by Max Monroe
I tempered the sting by trying to reason it away. “I barely want to go to these things, and I have to. You actually would have wanted to go?”
“Jesus, Oll. You really don’t get it. I’ve got to go.”
The line went dead just as I pulled into the parking lot, and I did my best to forget it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a better relationship with my brothers and my parents. Obviously, I did. Still do, in fact.
But I wanted to have it without having to change into somebody I wasn’t to achieve it.
And for now, I didn’t have time to think about it.
With a squeal of my brakes, I pulled to a reckless stop in one of the few free spots and jumped from Lottie. My towel came loose immediately, falling down around my hips and exposing my ass, but I left it and reached into the passenger seat anyway. The whistle of a young woman from behind alerted me I wasn’t alone.
With a smile and a wink, I lifted the towel and kept at it, leaning back into the interior to unzip the garment bag and pull out the tuxedo version of a torture device inside.
It was easy enough to dress, but with the tails of my shirt still out and the black jacket dangling from my fingers, I doubted it would be up to Zoe’s standards.
Beyond that, I found myself imagining the horror you would experience if you knew the disdain with which I treated an expensive suit.
It’d be another reason to hate me, no doubt.
Without thought, I tucked the ends of my shirt into my pants as I walked and slung the constricting jacket over my shoulders.
[laughs]
At least, I thought it was without thought. Clearly, though, I was already changing myself in an effort to impress you. Sometimes the subconscious knows us better than we know ourselves.
With quick steps and knowledge of the venue from the years prior—I’m a man of habit—I made my way into the backstage area quickly. Zoe, unsurprisingly, was waiting for me.
The murderous rage in her eyes was only slightly more intense than I’d expected.
“Good Lord, Ollie! Did a bear attack you as you got here?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“You look like you’ve been run over with my car.”
“Aw,” I pouted. “Already? I thought for sure that was the plan for the end of the night.”
“You joke, but I assure you, I should. You’re a pain in the arse more than I even imagine you to be, and trust me, I imagine you being a wanker heaps.”
I smirked, and she slapped at me as she fussed over my every detail, trying to make me look like a professional.
Whatever that meant.
Her hands were busy at my waistband, and I couldn’t help but smile. “What does your husband think of all this personal contact, Zoe?”
She laughed—bitterly, quite frankly—and straightened my shirt with a rough yank. It was anything but loving.
“Don’t worry about Timmy. He knows how much I loathe you and the fact that I often have to play assistant just to keep you on task better than anyone.”
“Right,” I agreed with a smile. “The feeling is mostly mutual, you know?”
“I know. You like women who worship you, and I certainly don’t.”
A tiny pull on my mind flared, and I looked out from the back toward the room. The crowd swayed and mingled, and the faces were plastered with smiles. People didn’t mind my tardiness—even you.
I watched raptly as you laughed, throwing out a flirtatious hand and settling it on Jordy Fuller’s shoulder as you covered your mouth with a coy hand.
I couldn’t tell what the subject of your conversation was, but I could tell with ease that you liked him a hell of a lot more than you liked me.
My chest squeezed. I didn’t like the fact that you could take to him so easily, when you couldn’t do the same for me. I just couldn’t put a finger on why.
He was cute, in a foolish puppy without training type of way, but he was basically everything I was, only younger. Fun, freethinking, a surfer with wet, sloppy hair and a messy suit he obviously didn’t belong in.
You, by contrast, were made to wear the clothes required of an event like this. Flawless curves shone under the bodice of your dress, and the bow of your neck lengthened every time you smiled.
What was it about him that you found so goddamn appealing? I had to know.
Zoe jerked at my collar, and my scowl turned back to her.
“Yes, you’re right. Traditionally, I do like sleeping with women who will bring toys to bed rather than a knife.”
She snorted, and I laughed. “Imagine that, right? The bloody nerve of me.”
She smiled then and stepped back to look at the masterpiece she’d somehow created. I didn’t have a goddamn clue what she’d done to me, but there was satisfaction in her eyes. As far as I was concerned, that was all that mattered.
“That’s why you always need a new woman,” she said with ease, shoving me toward the opening to the ballroom with a friendly push. “They love you at the beginning.”
I gave her a brittle smile at the jab and glanced to the podium poised in the center of the stage.
“Now, get out there,” she ordered, “and be bloody charming.”
I’d do my best. I hated these fucking speeches, but I knew it was a part of the deal.
One final glance at the crowd revealed you were at your table, a scowl on your face as they announced my name. The good mood put there by Jordy robbed swiftly by me.
As I stepped out under the lights, I knew one thing.
Zoe was wrong.
Apparently, some women hated me right from the start.
* * *
Sponsors, surfers, and various members of the press mingled and conversed in clumps throughout the room as the evening wore on.
I found myself the center of several circles, chatting and talking about more minutia than I had a snowball’s chance in hell of remembering. None of them, of course, included you.
You’d eluded me all night, and for the most part, I’d found it bothersome.
