Drift (Lengths)

by Steph Campbell

  “Let’s get back out while the swells are strong!” she yells, dropping into the water and paddling hard. I try to match her strokes, to focus on what she’s doing as a fellow surfer instead of lusting after her like a deviant. Not that it’s an easy feat.

  “Listen!” she yells, her wet hair stuck to her cheeks. “Don’t choose based on wave height, okay? Look for speed. See that one?” She points and I paddle out at her command, noticing how fast the water rifles under my board.

  I find my center of balance and ride it hard. The wave never gets taller than chest high, but I’m shot to the shore with a clean, easy speed. She slides next to me and her grin is all the incentive I need to show off again.

  “Better?” I ask.

  “We’re winning, no doubt.” She grabs onto my arms and squeals. It’s a silly, girly sound, and it’s sexy as hell coming from her. “You want to try another?”

  “Let’s try. I think I’m getting it now.”

  We paddle out, side by side, and I ride a few in, but I’m cheating. I’m practically a professional at watching her body language, her every movement. I keep my eyes trained on where she goes, and then I follow. If she moves, I chase her lead and wait for her cheers.

  When I try to do it on my own, I make the mistake she warned me against: going for a height over speed. I wind up surfing mush, like she warned.

  And I wait for her to mock me, to call me out for what I did wrong, but she never does.

  Of course she never does.

  I’m not an impressionable boy, she isn’t my domineering father. I can trust her.

  I know this all logically, can dissect it and look at all the parts, identifying each faulty piece. That doesn’t stop something in me from short-circuiting before I manage to get the hang of it.

  It’s the most profound form of self-sabotage, and I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it over and over again.

  “Hey,” she says, catching my forearm in her hand after another disastrous attempt. “It takes a long time to read waves. Why did you stop looking for my cues?”

  “I thought it would be better if I did it on my own,” I tell her, realizing anew why I work so hard to not be the ass my father sees every time he looks my way.

  When I can’t do it myself, I lean too heavily on other people.

  I don’t want to look weak in front of a woman as incredibly strong as Lydia. She’s taking a risk with me, and I want to show her that she’s not making a mistake.

  She tugs me away from the waves when I attempt it again. “Hey. I get it.” She breathes heavily, her skin rubbed clean by the sand and water. She wipes droplets off her face with her hands and laughs. “I love doing things on my own, too. But we’re a team on this. So, let’s use each other, okay? I’ll point out the strong waves, you take my cue. I know you’re technically my professor, but out here, I school you. Got it?”

  I didn’t even realize how tight I’d been gripping my board. It nearly falls out of my hands when I let her words settle and every muscle relaxes.

  “I might screw this up,” I warn.

  Her shrug is the single most gorgeous gesture I’ve ever seen.

  “You have my permission to screw-up as royally as you need. Honestly?” Her eyes sparkle when she looks up at me. I have to use every fiber of self-discipline to resist dragging her into my arms and kissing her. “I don’t mind Cece’s crazy interpretive dancing. If we lose, we’ll manage. Though I would love to see my brother bust out his best sprinkler on stage at the synagogue.”

  “I strongly feel I have to see that, too,” I say solemnly. I nod back to the surf, getting rougher now. “Are you in for a few more? Just to polish up?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We’re both hungry for the waves, the rush, the ride. We’re competitive enough to want to win and proud enough to work our fingers to the bones to see that happen.

  But something makes us both pause on the beach, our bodies bent close, our eyes locked.

  I know what it is.

  As much as we both love the adrenaline of this sport and the thrill of a potential win, we’re starved for something more immediate. And the occasional brush of our skin or crush of our bodies only feeds that raw hunger.

  I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life before. This base need for her is intoxicating. Consuming. Frightening.

  Despite my reputation as a fearless risk taker, I realize I may very well have met my match with this brave, sexy-as-hell woman.

  12 LYDIA

  My phone’s ring is too gentle. I remember the landline my parents had. They let me have a phone in my room, an old corded phone, and that thing could jolt you out of a coma when it screamed in your ear.

