by Max Monroe
Despite what you’d said, I wasn’t auditioning for American Idol, and I didn’t need to. I was an Aussie, for Christ’s sake.
And I sure as shit didn’t need a woman’s permission or flattery to enjoy myself.
“The haters gonna hateeee!” I sang, wagging my head back and forth as I took off once again at full speed, letting the wind beat all the negativity away.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot at Surf Arsen, the huge metal wave at the front of the building curving into an awning that shaded three female employees from the strengthening sun, my good mood had returned, your criticism was forgotten, and my Jeep was shaking from how hard Taylor Swift had me dancing.
I shut off Lottie quickly and jumped out, making my way through the parking lot with a wide smile aimed at Carrie, Beth, and Liza. They’d all worked for me since almost the beginning, and in a shocking turn of events, still found me charming despite the time and exposure.
“Ladies,” I greeted, flipping my keys up into the air and catching them behind my back. They all aww’d to placate me, and my smile deepened.
“Out here sneaking stubbies on your lunch break?” I teased, knowing the three mothers were some of the least likely of all of my employees to day drink. At least, not at work. Who knew what the ankle biters drove them to do at home.
All three worked on the phone lines in our sales department, and I knew for a fact they found it wholly ironic I paid them a wage to gab.
“I reckon you know better than that, Ollie,” Liza said cheekily. “We heard about your performance on the police scanner. Figured we’d catch the tail end of it before we got back to it.”
“Right.” I laughed at her easy fib and smiled. “How are your kiddos? Raising hell and chasing tail yet?”
Beth snorted and waved a hand. “Not all blokes are as gifted with the charisma as you, Oll. My little Eli’s happier to keep to himself.”
“No worries,” I encouraged. “Word is even I was a quiet little one, if you can believe that. It takes practice to be like me.”
The three of them laughed, and Liza piped up again. “Oh, yeah. Of that, I’ve got no doubt. Heaps of practice.”
I left the three gossipers with no more than a wink and a nudge and headed inside the front door. The glazed concrete floors looked freshly cleaned, and the fans in the exposed sheet-metal ceiling spun at a lazy pace.
Bayleigh, my twentysomething-year-old receptionist, sat at her perch behind the main desk, the front of which sported one of the first boards I personally designed. And with her friendly smile aimed my way, I strolled toward her.
Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, she reached below the top of the desk and returned with a stack of messages thick enough to fill the curve of her palm.
I groaned at the sight of them.
“Ah, hell. Don’t tell me all those fucking things are for me, Bay.”
She smirked. “The consequences of owning a company.”
Regretfully, I took possession of the stack and shuffled through with a cursory glance.
Business proposition, business problem, memos about things for tomorrow night’s gala, and the like, it was a boring stack of responsibilities all waiting to attach themselves to me.
A name caught my eye, and I stopped shuffling.
Ceila.
I shook my head with a laugh. It was impressive how often random women I met while out and about found the office number.
Reminded of another paper with her name and number on it, I jumped to pull the sheet from my pocket, uncrumpled it, and handed it to Bay behind the desk.
“Go through the information on there,” I directed, qualifying, “The boys, not the scratched-out Ceila part.”
Her eyebrows perked up as she took the sheet from my hand.
“Get in touch with them and see what their plans are for tomorrow. See if they’d be interested in meeting me at Wanda Beach.”
She nodded and made a quick note on her pad before shooing me to my office. My boss had apparently been looking for me.
I laughed at her directive and headed down the hall to meet my fate. My boss was not, in fact, my boss, but rather my VP of Operations, Zoe Carr. She was smart and pithy, and as far as I knew, she couldn’t fucking stand me.
But she kept things running around here, whereas I endeavored to avoid most everything I could. We were a good match.
Though, I’m not sure she’d say the same, Luck.
[clears throat]
Now, I know I haven’t told you all that much about Zoe—other than a mention about how much she loathes me—but this story is really the perfect opportunity to both introduce you to her fully, and give you a little background information.
For as much time as we spent together, Luck, I’m still not convinced you ever really knew me.
Hell, maybe no one ever has.
[sighs]
Hopefully this podcast will change all that…
So, I knocked on the door of her office, only to find it empty, before cruising the rest of the hall and pushing through the door into mine.
Zoe, comfortably seated behind my desk, looked up as I entered.
“Wow. Alert the authorities. You’re actually here.”
I shook my head with a laugh as I came around the desk to a spot beside her and settled my ass into the rustic wood.
She barely even looked up from her task at my computer.
“You’re here too. At my desk. Imagine that.”
She scoffed and signed off from whatever spreadsheet program she’d been accessing and then stood up with a smirk. “Your desk was lonely. I could hardly function for all the weeping it does, begging someone, anyone to work at it.”
“I’m needed in the field,” I argued with a laugh. “I’m not a man made for desk work.”
“I can see why not,” she remarked, rounding the desk and heading for the door as the phone on my desk started ringing. “I’d bet big money that’s yet another woman desperate to shame herself with you.”
