by Kat Bastion
Mase is taboo.
Biting my lip so hard I nearly drew blood, I tore my gaze from him and forced myself to stare at the glowing laptop screen. A single word broke free, from my childhood, from all the things drilled into my head from the moment I could talk.
Forbidden.
Yet coming clean about that? Knowing the dangers drew me in—had become a part of it? Only made me want him more.
Mase…
Do or die.
The silent seconds as Leilani sat at the makeshift desk became pivotal.
Tension between us grew thick with sexual need, with promise.
Her breathing shallowed.
My pulse raced.
But the instant she forced herself to look away, the only right move flashed brighter than a Las Vegas Strip sign: give her breathing room.
So I sucked it up, spun on my heel, and plopped down onto their white slipcovered couch. Lighthearted: where I needed to steer things… “Whatcha doin’?”
Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she stared at a blank Google search screen that awaited her command. She began typing, expression relaxing as if she’d finally remembered. “Ordering lumber and a computer.”
And in under five seconds, we were cool again.
Relieved, I stretched my arms across the back of the cushions and dropped her a deadpan look. “Uhhh…aren’t you on a computer?”
“Not my computer. Makani’s. I’m getting a MacBook with your money.”
“Your money,” I corrected.
“Yeah. My money.” Defiance rippled through her tone. “Then I’m ordering all the supplies on your list that I can. Saw horses. Lumber, tiles” —she suddenly yawned wide— “drywall sheets.”
“Construction materials putting you to sleep?”
“Even better than counting sheep.” Her gentle smile gave her an innocence that made her look far younger than nineteen.
Which made me want to give her all the space and time she needed. Unable to stop the contagious yawning—tired as fuck—I stretched my mouth wide open again with a deep yowl, then stood.
A glint flashed in her eyes as she watched me, then she held out a hand toward me, palm up. “We’ll need your credit card.”
“We?”
“Lowe’s, Home Depot…and I.”
“Go easy on me.” I went to my duffle in the corner, then retrieved a Visa from my wallet. “Those your only shoes, flip-flops?” I nodded toward the entryway, where half a dozen pair in her size were gathered, some flat and basic, others wedged or fancier.
“Yeah. And we call them slippahs here.”
“Uh-huh.” Not the point. “They’re a work hazard. Buy yourself a nice pretty pair on me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
I winked at her. “A nice pretty pair…of work boots: steel toed. Can you have ’em overnighted to be here on Tuesday?”
Her suspicious expression softened, gaze dropping to the floor while she thought. “Depends. Amazon’s been sketchy with Prime and certain manufacturers. I’ll see what I can find. What’s on Tuesday?”
“We begin demolition.”
Her mouth fell open, a fierce argument written all over her face.
I held up my hands. “The boots. Focus on the boots.” One step at a time.
A split second later, determination washed over her features. Then she turned back toward the screen and began typing, pulling up separate tabs for Amazon, eBay, and a couple of sporting goods stores.
Before I turned to leave her to it, I lightly rapped the desk beside her hand. “Hey, thanks again for letting me crash here a few days.”
She slowly glanced up at me, eyes widening, expression a bit stunned.
Hasn’t anyone ever shown you respect?
Apparently unsure of what to say in reply, she simply nodded.
And I silently vowed to show her more of what she’d been missing out on.
I startled more alert when a muffled sound came from inside their house. The activity marked the first sign of life since everything had gone lights-out well over six hours ago.
Leilani?
Shaking my head, I tamped down the school-kid excitement. Slow and steady would win the race with her. And the noise could’ve easily been the other occupant in the house, the one who’d insisted I stay with them.
Grateful for their hospitality, and not wanting to intrude into their routine, I settled back into the hammock and stared through the screened porch. No…not porch…lanai, Leilani had said. Lanai, I mentally repeated, rewriting my hardwired thoughts into island-speak.