  “Hello?” I mumble, still half embedded in a dream where I’m wrapped tight around Isaac, his body all I can see, all I can touch. My sister’s voice makes zero sense mixed with those images.

  “Lyd? I hate to ask this of you. I know you’re trying to get things organized, but one of Caro’s friends dropped out of the Yom Kippur performance. I know some of the congregants will help, but I feel bad telling Mrs. Mannich that she looks constipated when she makes her dramatic face.” Cece hold her breath. I hear her inhale, but I never hear her let the breath back out.

  I sit up and rub my eyes hard. “Yom Kippur?” I try not to sound as guilty as I feel, but all I can picture is me and Deo and Cohen griping over our bowls of chili.

  Fuck. We tried to wager our asses out of this. Why did Cece wind up with someone as mean as me for a sister? Why didn’t she get someone sweet like Maren? I guess that’s the blessing of good sisters-in-law. They make up for biological shittiness.

  “Of course. Yeah. Anything to help. When do you need me?” I press my fingers to my temples, but smile when Cece’s screech of happiness breaks through. Just as shrill and jolting as our landline, but also nice. Really nice. I want to be annoyed, but the happiness I feel at my new, solid relationship with my siblings outweighs the annoyance.

  Softy.

  ***

  I knew he’d be here early. We’d surfed late, until we couldn’t feel our limbs anymore, and then we were close to asking each other out. I could feel it. Instead we stood by our cars, chatting until I shivered. The sun had set a long time before. I really expected Isaac to suggest we go somewhere together, especially after the way we touched and talked and flirted all day in the sand and sun.

  But he only opened my car door for me, tucked me into the driver’s seat, and watched me as I pulled out and left. So my very sad alternative was a long, hot shower and my trusty toys.

  “I should have asked for your number,” I say as I walk toward him. He’s tall, broad, strong. So beautiful. Life has been hard lately. A little part of me wants to lay my head, very gently, on his chest and just rest. Just let someone else worry for a little while. Even if that makes no sense and solves none of my problems.

  He slides his phone from his pocket and holds it out to me. I add my number and send a message from his phone to mine. It’s not like I’ve never done this with a guy before. So I have no clue why my hands are shaking so hard, I’m afraid I might drop one of the phones.

  “I didn’t sleep all that well,” he confesses. I notice, upon closer inspection, that he has a scratchy five o’clock shadow and his eyes are hooded with dark purple circles underneath them.

  “Really? But we got all that exercise. All those ocean breezes.” I twist my fingers around themselves. “It must be something in the air. I slept pretty badly last night, too.”

  “We should have gone out for a drink. Maybe our adrenaline was high,” he says, keeping his voice soft so he has a reason to lean close.

  I want him closer.

  “I have to tell you something.” I take in the way his eyes brighten, and feel a pull low in my body. Maybe I should tell him what I can sense he wants to hear. And what I want to have enough courage to say. But I don’t. “Um, it’s about the wager.”

  “You don’t like the terms a
nymore?” he asks, his voice a low dare.

  Don’t dare me, Isaac. Because I’ve never been good at walking away from a dare.

  “I don’t.” I take a breath to settle my rattling nerves. “This morning my sister asked me to help with her performance. She has no clue about the bet, and I don’t want her to know. I feel like complete shit. She’s so excited about this, and Cohen and I turned it into some big joke.”

  He takes my shoulder, his thumb caressing my skin. “You didn’t mean any harm. Should we tell Cohen and Deo that we forfeit?”

  “No.” I lean my body into his touch. “I think I’ll just throw the competition. It’ll suck to hear them gloat, but I love my sister. I’m not going to be a jerk to her just to show them up.” I run my fingers from his knuckles up to his shoulder, a slow journey that only makes me imagine touching him more places. So many more places. “Of course, you don’t need to feel obligated. At all. I’ll make an excuse for you.”

  He presses his dark eyebrows low over his eyes. “We’re in this together. We’re a team. I stay by your side.”

  My lips shake. “That’s not necessary.”

  “I want to.”

