and a clingy tank top, “I’m really proud of you.”
“I’m proud of myself, actually.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “Most everybody I knew growing up surfed,” she explained, “and they learned early, when you’re supposed to, I guess. I always had something to do at home, or around the store, or homework, or was reading and just… missed that boat. After high school, well, it seemed too late. And when I came back from State… well, there was drama, so I never learned then, either. I guess it just seemed too late to start after that…”
Her voice trailed off and she avoided his eyes. Sage hadn’t meant to say quite so much, nor had she expected it to affect her quite so powerfully.
“It’s never too late to live, Sage,” Derek said, softly, earnestly. If they had been closer, she thought, he might have reached out to touch her hand.
She looked back at him, eyes moist. “I know that,” she croaked. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to get all emotional, it’s just… I was trying to thank you for helping me reach a lifelong goal.”
He nodded, eyes soft and hazel as they gazed at each other. “You know, I never knew my mother,” he said. “She left us when I was just a kid, too young to remember much about her. My dad, well, he wasn’t the kind to be alone, and he hooked up with a few different women in short succession.
“They were climbers, you know? Social climbers, I mean. Dad’s big into real estate in the San Diego area, so these women were just after his dough. And they always, always, always had kids, and the kids were always jerks, and they always moved in right away. To our big house and, basically, took over…”
Derek’s eyes drifted and, yet again, she wished the deck chairs were slightly closer so that she could reach out and comfort him with a gentle caress on the top of his wrist. “So my house never felt like my own. Even when he’d kick one out, and we’d have the place to ourselves again, I knew it was only a matter of time before another broad moved in. And, sure enough, a few weeks, maybe a few months, later, here would come some other brassy broad and her six loser kids and, well…”
His voice trailed off, but she smiled and finished his sentence for him. “You found the beach, right?”
He looked back, smiling gratefully. “Exactly. I… I saved up my allowance for a few weeks and got a secondhand board at some pawn shop downtown. Taught myself to surf early in the morning, when the locals wouldn’t chase me off or make fun of me. I got pretty good, pretty fast, because… well, it was all I cared about. Started skipping school, grades were dropping, dad didn’t care.”
“But you wanted him to?” she prodded.
He shrugged. “Possibly. Probably, but… by then, the beach was my home, and the ocean was my family. The surfers, my friends. I basically lived there. I started keeping a journal, you know, in a spiral binder from school. My counselor called me into her office one day; she was worried about my grades, my future, and I gave it to her. I don’t know why. Like you said, maybe I wanted it to get back to my dad or something, but… whatever. She showed it to one of the English teachers and they happened to know a literary agent and, well… here I am.”
“Here you are,” she teased him, “teaching older women how to surf.”
“Will you get over that?” he chuckled. “My point to all that was, Sage, I know what it’s like to lose a family. Not the way you did, but…”
Sage peered at him, curiously. “How… how did you hear that?”
“Small town,” he explained, not wanting to get the realtor in trouble. “I… I didn’t tell you all that to brag about myself. I wanted you to know that, if you ever want to talk, you know, about what happened… I’ll understand.”
She nodded, then corrected him. “I’m not sure you would,” she said, not unkindly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: I couldn’t imagine growing up without a mother, and then having a father who replaced her with a stream of other mothers. It’s a different kind of pain, and I can’t understand it. Because my parents were always there for me, every day. And when dad got sick, Derek, honestly… my mother was the only reason I stuck around.”
“Really?”
“Really. I just… I’d never experienced grief before, and to feel it for the first time, at such a young age, and such an important relationship in my life – my father – honestly, I was a crazy person. My mother kept me sane, not because she was in any better shape, but… I knew I had to live for her, had to be there for her, had to keep it together because she couldn’t afford to lose the only person she had left. And I think… I think her grief was so strong, she just… gave up.”
Sage’s voice trailed off, recalling that dark, bleak and soul-crushi
ng time in her life. “She quit eating, or at least, eating right. Started drinking, smoking… and this was a strict vegetarian who never had anything stronger than a glass of champagne on New Year’s. I just…” She chuckled, humorlessly, dryly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, peering at Derek through threatening tears. “This is supposed to be a day of celebration, not… mourning.”