Morning wound to life in lazy minutes. I’d been wide awake all night. No surprise there: Every first night in a new place went sleepless. The endless high-pitched woo-weeps of the coqui frogs? Fucking maddening, no doubt. But they’d kept me company like a nosier band of crickets. The frogs started to quiet down when bird calls began to dominate the morning sounds while the sky incrementally transformed from pitch-black softening into shades of purple, then gray brightening toward blue. A steady northeasterly wind kept the humidity tolerable.
The front door swung open. Makani popped a head out, his long black hair falling over his shoulder. “You wanna drop me off at work? Leilani sleeps in. We can grab coffee and grindz. Then you can catch some waves. Surf’s up, six-to-eight from a distant storm.”
“Yeah.” I grabbed the edge of the rope hammock and rolled out. “Sounds great.”
Fifteen minutes later, after a short drive with other vehicles heading west on Hana Highway, our headlights reflected on the front window of Honolulu Coffee in Pa‘ia.
We placed our orders, grabbed our steaming mugs of coffee, then took seats at one of the bistro tables by the front window. A couple of girls walked in, faces lighting up when they saw my companion.
“Hey, Makani,” they chimed in near-stereo.
“Hey, howzit.” He gave them a chin-up, then glanced at me. “So, brah. First time surfing here?”
“Yeah. Any tips on where to go?” He’d told me to bring my surfboard only. I’d already scoped out spots in Maui Revealed, a guidebook I’d brought. But nothing beat firsthand knowledge.
“My crew…we text each other morning surf reports; I’ll loop you in. But today? Ho‘okipa.” He pegged me with a serious expression as he sipped his coffee, eyes dark as his sister’s, near-black. His long hair had been cleanly tied back at his nape. “You’ll be safe alone there as long as you don’t bring your sailboard into the water before 11:00 a.m. and obey the sign about the ten-man rule. No matter what, surfers have the waves in the morning.”
“Safe?” I sensed hesitation in his casual tone…and an undercurrent of warning.
His expression hardened. “From locals. Enough other surfers from all over the world go to Ho‘okipa, even in summer and early morning.”
“Locals a problem?” Breakfast arrived, and I took a big bite of my egg-and-bacon-filled breakfast wrap.
“Some can be.” He started in on his egg sandwich, then pointed his fork to the granola-covered açaí bowl he’d talked me into.
I hooked a spoon under a banana slice, dove through the granola layer, and scooped up some soft-frozen açaí hiding underneath. The tart-sweet flavors were a great match with the savory wrap and perfect to carbo-load for surfing.
“Just keep your head on your shoulders.” He continued after he swallowed another bite of his sandwich. “Anyone gives you trouble? Stay out of their way.”
“Got it.” Sort of. I’d never had problems with locals. Couldn’t imagine any issues now. Respect and gratitude went a long way.
Grateful for the pointers, I thought to ask about another. “Where are best places to stock up on things for my new house?”
“Like?”
“Everything. A bed. Sheets for it. Coffeemaker. Toaster. Plates and silverware. Couple of chairs, to start with.” Basics to get by on until the house was fully renovated.
“Costco…Target. I think Leilani got some of our stuff at Pier 1…you’d h
ave to check with her.”
At the mention of his sister, the convo stalled while I finished my food.
He drank his coffee, assessing me with a critical eye.
After a few minutes, he put his empty mug down. “She won’t go easy on you.”
“Wouldn’t be interested if she did.” Didn’t bother denying I wanted her.
“She’s worth it.” A brother’s approval. A green light from him to me.
I know. “Don’t doubt it for a second.”
His eyes narrowed. “Make sure you are.” Threat laced his deeper tone.
I gave him a solid nod. “I will.” Not I am. Because worth got earned, every day, with each action. Only fools thought otherwise.
The critical stare from him continued, though. Like he refused to be convinced so easily.
Looks like you won’t go easy on me either. And I was cool with having to prove myself. Would’ve questioned things if it were otherwise.