I didn’t bother to deny her assertion and laughed. “I don’t even know where they get the number.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned into the jamb of the door. “They probably looked through your phone while you were showering.”
“You make the female sex sound crazy.”
She shrugged. “Or resourceful.”
“Jesus,” I said through a nervous chuckle. “Why don’t you be resourceful and dig me up five boards from the new line. I’m headed to the beach and might meet up with—”
“Jordy Fuller? Owen Sykes? Steven Bindi?” she quizzed hopefully, rambling off names from a list of professional surfers who would be in town for tomorrow’s Surf Arsen-sponsored gala. Not only were we a major sponsor of the tour, but we also hosted the traditional bash of the season, the one held to celebrate the halfway point of the months-long competition.
I wasn’t surprised she was wanting me to schmooze and grease the palms of everyone important, but I had other priorities.
And no, love, they didn’t include you. At least, not yet.
[laughs]
You’ll note, though…they also didn’t include Jordy. Even then.
I reckon that poor bloke took about the worst from me in this whole thing—maybe even worse than you.
[sighs]
“No. Some real sea rats I met at the airport this morning. They’ve been saving to come here for ages, and I want to show them the good stuff.”
She rolled her eyes but luckily ended what could have been a lecture at that.
“Listen, when Bay gets ahold of them, tell her to text me their number. We’ll get into some waves today or tomorrow.”
When her eyes turned to daggers that very plainly suggested I tell Bay myself, I pouted.
She broke easily.
“Fine. But you have the gala tomorrow.”
“I have the gala tomorrow night,” I corrected easily. “And I know very well that I’m supposed to be there, but thanks anyway, Mum.”
“God, you’re an arse.”
I just nodded, pausing at the sight of a sticky note on my computer as I saw it on the downstroke.
An eloquent smattering of words from my middle brother, it read: Call me. –Evan.
“When was Evan here?” I asked Zoe, just as she was getting ready to step away from my door.
She shrugged and leaned back into my office with a smirk. “I don’t know, but the note’s been there for a week. Seems pretty enlightening about when you’ve been here.”
“I’m here nearly every day,” I protested weakly.
“You usually don’t make it past the parking lot.”
That, I couldn’t deny, was true. If I swung into the parking lot, it was usually to grab a board or gear that someone ran out to me. I wasn’t one for sticking around.
[laughs]
Funny, that. Seems like maybe we both have a little problem with avoidance, huh, Luck?
[sighs]
“What can I say, Zoe? That’s why I have you,” I told her.
Hell, she was the only steady woman in my life—and I had a feeling she only stayed because I paid her to.
I don’t reckon that’s a good sign about any effort I was about to attempt on making a relationship work with you, little fire.
I mean, come on. I was destined to fuck it up from the beginning.
* * *
Episode 4: Late to the Party
Day Two of Falling
Stepping forward, I forced my face under the cold spray of the beach shower and washed the suds from my hair.
Body wash was a staple of my surfing duffle. I very rarely made it back to my house to shower and change after a day in the water, and showing up to a serious engagement smelling like day-old sweat was really the kind of thing you only did once.
I’d gotten enough dirty looks and heard enough murmurs about maybe needing to do a stint in rehab to last a lifetime.
Surf rehab, I mean. It was an addiction, so I was a little surprised it wasn’t a thing funded by the spouses and families of retired pros everywhere.
That day, though—the second day I saw you—surfing was what it was all about. At least, it started out that way.
As I brought my head back out from the muffle of the water, excited chatter buzzed around me like a physical thing.
Ryan, Parker, and Slate, as I now know them, were eighteen years old and had just graduated high school in California. They’ve been surfing since they were little boys and dreaming of coming to Australia to rip since they could plan.
Coming here alone, without their parents, was their first real rite of passage, and I was highly impressed with the maturity level of their decisions. Instead of drinking and carousing, they’d all agreed to surf during the day and plan where to surf at night.
At eighteen, I’d been a bloody nightmare for my parents when I wasn’t surfing, which was probably the only reason they’d encouraged the idea of making it a career.
They were afraid I’d set fire to my life and watch complacently as it burned around me if I didn’t.
[laughs]
They probably weren’t wrong.
“Your skills are absolutely sick, Ollie!” Ryan, the blond mop, remarked excitedly, shuffling both of his feet under the spray to rinse the grit of salt and sand from them.
I smiled as I soaped up my chest and arms. “You blokes aren’t too shabby either. The more time you spend in the water, the better you’ll be.”
“Pretty sure I’m going to live in the ocean until the end of time trying to execute the cutback you were teaching me.”
I laughed. “Worse places to live.”
Longingly, I looked back at the growing swell and groaned. God, I hated keeping a schedule.
My watch beeped in response, reminding me that I was an adult and it didn’t matter what I wanted. I’d set the alarm to sound at the last possible moment, so I was probably already going to be late.