But finally, I was in my element, deep in the center of a group of surfers, stoked at the prospect of heavy pipe in Bali, and I found the conversation interesting enough that any awkwardness with you was temporarily behind me.
In fact, during conversations like that one, if I closed my mind to the reality of being at the center of it all, I could almost pretend I was back in the splendor of actually surfing the tour.
Funny how little idea I had of what went into it until I was done.
Back then, I showed up, surfed the sea with whatever ease it decided, and celebrated the glory on the good days.
Now, I knew the particulars of the work that went into setting up a location. The contracts with vendors, the selection of judges, even the contingency for weather and unexpected obstacles.
It was all a giant fucking headache for a few days of thrill.
But as I listened to these guys jive and rip about each and every detail, I knew, without a doubt, it was worth it.
I might not be the best boss or the hardest worker in my company or even the guy with the ideas. But I know how important finding people who are good at those things is, and I know the worth of putting in the effort.
I made a good living being a professional surfer. As four-time champion, I have the income and the retirement to settle down and live off the wealth for the rest of my life.
Cushy. Easy. No-stress living.
But the devil is far too present in my idle time, and the idea of removing myself from the circuit entirely doesn’t sit well with me.
Do I like to surf more than I work? Sure.
Am I a big fucking kid living in a grown man’s body most days? Show me a man who isn’t.
But I know I give way more of a shit about this circuit than any other event planner or CEO type, and I’ll be damned if I let some fucker come in and ruin what it’s all about with business ideas and quotas.
The circuit is about the waves. About the surfers. Abou
t the meeting of the two and the sheer physical aptitude it takes to master riding pipe of this caliber.
“I’ve been watching the reports for the last few days,” Noah Wallace remarked. “Heavy pipe, tight curl. If it’ll just open up a little bit, we’ll have an actual chance of making it out the back door.”
Like a flash of lightning, the memory of one of my gnarliest waves closing me in played before my eyes. I’d been sucked back into the roll of the wave and slammed into the reef, but I’d come out alive to tell about it.
In fact, if I remembered my twenty-four-year-old mind correctly, I’d thought it was one of the coolest near-death experiences I’d ever been through. I hadn’t been able to wait to get back out on the waves and do it again.
Sick, huh?
[laughs]
But, hey, just look at this podcast, I guess. Apparently, I’m a glutton for pain.
A smile edged the corners of my mouth, and I clasped a hand on Noah’s shoulder just as one of the other surfers got spewing.
We all have our stories, and usually at these things, we have the best opportunity to tell them. They’d be reminiscing until their heads hit the pillow that night, and even after, I could pinpoint the theme of their dreams.
Surfers gave new meaning to the phrase it’s all about the motion of the ocean.
“Good luck, mates. One of us was smart and went ahead and got too old to be out there getting closed in by heavy pipe,” I teased with a smile.
“Yeah, right,” Noah replied with a laugh. “You may be an old bastard, but you’ll be out there as soon as we’re done, riding just for the fuck of it. At least we’re out there chasing a score.”
Old bastard.
[chuckles]
I’m thirty-seven years old, mind you, but Noah Wallace was speaking with a surfing mind-set. Once you passed thirty-five, you were, in fact, an old bastard on the professional circuit.
I scoffed. “We’re all just chasing waves, mate, and you know it,” I said, and then for my own sick, sarcastic satisfaction, added, “The scores and the judges can fuck off, right?”
Isaac Griggs, one of my buddies from the circuit back in the day and a talented judge to boot had been approaching the group from the back when I’d made the jab.
God, I fucking love fortuitous timing. Truthfully, I’m kind of hoping to get some at some point with you, Lucky.
[sighs]
“Ah, fuck judges, right? Hold on a minute,” Isaac said with a laugh. “Let me just make a note of your names.”
The group hemmed and hawed and largely blamed me, and I took the opportunity to step away.
I’d been bloody desperate to piss for the thirty minutes prior, but as always, I’d underestimated how long it’d take me to make it from one end of the room to the other.
It isn’t like I’m Beyoncé—quite frankly, I don’t have the arse or the vocals—but there, in Sydney, at an event full of sea rats, I was something akin to a god.
All because I’d spent my life doing what I loved.
Go fucking figure.
I made a break for the door, sidestepping a couple sheilas whose eyes lit up as I approached, and powered down the main staircase to the bottom floor where I knew I’d find the restroom.
As always, the men’s was graciously lacking a line, so I stepped in, emptied the tank in a stallion-worthy stream, washed my hands, and started a slow walk back to the land of chitchat.
The dark hallway outside the restrooms was long, and I slowed my steps in the interest of delaying the inevitable. If Zoe noticed me missing too long, I reckoned she’d send a witch to find me and condemn me in this and the afterlife.
Still, I figured it’d take at least a little time to procure an actual witch and contract her to do the deed. I could dawdle a little.
“No, Hazel. What makes you think I’m looking for a guy?” I heard in a soft voice around the corner. I glanced briefly to see if I could find the source and caught a flash of creamy skin, long legs, and a flash of bright red hair. You. Automatically, my steps slowed to a stop, and I settled my back against the hallway wall.