  I close my eyes, and, for a split second, I imagine a single consonant change. I imagine Isaac’s lips forming around a slightly different set of words: I want you.

  Or maybe I’m projecting what I want to say to him.

  We’re both adults. I should just tell him.

  And maybe I will. Soon. I just need to catch my breath. Get up my courage. Find my tongue, because I’m positive it’s in my mouth somewhere.

  Deo and Cohen show up before anything else can happen, and I’m not sure if I’m grateful or irritated. When Isaac is around, it’s hard to know what I feel.

  Other than a deep, hot, constant need.

  Cohen’s eyes narrow at the sight of Isaac’s hand on my shoulder, and I glare at my pushy brother. Damn, throwing this will suck hard.

  “Maren and Whit are coming,” Cohen says, nodding sharply at Isaac. “We can hit the waves. Let’s make this quick. I plan on doing some celebrating with Maren when this is all done.”

  My little brother grins like a fool, and I want to flip him a smart answer back in the worst way. Maybe tell Cohen that I plan to do my own celebrating with Isaac later. But I’m not going to proposition Isaac by bickering with my brother.

  I’ll be way sexier when I actually proposition him. Which I will do. And I have a feeling the time is coming.

  Maren and Whit come down the beach, huge margaritas they packed in their cooler in hand.

  “Okay, contestants, do your worst.” Whit winks at me as she settles on her beach towel.

  Deo falls next to her on the sand, flecking her and Maren with an explosion of tiny grains. As she yelps, he takes a huge sip of her drink, kisses her on her neck, and says, “Listen, babe, I know it’s gonna be hard to keep an eye on anything other than me, but this needs to be fair.” He holds his arms out at his sides. “Take a few seconds to drink your fill. For now.”

  Whit rolls her eyes, but her face cracks into a smile. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Truly.”

  “That’s not what you were saying this morning when you had me tied to the bed.” He waggles his eyebrows and kisses her again as she laughs.

  Cohen takes Maren in his arms and kisses her. Once. But once is enough. Holy hell, it’s enough. It never fails to shock me how my straight-laced brother has all that primal energy. I notice that his eyes look resigned when he pulls away. I know it’s because, like me, he’s willing to put his loyalty to family before this stupid competition.

  It’s kind of funny how we’re both going to be in Cece’s performance, but neither one of us is backing down from the competition.

  And then it occurs to me that maybe we’re both here because the ocean is crashing with the sweetest swells. And the sun is bright, but not too hot. Because we have people we care about all around us, and we’re about to crash into the water and get the high of our lives, the same way we’ve been getting it since our father taught us to surf as toddlers. This is something Rodriguezes do. Something we share with the people we care about.

  I smile at Cohen. There’s only a quick flicker of surprise in his glance before he holds his hand out and we shake. “May the best Rodriguez win.”

  “Then you’re going down, little brother,” I taunt. I can’t help myself. The competitive gleam in his eye lets me know it’s appreciated.

  We start to the waves, Deo the most competitive of the four of us. When Deo Beckett is your leader, you can rest assured things won’t stay serious for long. And things don’t.

  We all paddle out, bobbing on the waves. I see a fine, strong curl, and pass it up for mush. Isaac follows me, laughing loud when the water dissolves under him and tosses him from the board. Deo sails to shore, clear and fast, his form perfect. Cohen follows with easy, languid limbs that are so used to surfing well, he can’t fake sucking even when he tries.

  “What the hell, guys!” Deo fumes when we finally come in. “It’s like you’re choosing slush. I feel like Muhammad Ali taking on Ghandi.” He turns to Whit and throws his arms over his head, waving them back and forth. “Forget that crap you just watched! We’re going again, clean slate!” He turns back to me. “Bring your A game, Lyd. I’m not buying that joke of a run was your best.”

  Isaac sidles close to me and whispers against my ear. “Whether we win or lose, we’ll be there for your sister. We can do this however you want.”

  I look into his green eyes, and realize there’s so much I want. So much I want to do. With him. I reach a hand up and cup his jaw. He closes his eye and nuzzles against my palm. I watch him lick his lips and swallow hard.

