by Jewel E. Ann
The morphing view of green peaks and valleys peppered with colorful remnants of spring blossoms along the winding road is spectacular. I’ve seen the ocean countless times, but I still buzz with giddy anticipation as we venture toward the surging coastline of California.
“So, Sydney, do you have a last name or are you a celebrity that goes by one name?” Lautner’s silky voice infiltrates the windy buzz in my ears.
“Montgomery.” I grin, looking out my window.
“Well, Sydney Montgomery, are you from California?” His formal interviewer’s voice is amusing.
“Illinois. I’ve been housesitting all over the world for the past year since I graduated. I’ve been able to see the most amazing places, but as I said earlier, I wanted to be closer to my sister this summer. She’s a massage therapist in L.A. so Trevor and Elizabeth’s vacation was perfectly timed.
“Hmm … from which college did you get your degree in housesitting?”
I meet his sideways glance and goofy smirk with an eye roll. “University of Iowa. I have a bachelor’s degree in art history, but my dream job requires a bit more school and a lot more money so I’m taking a couple of years off to save up.”
Keeping his eyes on the road, he nods. “Yeah, it’s crazy how much money it takes to get a good job, or your dream job…” he glances over at me with raised eyebrows “…which is?”
It’s impossible to hide my enthusiasm and my broad grin shows it.
“A museum curator.”
“Ah, so you’re the artsy type?”
“Not necessarily artsy, I mean, I like to draw and I love photography, but art history is my passion. I could spend all day researching and never tire of it. My college instructors said I have a knack for organization and an eye for the unique. Which is ironic because I’m a mess at home. Anyway, somewhere along the way I set my mind on becoming a curator and I’ve never looked back.” Slipping off my flip-flops, I prop my feet up on the dash.
Lautner is quiet, like he’s processing what I’ve just told him.
“So what’s your story? How is it that a grown man has nothing better to do on a Thursday than go to the beach with a stranger?”
“Good question, and you’re right … you are a little strange.”
“Shut up!” I pinch the taut skin on his arm with my nails. I can only pretend to be offended when he has such a gregarious grin on his face.
“I’m on a break, at least for the next week and a half.”
“Break, huh … are we talking jail break or—”
With a quick grab, he squeezes my knee. The shrill sound that escapes me threatens to shatter the windshield. He releases my leg, but the heat from his touch still lingers on my skin.
“For your information I’m getting ready to start my residency in pediatric medicine.”
I could not be more shocked if the car grew wings and flew us to the moon.
Lautner has a playful grin, not arrogant, just confident.
“You’re a doctor?” I can’t hide my wide-eyed stare.
“Yes.” He gives me another sideways glance and rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so surprised.”
Redirecting my gaze to the road, I sigh. “Hmm, that’s—”
“Amazing? Awesome? Fascinating? Wonderful? Marvelous?”
Pursing my lips, I shake my head. “No … I was going to say unexpected.”
“Oh, well I’d hate to be predictable. However, I am a little disappointed by your reaction. After all, aren’t you trained to see a diamond in the rough?”
I guffaw. “Oh my! You’re calling yourself a diamond in the rough?”
He shrugs. “Sure, why not? I have to at least be considered a good catch.”
A good catch? Is it possible to meet two “good catches” in less than twenty-four hours?
I cross my arms over my chest and watch the hilly terrain pass by. “You might be. Not that I would care. I’m not looking to catch anything or anyone.”
“You could be in trouble then. We’re all unsuspecting fish in the sea being lured by temptation.”
I snort. “If you’re calling yourself bait, then I’ll concede you are distracting, trouble, bad news … but tempting? No. I’ll willingly swim into the net when I’m ready, but that won’t be anytime soon. Not to sound shellfish, but I don’t have time for the fisherman right now.”
He roars into a boisterous laughter. “Shellfish? God, Sydney, you’re too much.”
A warm feeling of content washes over me. Lautner isn’t laughing at me. He gets my quirky sense of humor, which puts him in a small but elite group of people. Authenticity is often an illusion, yet in this moment, being myself has never felt so real.
