by Rose, Emery
“Oh wow,” I breathed, as we weaved through the people sitting on the lawn in front of the hotel, with a prime view of the ocean. It was the view that made my heart beat faster. Shane guided me along a coastal trail that snaked its way along the bluff and I imagined myself falling over the side. Down, down, down, I’d go, my body crashing on the rocks below. Did everyone do that—imagine themselves falling off a cliff or down the stairs?
We were alone out here, and it seemed strange that nobody from the hotel would venture out of their comfort zone and strike out on their own. But people liked being catered to, they liked their luxuries and fancy surroundings. Shane and I found a spot on a patch of scrubby grass with an unobstructed view of the ocean and the twinkling lights of the towns along the coast.
“From here, we’ll get to see fireworks from two different towns. The Costa del Rey fireworks are that way,” Shane said, pointing left. No sooner were the words out of his mouth when a burst of red, white and blue lit up the sky.
“I should have brought cocktails and canapes,” he joked.
“We could have enjoyed them before you tossed me over the cliff and buried my body.”
“But first, I wanted to give you this.” He swept his hand across the night sky as if the view and the ocean and the fireworks exploding in the distance were all his to give me.
“You have a Mona Lisa smile,” he said a few minutes later.
I turned my head to look at him. “What does that mean?”
“Mysterious. Hard-won. It makes me want to do just about anything to see your smile.”
“I get the feeling you don’t usually have to work that hard.”
“I get the feeling you’re worth it.”
I wanted to tell him that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. Instead, I just smiled. “Tell me a secret.”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the minute I saw you.”
“That’s not a secret.”
His lips curved into a smile. “No?”
“No. So obvious.” This didn’t feel like my real life. Girls like me didn’t meet guys like him. This kind of thing—this night, being with him—it was fleeting. I knew it couldn’t last, so I decided to make the most of it.
“Mmm.” He leaned in and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine and everything around us went oddly quiet. Like that moment of calm just before thunder strikes and lightning splits the sky in two. His tongue swept inside my mouth, gentle but demanding, like nothing I’d ever experienced, and I understood why people describe kissing as melting because every cell of my body dissolved into his. My fingers gripped his hair, tugging him closer. I had never wanted anyone like this before. Never. Ever. He pushed me onto my back and we were lying down, making out on the scrubby grass on a bluff above the sea, like we were the only two people in the world. The weight of his body on top of mine was extraordinary, and I could feel every inch of his toned muscles and the scruff on his jaw rubbing against my skin. I breathed him in… the sea and sunshine and limes and something that was just him… masculine, intoxicating. I was dizzy from his scent. His hands were everywhere and even though his mouth was on mine, our tongues tangling, I wanted more. And more. And more.
Boom.
My veins throbbed, and my heart exploded.
Neither of us cared that we were missing the fireworks display.
* * *
I wasn’t sure how we’d gone from kissing to laughing so hard my stomach hurt to baring the secrets of our souls, but we had. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” I said. “Something big and important.”
He pushed his tongue through his teeth, contemplating how much he was willing to tell me. The fireworks had ended a long time ago, explosive finales up and down the beach, a backdrop for our kisses and conversation. Shane told me he was a surf bum. I told him I was an amateur photographer. Guys always thought I was older, and I knew he did too. He thought I was in college and I didn’t set him straight. A white lie that I’d worry about later. I told myself that I just wanted one night. One night of magic. Because that was what it felt like, being with Shane. Magic. He had this capacity for joy that I envied, and he made life sound like one big adventure. I wanted to go along for the ride.
When he learned the truth, I knew he would view me differently. I wasn’t ready for the night to end. I never would be. I loved his face and his tousled, messy hair, his easy smiles and the sound of his voice—low and husky and when he laughed, it came from somewhere deep inside him.
We were lying on our backs now, looking at the stars, my hand clasped in his. It was odd, this feeling that I’d known him forever, and I was somewhere I belonged.
“When I was nine, my mom was killed by a hit and run driver,” he said. I listened without interrupting because he was telling me something important. “We were cycling. On our way home from school. It was an ordinary October day. Blue skies. No forewarning that this was the day my life was about to change. A white van came out of nowhere. Ran the stop sign and didn’t slow down. It was all so surreal and at first, I didn’t even realize she’d been hit.”
“Even now, twelve years later, I’ll see a white van and get this sick feeling in my stomach. I try to get a visual of the driver… Are you the one? Are you the fucker who killed my mother and didn’t have the decency to stop and help? It kills me that somewhere out there, that driver is eating or sleeping or watching a movie… just going on with their lives.”
I squeezed his hand and rolled onto my side, propping my head on my hand. I traced the curves of his gorgeous face with my fingertip. So boldly. As if he was mine and I was free to do this. I wanted to find the right words to make him feel better, to make it okay, but for something like this there were no words. “People suck.”
“Not all people.” He turned his head to look at me. “Tell me something about you, Remy.”
I’d just been telling him all about me, but I’d left out most of the crappy stuff. There was so much shit in my crazy life. I flopped onto my back and stared at the dark sky, trying to think of what I could tell him. Something as big and important as what he’d shared with me.