Late for me, love…was a lifestyle. I’m working on it now, trying to make myself work a little better with your usually punctual ways, but it’s hard.
[laughs then sighs]
Anyway, I wrapped up my outside shower and said my goodbyes to the boys, promising to keep in touch and surf together whenever we could, and then beat feet back to my Jeep to get on the road, cursing creatively at the realization of my mistake when I reached old Lottie.
I’d been smart enough to keep my duffle stocked with the essentials for a beach shower, but I’d forgotten to pack the monkey suit Zoe insisted I wear.
With the trip home and the drive all the way back south to the gala, I’d be lucky if she didn’t stab me in the chest upon arrival.
Wrapped in nothing but a towel, I jumped into the driver’s seat of Lottie and fired her up. She roared, ready to help me in my valiant run against time, but as I glanced in the rearview mirror before backing out of the spot, a big black body bag hung in the way.
It wasn’t actually a body bag—at least, God, I hoped not—but it was an obstruction to my view I’d clearly not put there myself.
Slamming the shifter back into neutral and engaging the brake, I turned in my seat and reached for the offending item. A white note stood out against the black as I dragged it forward into the front seat and tossed it aside.
Don’t make me fire you. For the love of God, be on time.
No signature stood out claiming the benediction, but I didn’t need a name. I knew better than anyone that this kind of interference had Zoe written all over it. She was the only one I knew with the balls to break in to my house to procure the suit, and then break in to my car to leave it for me to find.
[chuckles]
Well, calling it “breaking in” is a bit of a stretch considering she has physical keys, but still. I knew who the monkey suit culprit was.
How she even bloody knew I’d forgotten the damn thing is a mystery I will never be able to solve.
I guess old habits die hard, and, well, somehow, someway, Zoe always knows.
Enough time wasted, I slammed the old girl back into gear and tore out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.
At five past seven, the rest of the guests were bound to be full into their cups and rowdy for the start of the event. I felt a little bad for keeping people waiting, but as I thought about the guest list full of wild surfer boys, both old and young, I knew the only people likely to care about my tardiness were Zoe—which was nothing new—and, well…you.
Of course, the thought of irritating you, my little redheaded spitfire, made me smile.
Traffic was on the lighter side—thank God—as I weaved my way in and out of cars and glanced at the state of my hair in the rearview.
It was wet and wild, and the tiniest professional part of me went to work on it with my fingers. Combing, parting, and smoothing it around, I turned the mess into something styled and hummed in satisfaction at the transformation.
[laughs]
See, love? I’m not a total lost cause. I can put in some effort.
But only just a little.
After all, that was all I had time for. The sound of my ringtone over the speakers of my Jeep made my eyes roll.
The Bluetooth setup was the doing of a girl I dated for about a day and a half, a year
ago. She was setting up for an eventuality where she’d want me to hear my phone when she tried to get in touch with me, but it obviously hadn’t worked out all that well.
Now, I suspected the only woman interested in calling me was the one with a reason to nag.
Zoe.
“G’day!” I answered cheerfully.
“G’day, arsehole,” an unexpectedly male voice greeted. “I’ve drawn the short straw in the election to choose who called you to check for signs of life,” my brother Riley continued.
I laughed at the unexpected caller—and the completely anticipated jab. As far as families go, I am the one you’d consider the oddball out. As the eldest child, it’s almost as though I got a whole different
set of genes from the rest. If it weren’t for Allie and the fact that she’d gone against the grain of our tight-knit brood and moved across the bloody world, love, I’d be almost certain of it.
“Hey now, I’ve spoken to Allie several times in the last few days.”
“We hear from her just about as much as we hear from you.”
“Ah, well. Awful American habits. Have to be to blame.”
“Right,” he said with a sigh. “Must be that.”
Pinned under the weight of his disappointment, I tried a different tactic to make myself sound good again. “Evan left me a note.”
The specifics ruined that plan, though. “You have to actually answer the note for it to count as communication, Ollie.”
“Well, fuck. Devil’s in the details, I guess.”
Riley’s throat sounded brittle as he cleared it with a scoff. Suddenly, I felt overly tired. Tired of trying to change, tired of trying to fit in, tired of having to explain myself.
[sighs]
This wasn’t the first time we’d had a conversation like that, and I can tell you now, it won’t be the last.
For as much as I’m late to the party on a regular basis, when it comes to my family, I miss the whole damn boat. I’m still trying to be better at this, but bloody hell, it’s a struggle. Which, love, I know you can understand this firsthand when it comes to your sister Hazel.
Anyway, Riley wasn’t happy with me, and I didn’t have time to try to smooth shit over with him.
“I’ve got to run, Rile. I’m already late for the gala.”
“What gala?”
My eyebrows pulled together as I searched my mind to remember if I’d told him about it. It seemed like I had, but I honestly had no idea.
“The Surf Arsen Gala. Halfway point of the tour.”
“Why don’t you invite us to this shit?” my brother grumbled. His disillusionment felt like a slap to the face.