“Tiago, remember? God, it’s like you’ve blocked out the last few months just because you don’t like him.”
Tiago, huh? I wondered. Were you dating a guy named Tiago? I didn’t think Allie had made it sound like you had a current boyfriend, but it wasn’t as though I’d asked either.
I could only hope, maybe that was why you hated me.
You were spoken for.
“I’m not saying he’s perfect, and for fuck’s sake, I’m not defending him, but it’s not like it even matters. I’m in Australia. Tomorrow, I’ll be in Bali. I’m going to be all over the freaking world for the next couple of months, so it really doesn’t matter.”
Suddenly, it didn’t feel right eavesdropping. To this day, I don’t know why. It’s not like my conscience stopped me from doing any number of other awful things during our time together. But right then, I needed you to know I was listening.
So, I stepped out from the darkness and right into your line of sight. You balked at the sight of me, but it seemed to be more uneasiness and embarrassment than anything else, and with the reprieve from immediate war, I relaxed.
“I’ve got to go, Hazel. I’m at a gala, so it’s not like I have time to sit on the phone and chew over every decision I’ve ever made with you. Some other day, perhaps.”
I smiled a little at your exchange and stopped in front of you to wait. I obviously could have left you to it, passed you by and headed straight back into the ballroom—probably should have—but something made me pause.
As you hung up the phone, a blush stole across your cheeks. You looked down pointedly in an attempt to hide it, but on top of the silk of your skin, it wasn’t easily missed.
And, baby, it was incredible. So much so, I had to force myself into conversation to distract myself from it.
“Family?” I asked, the intense conversation mirroring the one I’d had with my brother on the way here.
“My sister,” you confirmed cautiously. I didn’t blame you—being wary of me. But I’m still grateful you pushed past it. “She thinks she knows best.”
“Welcome to the club, doll.”
“Allie isn’t the type to tell you what to do,” you said skeptically, unwilling to find common ground with such a vagrant, I assume. You tucked your phone back into your purse and glanced over your shoulder to the staircase. It didn’t take a genius to figure out you wanted out of there. And still…I needed just a little bit more.
“True, little fire. But I’ve got more than a sister to answer to.”
You scoffed. “Something tells me you don’t answer to anyone.”
[laughs warmly]
Little Lucky. You have no idea how good it felt to be seen by you.
“Am I that obvious?”
“Just a little bit.” You shrugged, and the corner of your mouth rose closer to your eye. For as far as I could tell, you had no idea how differently I was looking at you compared to how I’d seen you the day before.
I laughed. “Indeed. Well, very few people anyway.”
But you were completely changed.
A little nervous and a whole lot unsure of yourself, I saw a different side to the obstinate woman of yesterday. It wasn’t that you’d caved to the power of my charm, but perhaps, after a little rest and a break from the marathon travel, you’d lost the sharpest cut of your edge. You were challenging…but forgiving. It was a wholly alluring combination, love.
“I should get back,” I offered with a smile, excusing you from the conversation finally.
Zoe had lost her mind at that point, I was sure, and I even considered explaining my comical relationship with my pseudo-boss. But the more I thought about it, the more ridiculous I felt it’d sound out loud. Instead, I went for a generalization.
“People will be looking for me.”
Of course, the simple statement read quite differently to you, and you rolled your eyes.
“Gotta give the people what they want.”
Instead of correcting you, I ended the exchange with a smirk and a nod and bumped your petite shoulder with a brush of my own. You followed me with your eyes, and, inadvertently, with your smell. The soft lilt of citrus clung to the inside of my nose all the way up the stairs and well into the ballroom.
And the insight into a different side of you followed me way, way further.
* * *
Episode 5: The Genitals are a Terrific Place to Start
Day Three of Falling
Tossing my backpack under the seat in front of me and sinking into the leather, I settled into my first-class seat on the plane to Bali.
At nearly seven hours, it wasn’t the kind of flight I looked forward to on any given day. Confining, stuffy—planes are the virtual opposite of everything about the earth in which I take solace.
Still, it was better than traveling by mule—or ship—so I pretty much had to take what I was given and roll with it.
At least I get to spend my time in the roomy seats. How the blokes in coach deal with this shit, I have no idea.
“Can I get you something, sir?” the flight attendant asked, leaning across the empty seat beside me and looking up at me from beneath a set of lengthy lashes.
She was pretty—in a very young and obvious way—and her blond hair glowed in the overhead cabin lights.
I, however, had other things to worry about. “Just a water,” I responded with a small smile, taking out my phone and bringing up the browser to look at the latest weather reports for Bali.
They’d had a couple of rough storms move through, and the surf was up—a good thing—but there was more to the competition than height. In addition to having the swells be sizable, they needed to be clean. And often, a stir of a recent storm made everything a little too rough around the edges.
Moving from my browser to texts, I started to type out a message to Zoe when a commotion at the front of the plane brought my attention upward.