“No worries, Sydney, I’m not looking for distractions either. I have three years of fifty-plus hour work weeks ahead of me with lots of on-call time. Someone like you would not be a good thing.”
“Ouch!” I feign offense, pressing my hand flat to my chest.
He shakes his head. “You know what I mean. Women can be evil little temptresses, and I think that’s exactly what you are underneath that flawless, innocent, Midwestern girl persona.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Whatever.”
I can’t get a mental grip on him. He’s emotionally intense one minute, saying things you’d only hear in the movies, then he’s cocky and aloof the next.
“Okay. What would you be doing today had we not met yesterday?”
He shrugs. “That’s easy, surfing.”
“So you didn’t plan this day special for me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. As I said, I have a lot going on in my life. No time for romantic grand gestures.”
Oh, he’s smooth. I suck in a breath and bite my upper lip to keep my reaction neutral. He’s definitely proving to be a worthy adversary.
“Then what do you call the galettes and tea this morning?” I raise a single brow.
Keeping his eyes on the road, he grins. “Breakfast.”
“And the flowers?”
“A momentary lapse of sanity.” He glances at me with a smirk. “But I’m okay with it. The line between insanity and genius is often blurred.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought when I agreed to come with you today.”
Holding the top of the steering wheel with his left hand, he moves his right arm behind my seat with his hand on the back of my head rest. “That it was genius?”
I try not to look back at his herculean arm. “Or insane,” I mumble, tensing from his close proximity.
The rest of the drive is peaceful. Neither one of us say much, but it’s not an awkward silence. A mix of music blares from the speakers, and I find myself wanting to sing along, but I’m not confident with my voice or Lautner’s reaction. That might be too real. The coastal drive down Highway One is filled with a breathtaking panoramic view of the Pacific. White crested waves crashing onto smooth sandy beaches. Herons and Terns scavenging in the shallow waters. Fishing and sailboats in the distance mixed with the occasional wave runner or parasailer. Could anyone ever get tired of this view?
Lautner exits and pulls off onto a flat dirt area at the bottom of a grassy knoll.
“What beach is this?”
He unfastens his seat belt and opens his door. “This is our beach for the day.”
I hear him open the back latch so I slip on my flip-flops and hop out. There are no other cars around and I can’t see past the hill to the beach, but I assume it too is vacant.
When I come around to the back, he hands me my bag then grabs a cooler with two Whole Foods sacks on top.
“Are we allowed to be here?” I grab one of the sacks off the cooler.
Lautner turns a complete three hundred and sixty degrees. “Looks like the coast is clear.”
“Ha, ha. I don’t have anyone to bail me out of jail if we get arrested.” I shuffle my feet along the dirt behind him as he lugs the cooler toward the hill.
“We’re not going to get arrested. Just keep your bikini on … or
not,” he calls over his shoulder.
“If I recall correctly, that’s your MO not mine.”
I ready myself to climb the hill until I see him head down a narrow path that winds around to the beach. He plops the cooler in the sand.
“I’ll get the boards. Help yourself to a drink in the cooler.”
From the looks of the worn dirt path, more than just our feet have trod through the brush here to play in the sun and sand. I slip off my shoes, pull off my tank, then shimmy out of my jean shorts. There wasn’t enough time to give much thought to my choice of bikini. It’s a simple black halter with a tie in the front and low rise bottoms. Nothing flashy, then again, who am I trying to impress? Yeah, right!
The sand falls back away from the water to the winding lines of the grassy knoll making this area of the shoreline feel secluded, like a private beach. Reaching into my canvas bag, I pull out my camera bag. I rarely go anywhere without it. It’s the first real investment I made after saving up money lifeguarding the summers of my junior and senior years in high school. My dad suggested an eight hundred dollar used Canon on Ebay after my first summer, but I waited until the next year and dropped close to three grand on a Nikon. Best decision ever.
“Ah, the lover of photography.”