“I…” I cleared my throat. I’ve never told this story to anyone. “When I was twelve, we lived in this shitty apartment in Detroit.” Oh God, I couldn’t believe I was telling him this. “My mom had a boyfriend. His name was Russell.” He was a drug dealer, but I didn’t mention that. Bad enough I was spilling my guts to Shane. “He used to call me pretty girl and he was always watching me, you know?” I shuddered at the memory. “One night… he came into my room and accused me of stealing his cash. He said I’d have to pay for that.”
“What happened?” he asked quietly. I could feel the tension in his body.
“He tried to… you know…”
“Rape you?”
“Yeah. But I screamed at the top of my lungs and I bit him.” I’d always been scrappy, a hood rat with self-defense my priority. Living with Mom was dangerous. Russell had backhanded me, and I flew against the wall and then he was all over me again, his sour breath on my face, his meaty palms on my skin.
“My brother heard us, and he came after Russell with a baseball bat. He just kept swinging and swinging, beating the shit out of Russell. We ran and hid behind the dumpsters. But the thing is that he was right. We had stolen his money. So yeah, I guess that’s, um…” I cleared my throat. “Not a very good first date story. Not that this is a date.” I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could reel back my words. Or better yet, change my entire history. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
I side-eyed Shane who had been quiet for too long. “What are you thinking?” I asked, chipping at the dark polish on my nails.
“I’m coming up with creative ways to kill Russell.”
* * *
Our crazy night of beautiful kisses and ugly stories, laughter and sweet moments, came to a screeching halt when Shane parked his bike in front of his pla
ce and helped me off the back, wrapping his arms around me. We kissed each other dizzy until our lips were raw and swollen. “Come home with me.”
I wanted to. More than anything. I was all set to say yes when he pulled back and brushed a piece of hair off my face. “How old are you, Remy?”
I’d already worked out that he was twenty-one. “I’m… older than the date on my birth certificate.”
His eyes narrowed, and he took a step back. “What does that mean?”
I couldn’t lie to him, not when he’d asked a direct question and not when he was waiting for an honest answer. “I’m sixteen but I feel so much older.”
“Sixteen?” He gripped the back of his neck and looked up at the sky. His laugh was harsh. “Fuck. You’re not even legal.”
3
Shane
It had been one week since I last saw Remy, and I’d like to say that I’d forgotten all about her, but that would be a lie. I’d been so pissed off at her for feeding me lies that I didn’t even know what to believe about the night we’d watched the fireworks. Was anything she had told me the truth? It didn’t matter. This was exactly why I steered clear of committed relationships. I never went around spilling my secrets or confiding my deepest thoughts to total strangers. No, I was the guy who hooked up, moved on, and avoided messy emotions. All my time and energy were devoted to my surfing career. So, I needed to forget about Remy, the lying temptress.
Anyway, I was sitting on my board—I’d brought The Stubby Bastard today—talking shit with Oz. He was a high school friend with zero ambition and no drive. Back in high school, he claimed he wanted to be a pro surfer. Not happening. For one, he was lazy as shit and spent his days playing video games and getting high. Occasionally, he made an appearance at his job. His parents owned an organic juice bar. Everything in SoCal was organic.
Now he had the brilliant idea of becoming a surf blogger. This was his half-assed attempt at an interview. I doubted he’d ever commit it to memory or type it up on his laptop, so I was just blowing hot air. Talking about a day in the life of a pro surfer.
Let’s face it, I was living the dream. How many other guys got to travel to the best beaches in the world, chasing after killer waves for a living? The only cloud in my silver lining, if you could call it that, was the pressure to win. Now that I had sponsorships, I couldn’t afford to slack off. My most lucrative deal was with HartCore, a local surfing apparel company that I signed a multi-year six-figure contract with. To them, I was a brand. It was all about the bottom line. Surfing had never been about the money for me. But dreams cost money, and I needed sponsorships to be able to live my dream. So, money was a necessary evil.
Other than the occasional stress, life was good. I had four weeks to train for Teahupo’o, considered to be the most dangerous break in the world. The waves were heavy and glassy, breaking over a sharp coral reef. To be honest, I was scared shitless. I’d be stupid not to be. The Tahitian wave was terrifying. A wave could kill you. The coral reef could rip your skin to shreds. The scar on my back was proof of that. Despite the fear, I was stoked. The fear factor amped up the adrenaline rush, and that was what I lived for.
“So, you have a training schedule?” Oz asked. “I thought you just surfed.” He scratched his head, baffled by the concept that you had to put the work in if you wanted to be good at something. I didn’t just want to be good. I wanted to be the best. “What did you do yesterday?”
“I surfed. Indo Boarded my ass off. Did an intense interval session at the gym and finished the day off with hot yoga.”
“What would you do if you couldn’t surf anymore?” he asked, presumably for this blog post he would never write.
“I’d die.” I was serious. Not surfing was inconceivable. Surfing was my life. I lived for it. I wanted to still be chasing waves at ninety. I wanted to be world champion. So, sitting around talking shit with Oz wasn’t getting me any closer to achieving my dream. I eyed a bump on the horizon. It was going to be a good set, I could tell. “Are you ever going to start this blog?”