When I arrived at Ho‘okipa, a couple dozen other cars and trucks were already parked in the lower lot. I backed into a space along a grassy lawn, then waxed up my board in silence while another guy did the same at the other end. After pausing a few minutes to take in the vibe of the place, I headed past a line of picnic tables under a covered area and approached cement steps that led down to the beach.
However, a trio of local groms holding their boards on their heads—all boys no older than fourteen—walked beyond the steps, cutting between a freestanding shower on the left and a low facilities building on the right. I followed, figuring they knew the lay of the surf break better than I.
We picked our way along rough lava toward a sea-beaten point. They paused halfway, glancing down toward the corner of the bay. Tracking their gazes, I spotted ten adult sea turtles resting on a roped-off section of sandy beach. When the groms continued on, so did I, following their lead from a respectful distance.
Beautiful sets flowed in from the near horizon, not huge, maybe seven-footers when cresting, but nicely shaped and coming endlessly.
At the end of the weathered lava point, one by one, the groms tossed their boards off the edge then disappeared out of my line of sight. When I reached the jumping-point, I timed the waves, launched my board like a missile out toward a calmer spot, then dove in after it. Being respectful to the building lineup, I paddled farther out and around, taking a deeper spot.
Before long, once the lineup had taken theirs, my wave came. Already positioned well, with no one else charging forward, I paddled hard as it rose, pushed the nose of my board over the lip, then dropped in. The smooth drag of my board sliced through a sweet eight-foot wall.
The wonder of a new land from a first wave always struck me. But this time? My breath caught, heart thumping heavy in my chest. At that moment, beyond the unforgiving black lava coast, above the golden crescent of beach, past green fields and surrounded by lush forest…slept an extraordinary girl.
My curving line on the wave felt natural—right. In those seconds, I reclaimed my piece of heaven on earth, where everything flowed in balance. Even the impossible seemed real…even a girl from a world different than mine. Because deep in our hearts, we rode similar waves.
As my first ride in Maui began to close, water rushed over the seafloor, revealing glimpses of dangerous dark rocks below me. But I stayed true to myself—true to my line. I glanced mauka, toward Haiku—toward Leilani. Then I shot my gaze higher until it rested upland over my new home, a first place in the world of my own—one that fit me.
On a determined exhale, I resolved to keep my focus out there.
Not on the rocks below.
Leilani…
Exhaustion pulled hard at me.
I’d tossed and turned, falling in and out of fitful sleep—the first time since…ever.
It isn’t because of the blond surfer sleeping just outside of that wall. What I’d tried to convince myself of all night.
With a frustrated sigh, I rolled to my side and imagined him lying in the hammock, like I’d done countless times for hours. The sleek muscles of his arms and shoulders gleaming in the moonlight, tousled hair brushed over his brow, arm bent back with a hand over closed eyelids, hiding those expressive ice-blue eyes that seemed to see right through me—understand me.
However, bright light now streamed in through the window. Had been for hours. Nothing I’d done quieted my mind long enough to find sleep, no matter how wiped out I felt.
But when I finally pushed out of bed, excitement tingled under my skin.
Not because of him. The lie stuck only for the instant I forced my mind onto other things. The surf. My friends. My new job, that I’d gotten from…him.
“Ugghhh…” I shoved my hands into my hair, gripped the roots hard, then pulled strong enough to pinch my scalp. “Men.” The species that had always caused me grief.
When my bare feet padded over our hardwood floor into a silent hall, I didn’t think twice about claiming the sole bathroom for myself. I locked the door and took a luxurious shower.
And the entire time, I did not think about him. Exactly like I hadn’t all night.
By the time I wandered into the kitchen for coffee, all remained quiet. No different than any other day when Makani left at the crack of dawn. But what about Mase? Had he passed out, exhausted after his long day of travel and house-hunting?