“In my experience,” he said, standing gently, “happiness and sadness are never too far apart.”
She chuckled, despite herself, heart lifting after the rugged trip down Memory Lane. “How is one so young also so wise?”
He paused at the edge of the deck. “All surfers are wise, Sage. Don’t you feel smarter already?”
He left her there, alone, chuckling as he drifted inside the roomy cottage. It was a perfect fit for him: large and sprawling, hardwood floors, funky furniture, surfer prints on the walls, the walls themselves painted a pleasant mix of oranges and rusts and tans.
She sighed and sipped the last of her beer, knowing she should get back to Sequels but simply not motivated enough to. In the least. Besides, the shift was covered, as it always was, with Fiona and another part-timer, both of whom were more than capable of running and closing the store without her actually being there. Sage just liked to be there, as always, hovering over – the kids called it “smothering” – and covering for the high school kids she generally hired to run the café and bookstore registers.
But, tonight, Derek was right: it was a time for celebration. She was thrilled to hear the ocean at her back and, just inside, the reggae remixes softly oozing as Derek hummed along, padding around the hardwood floor on his bare feet.
Sage couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed. Or unburdened. It had been ages since she’d talked about her parents, to anyone, let alone a comparative stranger like Derek. And yet, hearing his not-so-perfect life made Sage realize that she wasn’t alone in her suffering, or her grief. And being with him, like this, all afternoon, and now here, on his porch, meant she wasn’t alone… period.
She sighed and heard him approaching, two beers in one hand, a bag of tortilla chips in the other. He handed her a beer and, while she opened it, gently dragged his wooden deck chair closer with one long, strong bare foot.
He sat, so close their knees were almost touching, and tore open the bag. “Bon appétit,” he said, handing it to her.
She took it appreciatively. “You sure do know how to treat a gal.”
He smirked, fresh beer halfway to his lips. “It’s tradition,” he explained, sitting back and sliding his feet on either side of hers. “You’re a surfer, you’ve surfed, now you eat what surfers eat after we surf.”
The fresh corn chips, salty and crisp, were a perfect complement to the beer and, until she tried one, Sage hadn’t realized how hungry she was. A dozen chips later she forced the bag back on Derek, patting her flat belly with unbridled satisfaction.
“Perfect,” she sighed, leaning back and, in the process, brushing her foot against his. Rather than gasp and race away, however, she preferred to leave it there, enjoying the feel of his warm skin against her own.
And besides, it was just a foot.
He appeared not to notice but, instead, attacked the bag voraciously. “Good, huh?” he said between mouth fulls.
She barely had time to answer before he was reaching into the bag again. When it was empty, he folded it carefully and slid it between the two empty bottles on the rustic wooden end table beside him.
It was late afternoon now, bordering on early evening, the sun a brilliant blend of orange, pink and blue. “You know,” she ruminated, the beer cool and wet on her bare knee, “I’ve lived in Florida so long and I’m always in the store at this time. I mean, I can see the sky change outside the window, but…”
“It’s just not the same,” he finished for her when her voice trailed off.
“Exactly,” she said.
“Wait’ll you see it from a surfboard.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “You’ll never want to get out of the water.”
She tapped his foot, lightly, almost… flirtatiously, sipping her beer. “Is that an invitation?” she teased, setting it down on the table near her chair.
He arched one dirty blond eyebrow and shook his head slowly, eyes drowsy but full of intent. “Some other time,” he said. “You couldn’t pry me off this porch right now with a crowbar.”
She sighed, leaning back a little so that, as she did, her foot rubbed against his once more. “I know,” she sighed. “It’s so comfortable.”
“I was referring to the company,” he said and, gently, covered her toes with the bottom of his feet. They were still sandy, and the sensation of rough sand and soft skin made her shiver with delight. Or maybe it was simply the human touch - something she’d gone without for far too long.
She sat up, gently, and met his eyes. “Me too.”
Derek smiled. No, Derek beamed. His face looked so youthful and radiant at that moment, bathed in the orange-pink-blue sunset, skin caramel kissed from the sun, tank top barely there as his hairless torso glimmered and his long legs stretched out from his loose, faded red baggies.
He said not a word and, for a moment, neither did she. And even when she spoke, as his foot slid more purposefully across hers, what left her mouth was more like a murmur.