I turn as Lautner sets the surfboards down. He’s already taken his shirt off, and I’m once again challenged to keep my lips closed and panting to a minimum.
“Yes,” I reply, messing with the dials to look like I’m doing anything but staring at him.
He removes his sunglasses and tosses them on his shirt that’s been wadded up and left in the sand. Just when I think his eyes can’t get any more stunning, they do. Maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s just the way he looks at me, but I’m so lost in his eyes.
“I’ll do you if you do me?” In his hand is a bottle of sunblock.
Great. I nearly melted when he touched my hand earlier. We might as well see if my body can completely vaporize.
“Okay.” I snap a few pictures of him. In case I end up dead, at least my camera will have evidence on it.
“Let me put my camera back in its bag.” My hands are shaking; this is not good.
“Here.” He hands me the bottle.
“Reef Safe biodegradable Sunscreen.”
“Gotta protect the marine life. My dad is a marine biologist, it’s all I know.” He smiles then turns his back to me.
I’m glad he can’t see me because my hands are still shaking as I squeeze the bottle. Way more comes out than I expect. I hand him the bottle then start applying it to his back. My mouth is cotton and I feel sweat beading on my brow and between my cleavage, but it’s not from the sun. His back is a bumpy terrain of firm muscles. With slow movements, I knead each one.
“You have strong hands.”
The sound of his voice paralyzes me. Jeez, I haven’t been applying sunblock, I’ve been massaging him … feeling him up.
“Uh—um—I—I got too much sunblock and I’m just trying to rub it in.”
He raises his arms and laces his fingers together on top of his head. I whimper—yes, actually whimper—as his body shifts and his muscles flex. My hands itch for my camera. He’s a masterpiece and I’m dying to capture him from every angle.
“Just rub it around to the front,” he suggests, thankfully without acknowledging my needy noises.
My hands, still heavily slathered in sunblock, work their way around to his chest and oh-so-firm abs. In this moment I become hyperaware of how little I’m wearing. It wasn’t a big deal when we were at a safe distance, but now I feel naked to his heated gaze just inches from my body. I chance a glance up, imagining him with a cocky smirk. Instead, I’m met with firm eyes and moist parted lips.
Shit! Not good.
“There.” I look away.
“Turn around,” he demands.
The spurting sound of him squeezing the lotion tingles my skin. I’m nervous, awaiting his touch.
My breath catches with the moment of impact. His large hands glide over my back in slow, circular strokes. The feel of his fingertips grazing just underneath the edge of my bikini bottoms has me turning around in a quick reflexive motion.
“That’s good … thanks. Uh, I actually don’t burn that easily, so no need to over apply.”
He rubs the excess from his hands over his arms while I rush to finish applying it to the rest of my body.
“Have you surfed before?” he asks.
“Yes, but I’m not that good.” An understatement. I suck. The last time I tried surfing I ended up with five stitches on my head when my board completely rejected me two seconds after I popped up.
“Let’s do this.” He hands me a board.
“Uh … maybe I should watch you for a while. I mean, shouldn’t we spot each other or something?”
“Yes, we should. I’m going to spot you first.” He grins, still holding my board.
“Oh, well … o—kay.” I take the board and drudge my way through the sand. The poor guy is clueless. Every fantasy he’s ever had about sexy girls in bikinis catching the big wave is about to be shattered and ruined forever. He will never be able to un-see what’s about to happen.
I paddle out on my stomach, attempting to duck under the breaking waves. No good. I capsize and get slammed back into the sand under the relentless succession of waves. Refusing to look back at Lautner, I start my second attempt. This time I make it past the breaking waves and straddle the board with my butt situated just behind the center point. The perfect wave catches my eye. I turn the nose of my board toward the beach and begin paddling.
Brilliant!
My stomach flips as I feel myself rising with the wave. “You’re mine, bitch.” Paddle, paddle, paddle … Guess it wasn’t my wave after all. I’ll catch the next one. Here she comes … Okay, not mine either. This goes on for eternity. Finally, roughly fifteen attempts, five capsizes, and seven wipeouts later, I catch one. Dropping into the trough, I remind myself to be patient and wait until I’m in the flat water at the front of the wave. “Oh yeah!” I pop up and look toward the beach to gloat. Wrong move! Nosedive.