Pouring the steaming brew Makani had programmed for me into a mug, I tried not to imagine how sweet Mase had looked in the South Pacific as he’d slumbered against the bathroom wall of his bure…after he’d apparently nursed me when I’d gotten sick. A twinge of guilt pinged deep in my gut as I sipped my dark roast coffee. What had I done to help him since he’d arrived? Not a damn thing.
But back then had been different. We’d been strangers, on a remote island, for one night—a free pass from reality. That fleeting hazy gift in time had come and gone. And reality glared brightly when I pulled my head out of the clouds and stared honestly at home.
After five minutes of zero movement out on the lanai, I took slow steps forward, working to convince myself that my concern was only out of duty as a host; that I didn’t care whether he’d gotten good sleep, how he felt about being on Maui, or what he had planned for the day.
Through the open front window, I tried to make out details through the bug screen in front of me then across and through the second screened wall which enclosed the corner of the lanai. But I sighed in frustration when all I could distinguish was the shadowy outline of a motionless hammock. The whistled up-and-down song of a cardinal sounded seconds before a gray-winged male with his flashy red crest flew by.
But from the screened-in lanai?
Silence.
I sipped more coffee.
More silence.
My pulse began to thump harder as a war within me raged.
Go out there?
No, ignore him.
Do I really like him?
Doesn’t matter. Stamp it out now. Can’t have him anyway.
On a scowl, I ignored all common sense and opened the front door. One of my reckless stunts had gotten me into the bring-Mase-into-my-world mess—why stop now?
I paused, hand on the screened lanai door, staring harder at the hammock. It appeared empty. Then I barged into the ten-by-fifteen space, to make sure.
“Seriously?” I grumbled, walking back out. “All that agonizing, and he’s not even here?”
At that moment, our Tacoma rumbled up the driveway, blond surfer behind the wheel with a big grin on his face.
“Speak of the devil.” My own demon. Temptation in the flesh.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” he called out as he came to a stop.
I tipped the coffee to my lips and guzzled back a couple more fortifying swallows. Then I lowered the mug, walked down the steps, and drew closer to the truck…to Mase.
Something looked different about him. Same messy hair. Same smug smile. But…exhilaration vibrated off of him. Pleasure sparkled in his eyes. He practical
ly glowed with happiness.
“You are…stoked.” I finally smiled. “You went surfing.”
“Yep. Ho‘okipa.” He gripped the steering wheel, bouncing like a little kid. “Grab a board. We’re hunting down foo…grindz, shopping, then surfing.”
I pressed my lips together to stifle my smile. “In that order?”
“Man’s gotta eat. And I already have some stuff to drop off at the house.”
Going with the instant thrill that sizzled through my veins, ignoring every last thought in my head, I ran into the house, changed into a swimsuit and sundress, and toed into a sporty pair of slippahs. Then I grabbed my favorite longboard and squeezed it alongside his into the back of the truck. “What kind of stuff?” The rest of the bed had been jam-packed with boxes and bags.
“House stuff,” he said as I got into the truck. “I hit Target, then Costco.”
“All before…wow.” I gripped the edge of the dashboard as he tore backward down the driveway.”
“Before 11:00 a.m.,” he finished for me. “I’m glad your Tacoma-theory rang true: no one messed with my shit.”
“Lucky.” I shook my head at the haole who had much to learn. “Stealing a Tacoma’s one thing. New stuff left in the back? Begging to be lifted.”
By the time we arrived up in Kula thirty minutes later, my stomach growled.
“Where’s a good place to eat?” He drummed impatient thumbs on the steering wheel, head craning back and forth to take in both sides of every street.
“And not get our stuff stolen?” I glanced at the overflowing truck bed as we passed by the turnoff for his house, heading instead toward the heart of Kula. “Kula Bistro. Park on the street, and we’ll be able to see the truck from their front tables.”
His knee bounced the entire time we ate our early lunch. I chewed slow bites of a roasted turkey and avocado panini while he devoured kālua pork egg rolls, crab cakes, and a grilled mahi mahi with pesto on homemade focaccia. Then he ordered a second double espresso.