He bobbed his head. His long brown hair wasn’t even wet, proof that he’d been sitting around, drying in the sun like a lizard. “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow.”
Slacker.
I caught the next wave. A long, fast, bowling right. It never got old. The rush you get from a good ride. And that was when I saw Remy. Her wild waves of jet-black hair lifted in the breeze as she walked away.
When she reached the top of the staircase, she turned around and even from a distance, I could see those damn ocean eyes. Aquamarine rimmed by long, black lashes. I had never seen eyes like hers before.
Get her out of your head. She’ll only fuck with it.
For the next few hours, I worked on developing my favorite moves—aerials, tailspins, and 360-degree cutbacks. I zoned out everything around me and it was just the waves and me, competing against myself.
After a good day of shredding, my body was all loose and relaxed, my mind at peace. Until I stopped by my dad’s surf shop to pick up some wax for my boards.
The bell over the door signaled my entrance and she lifted her head from behind the laptop, her eyes on the door. The fuck? I stared at her then scrubbed my hand over my face as if that would make her disappear. Nope. Still there. Standing right next to my dad. She was wearing a cobalt blue Jimmy’s Surf Shack T-shirt. This was starting to feel like a joke, and the laugh was on me.
“Shane. This is Remy. My new employee.”
His new employee. Holy mother of God. My gaze narrowed on her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“It’s nice to see you again too,” she said calmly.
“Did you know this was my dad’s shop?”
“How could I have known? I didn’t even know your last name. I’m not one of your groupies or whatever…” I glared. She planted her hands on her hips and exhaled loudly like I was putting her out. “I needed a job. And I looked everywhere. Nobody was willing to give me a shot…”
“Why did you give her a shot?” I asked my dad.
He gave me an amused look, enjoying my little exchange with Remy. My dad had a sick sense of humor. “I had an ulterior motive. Hiring Remy will benefit you.”
“I doubt that,” I muttered.
He set a stack of photos on the counter. “She’s going to work on your videos too. We’re shit at it.”
Grudgingly, I flipped through the photos. They were good. Better than good. And they were all of me. Which was… flattering? Weird? Fuck if I knew. “So, you’re not a groupie? Just a stalker?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not stalking you.”
“Remy wants to learn how to surf and I volunteered your teaching skills,” my dad said, barely holding back his laughter.
I glared at him. “Not happening.”
He was chuckling as he went to assist a customer with a wetsuit. Remy came around from behind the counter and I tried not to notice her mile-long legs in those tiny shorts, but I was all too fucking human, so I noticed, and I committed the sway of her hips and the shape of her ass to memory.
“I taught myself to skateboard,” Remy said, refolding a stack of T-shirts that had been rifled through. “I can teach myself to surf.”
“It’s not the same. You can’t just—”
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion.”
“I wasn’t offering to teach you to surf.”
“But you did offer… a week ago.” She turned to face me, pinning me with her eyes. A person could drown in those eyes. “I’m still the same person.”
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You misled me.”
“And yet I was more honest with you than I’ve ever been with anyone.”
It was the same for me. I’d never told anyone all the things I’d confided in her and that pissed me off. “You should have said something.”
You should have asked sooner, dumb shit.
“Maybe I just wanted…�
�� She bit her bottom lip. Kissable lips—bee-stung, naturally pink-tinted, and pillow-soft, if you must know. I’d forgotten how beautiful she was. No, that was a goddamn lie. I remembered. She didn’t have the kind of beauty that snuck up on you. No, it was like a sucker punch to the gut. Boom. One punch and it knocks the air out of your lungs. “Never mind.”
I strode out of the shop without saying goodbye to my dad and without the fucking board wax, the original purpose of my visit.
4
Shane
“What’s up?” I asked, pulling down the garage door. Tucking my cell between my ear and shoulder, I locked the door to keep my prized possessions safe—thirty surfboards and my Triumph Bonneville.
“Ryan said he saw you carrying rocks this morning,” Trav said. “What was all that about?”
“Just getting my rocks off. Are you plying me for my training secrets?”
“Friends share.”
“It was my dad’s idea,” I said, watching a car pull into the parking lot across the street. The motion detectors kicked in, triggering a fluorescent light that illuminated the drunk woman stumbling out of the car. “To help deal with the fear factor so I don’t lose my shit if I wipe out in a heavy wave.”
“Share Jimmy’s infinite wisdom.”
“It’s going to cost you.”
“You can have my first-born.”
“You’re cold, Ice Man. It’s simple, really,” I said, distracted by the scene across the street. If I hadn’t known this was Remy’s mother, I wouldn’t pay any attention. But I had seen her coming out of their apartment a few days ago. The pitfalls of living across the street from the girl you were trying to forget. The same girl your dad, in his ‘infinite wisdom’ had hired to work in his shop. “Find a rock that weighs you down and keeps you underwater, so you can walk the ocean bottom. Stay under as long as you can.”