Don’t panic. Close your mouth. Go with the flow.
I’m crawling—yes, crawling—in the sand with my head down. My hair is matted to my face, and I have so much sand in my bikini bottoms it feels, and I imagine looks, like I’ve shit my pants. Balancing on my knees and one hand, I attempt to wipe my hair out of my eyes with my other hand. Two large feet in the sand with foamy waves cresting over them come into view. I sit back kneeling before him with rhythmic waves flowing over my legs. After smearing the rest of my wet tangled hair back away from my face, I look up at Lautner. He’s no longer wearing his sunglasses and his hands rest casually on his hips.
“That was …” The smile on his face is tense, like he’s in pain. He’s nodding his head but then he changes direction and it’s now a back and forth movement. “Wow, you must be … exhausted … and this isn’t your first time?”
I shake my head with a wrinkled-nose smile, squinting from the bright sunlight. He fetches my board then offers his hand. Taking it, I clamber to my feet. He’s trying to hide his grin, but failing miserably. Releasing his hand, I start to walk forward.
“Sydney, do you … maybe want a private moment in the water?”
Crap!
He’s looking at my backside. Specifically the sand turd clump weighing down the back of my bikini bottoms. There is no use trying to hide it. He’s already seen it. So why am I backing into the water like a dump truck instead of turning around first? Simple. I’m trying to preserve the one small shred of dignity I have remaining.
I’m safely neck deep in the cool Pacific so I fiddle with my bottoms to wash out the sand turd. Lautner acts the part of the perfect gentleman by keeping his back to me as he rummages through the cooler. I tug and pull at my top to straighten it out and free the sand from it as well. Leaning my head back in the water, I try to rinse out my hair, but some of it is tangled in the ti
es of my top.
Seeing that Lautner is still occupied with setting out food and drinks, I make quick moves to untie the front and neck straps of my suit and untangle my hair. My hairband is knotted in part of my hair so I pull it out. I hold my top in my teeth while I work to tie my hair back into a bun so I can get my top back on without my hair in the way.
“Water or iced tea?” he yells, thankfully still not looking at me.
“Wa—ah—shit!” There it goes. The last shred of my dignity just caught a wave and it’s riding my top all the way to the beach with its tongue out and hands fisted above its head, thumbs and the pinkies pointed out.
Dammit, Sydney! Tea, you love tea.
Tea is easy and natural to say with clenched teeth. For example, if a person were to … oh, I don’t know, hold onto their bikini top in their mouth while saying “tea,” no problem. “Water” … not so natural.
What. Are. The. Chances?
“Coming Sydney? I have turkey or salmon sandwiches. Maybe you’re a vegetarian. Are you?”
No, Lautner. I’m not a vegetarian. I’m stuck in the ocean without my top!
My arms are crossed over my chest with my hands cupping my breasts. Can I run and capture my top then retreat back into the water before Lautner looks in my direction? Maybe. It’s a fifty-fifty chance—okay, more like forty-sixty. I was never that great at capture the flag, but the odds should be in my favor since Lautner is not yet privy to the fact that there is even a game going on.
I inch my way toward the beach with stealth-like movements. That’s it, big guy, you just keep focusing on making me a kick-ass sandwich while I retrieve my runaway top. There’s nothing to see here. Nope—
“SHARK!” I scream while sprinting to the beach. My hands are fisted as I frantically pump my arms for momentum to propel my body out of the water. Lautner jogs toward me, and I leap onto him throwing my arms around his neck.
“Oh my God! Sha—shark. Did you see it? It’s pointy … fin thingy is sticking out of the water.” My heart is racing as I struggle to catch my breath.
I’m still holding onto him like the shark is going to grow legs and chase me up the beach. He wraps his arms around me and hugs me to himself as he lifts me off the ground and turns us so I’m facing the water when I look over his shoulder.