Her eyes blinked open and closed as his sandy foot gently caressed her own, the gesture so sweet and yet so tender; Sage found herself squirming in her seat. When she opened her eyes again, he had leaned forward in his chair, a hand on each knee.
Their eyes met and he said, almost apologetically, “Tell me to stop, Sage, and I will…”
“Derek, I… I shouldn’t,” she murmured, rising gently to cover his hands with her own. “I shouldn’t but… I can’t stop you.”
The words sounded foreign on her tongue, her voice hoarse with desire as, gently, he stood and, taking her hands, dragged her up with him. His touch was gentle as, awkwardly, his hands lingered around her waist. She had been so high on her accomplishments after learning to surf that, instead of getting back in her clothes, she simply tied an off-white wrap with brown beaded trim around her waist to trudge back to his cottage.
Now his hands encircled her and, gently, drew her near. His body was warm, crisp and salty as her hands reached beneath the hem of his tank top and slid beneath, feeling his young, naked skin beneath her fingertips. He murmured and, slightly taller, kissed the tousled mop of her ginger hair with soft, warm murmurs.
“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he whispered, gently, leaning down to murmur in her ear. She dragged the tank top higher and replied with a soft, tentative kiss on his shoulder.
“Me…” she began, before swallowing hard, as if taking her first ride on that surfboard earlier. “Me, too, Derek. Me too…”
Chapter Ten
Their lips met and Derek felt Sage’s willingness in her tender, eager kiss. He covered her mouth with his own until their tongues and whimpers met and, pulling back, they struggled to catch their breath. He helped her drag his tank top off and, bare-chested, dragged her lush body back toward him, as if addicted to her soft, ripe flesh.
Her breasts were taut and small, pressing against her clingy white bikini top but, even separated by the fabric, he could feel the tender press of her hardening nipples against his own. She whimpered, peppering his shoulders and throat with soft, tender kisses as, gently, he tugged the knot that held her tan wrap around her narrow waist.
It drifted to the hardwood deck, fluttering to their feet and the simple act seemed, somehow, to free her. Her kisses became more fervent as her hands reached around to grasp the small of his back, clinging to his bare skin as her fingers tugged at his baggie swim trunks, as if she was as desperate to free him of them as he was.
He responded, thickening against his leg as he guided her, gently, just inside the patio doors so the neighbors wouldn’t see whatever… whatever
this was.
There was a wall, just inside, out of view and, instinctively, they drifted toward it, her back quickly pinned as his hands rose to cover her small, firm breasts.
“Mmmmmm,” she gasped, drawing his lips to her own as he gently dragged his open palms against the soft, sheer surface of her bikini top. Little pants filled his mouth as, breathlessly, she writhed against the wall as she tugged, relentlessly, until his baggies slid down his waist and gathered at his feet.
He gasped as she took him in her right hand and, gently, stroked him to an iron tautness. He responded in kind, gently sliding her bikini top up and, at last, gazing upon her bare, naked breasts.
They were perfect, flawless, white and tender; the nipples a maroon rouge, stiff and peaked like life-size Hershey’s Kisses. He palmed each one, gently, rasping his rough skin against her tender flesh until she whimpered and panted and groaned with delight.
Her hand gripped him more tightly, then less, slower, then faster, in response to his fevered attention to her ripe, glorious breasts. No longer kissing – he preferred to stare, raptly, at her tender nipples beneath his long fingers – she bent her face to his shoulder, nuzzling his skin as he began to gently squeeze and tease her nipples.
His cock was moist with anticipation, the throbbing tip leaking its warm, clear desire and, instinctively, Sage used the clear pearls that drizzled and dripped as a lubricant to coat his veiny member, the room filling with the slick sounds of their growing passion.
She had a tender touch and, not used to such prolonged foreplay – not used to any foreplay, ever – too soon Derek felt the climax build deep inside him. It started as a knot of tension and spread, warm like honey, through his body until, at last, he knew he would explode.
“Sage,” he whimpered, her rhythm increasing, then decreasing, hot and fast, then slow and gentle, the palms of his hands still pressed flat against her puffy nipples as she panted breathlessly with desire. “I… I…”
Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) Page 4