  I want to make him do that in bed. I want to hear him moan. I want his weight over me, I want his skin against mine, and I want it all so badly, my mind can’t focus on anything else.

  I yank my hand back like I’m drawing it away from a hot stove.

  “Okay. Let’s do this.” I nod to the waves and we both run out, Cohen and Deo at our heels.

  I don’t think when I paddle out. I feel the churn of the water under my board. I can hear the swollen rise of the waves. I can smell the way the wind picks up. And when I open my eyes, the only thing I can focus on is Isaac. Isaac following me, trusting me. I want him to feel what I do, experience what I do.

  He follows without question and we cruise on strong, swift currents back to shore. He holds his arms out, and I angle my board so I’m close enough to graze his fingers. He looks over, winks, and jumps into the waves. Deo screams his disgust, but I’m laughing so hard, all I can do is follow his lead.

  We keep dodging my brother and Deo, attacking the best swells, and rolling off just in time to ruin any lead we may have had. Deo stops yelling, Cohen stops looking so grim, and soon it’s just the four of us surfing our hearts out, letting the sun bathe our skin and the waves roll under us.

  By the time Maren and Whit wave us in, my muscles tingle and the inside of my mouth tastes coated in salt. My hair is matted and my lungs feel deeply clean and wide open.

  “So who won?” Deo demands.

  “You did,” I say before the girls can open their mouths. “Congratulations. Looks like Isaac and I will be learning some interpretive dance moves.”

  “I’ll be right there with you,” Cohen sighs. Maren wraps an arm around his waist and kisses his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs, and I know having her happy makes up for him having to do the running man in front of our entire synagogue.

  “So, wait. You’re doing Cece’s insane gloomy dance-a-thon. And so are you?” Deo points accusing fingers at all of us, then whips his head to Whit who gives this adorably guilty shrug.

  “What was I supposed to say, Deo? Cece asked. She totally tutored me through geology last semester. I owe her big time.”

  Deo yanks at his hair, scowls, and rams his board into the sand so he can cross his arms. “So we just surfed for the pure j
oy of catching some rad waves?”

  I nod, pretty damn embarrassed. “Yes. I’m so sorry. This was beyond stupid. What a waste of a morning.”

  Not that our initial idea to have a surf competition was any less embarrassing or a waste, but I feel like my life is taking on new highs and lows with each passing moment. Seriously, it’s failing to resemble my life in any way to the point where I don’t even know if I’ll be able to recognize it by the time my thirty days is up.

  “Are you kidding me?” Deo runs at me, grabs me by the waist and shakes me back and forth. “This is it, Lyd! This is what we’ve been missing for way too long! The crew back on the beach, catching waves just for the love. You’ve warmed my soul!” He plops me down, kisses my forehead, and grabs his board, turning to Whit. “C’mon, woman! I need to get home.”

  “Why?” Whit asks, grabbing her empty margarita glass.

  “Why? Because I need to perfect my moves so I can out dance all you fools at Yom Kippur. Do you think Beyonce’s version of the Dougie is too much for the holiest of holy days?”

  Cohen groans and the rest of us laugh.

  And it feels…good. It feels really good.

  ***

  “So here we are again.” Isaac is leaned against his car door, his smile inviting me to be bolder than I’ve dared to be before.

  Cohen went home with Maren, I’m going to assume to get some ‘thank you for being a big softie under your tough guy shell’ sex. Deo dragged Whit home, I would guess so they could argue about whether the “Put a Ring on It” sashay is kosher for Yom Kippur celebrations. And Isaac and I are back in the parking lot, staring at each other with all these feelings screaming between us.

  We just need to give them a voice. Just a whisper. That’s all it would take.

  I close my eyes and imagine what would happen. And then I decide to stop imagining and make it happen.

  “Here we are,” I agree. “And let’s not end up like we did last night. We both slept like shit because we wanted to be with each other. Why the hell would we do that?” I toss my things into the back of my trunk and close it with a slam.