The Surfer Solution

by Cathy Yardley

  Chicken.

  She was about to get up and walk back to her car, when she saw three boys, all junior high in age. They looked adorable in their wet suits, carrying their boards. They were relatively long boards, so at least she felt a little better. They weren’t experts.

  “Are you gonna surf?”

  The first boy to speak to her had short blond hair, more like peach fuzz, cropped so close that you could see the tanned skin beneath it. And the kid was tanned. Even though it was winter, his light green eyes stared out in sharp relief against the darkness of his skin. She wondered what he looked like in the summertime.

  “I was thinking about it,” she said, feeling like a complete and utter coward.

  The other two boys were taller than the first, and had dark brown hair...one cut short and spiky, the other long, collar length. They looked at-her warily She wasn’t just an adult on their beach, but a female, at that.

  “Well,” the first boy said, as if making a decision. “It’s pretty cold. Don’t know if you want to go out there.”

  She felt her chin go up a little, as if challenged. “I’ve got my wet suit.”

  “Okay, then,” one of the dark-haired boys said.

  The boys stared at her expectantly.

  “I’m Allison,” she offered.

  They shrugged.

  So much for introductions. “And your names are...?”

  They looked at each other, then at the blond boy. He was obviously their de facto leader. “Toby,” the blond boy said, giving her the hey-there head nod.

  “Mark,” the dark-haired boy who’d spoken to her said.

  “Jake,” the other said. “Mark’s my brother.”

  She’d guessed as much, but didn’t say anything.

  The trio stood there a moment longer, then did the group shrug. They dumped their towels, and then headed with purpose toward the surf.

  She wondered if kids this young should be surfing alone, even if they did know what they were doing. Still, she decided it might not be a bad idea if she went out with them.

  She got up, taking a deep breath, and headed out into the ocean. It was only her intense desire not to look like a complete wuss in front of her new friends that kept her from yelping painfully as her toes went numb from the cold.

  The boys hooted as they got soaked, diving into the first wave possible. They looked at her expectantly again.

  She had always been the inch-in-slowly type of swimmer, but apparently they’d done this before—a lot, so she took a deep breath, steadied her board, and then plowed headfirst into a wave.

  Whoosh. The icy sensation was like a hard wake-up call, and her heart started pumping double time. She felt ultra- awake, like she’d just had a triple-espresso shot. “Whoo-hoo!” she shouted, then realized that the boys were laughing at her.

  She didn’t care. She laughed right with them.

  The boys were like otters, slick-wet and playful. She was careful to watch their hand signals, so she wouldn’t steal one of their waves. In the meantime, she wasn’t really doing much in the way of surfing. Still, she was floating companionably, and watching the boys while she was belly-riding her board was fun.

  Toby paddled over to where she was, sitting astride his board and studying her. “You don’t really know what you’re doing, do you?” he said in the artless way that only ten-year- old boys seem to master.

  She shrugged. “Not really. But I just started surfing a few weeks ago.”

  “Why?” Now the other two otters had paddled up, wondering what the conference in the water was all about.

  “Because I was stressed out, and I thought surfing would help.”

  “Oh.” The boy looked at her, then shrugged. “Weird.”

  “Yeah, weird,” Mark agreed.

  “So, how do you guys know how to pick a wave?” she asked, partially because they seemed to know, but also because it was kind of nice to talk to somebody about something other than work.

  The boys’ eyes lit up. “Really?”

  Suddenly, she was surrounded by experts. “Well,” Mark said with the air of a college professor, “what you want to do is...”

  She was suddenly alert as the three boys threw instructions at her. Finally Mark, in a fit of impatience, told her that they’d point out the waves, and she should try for them.

  She stood at the ready, holding on to her board the way Sean had shown her.

  “Now!” Mark yelled. “Start paddling!”

  “Paddle now!” Toby yelled even louder, his thin chest distended with the effort. The third boy just hooted loudly.

  She got on the board, thankful for a brief second that she managed to stay on without humiliating herself, and then started paddling for her life. The action was unnatural, and she was breathing hard, but she felt the water swell beneath her and heard the increased hooting from the boys, so she paddled even faster.

  “Now get up!” Toby shrieked.

  “Up! Up!” Mark chanted.

  She gritted her teeth. Then, just like she’d practiced countless times on the beach and on her carpet, she jumped up.

  Don’t look down. She could hear Sean’s words in her head, just as if he was standing behind her. The tacky surf wax on her board held her feet in place, and she felt her equilibrium slowly shifting.

  Suddenly, like the beauty of a symphony, everything fell into place. She found her sweet spot. She barely registered the triumphant shouts of the boys as she realized in a rush that she was standing, she was surfing, she was actually riding the board...

  “I did it!” she screamed with wonder, feeling a rush of adrenaline so strong it threatened to make her head explode. “I did it!”

  She looked out, down the wave...and then glanced at the beach, wishing that somebody she knew could be witnessing this historic event. She wished that somebody would take a picture. She hadn’t been this proud in her life.

  There was somebody on the beach...a man, a surfer.

  Sean.

  “I did it!” she yelled to him around a big smile.

  He waved.

  She waved back...and just as abruptly lost her balance, plunging into the water hard.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SEAN HAD ONLY STOPPED back at his apartment briefly enough to strip out of his interview clothes and throw on his wet suit. He’d never felt like he needed the sedating power of the waves as much as he did today. He knew it was a good opportunity that he’d probably all but thrown away. He knew that the surf shop was closing, and he couldn’t just drift around like kelp for the rest of his life— his very kind landlady and drinking buddy Mrs. Tilson would probably have some choice words to say on that matter if he tried. So he’d gone to the ocean, feeling despondent, knowing that the ocean would, as usual, make him feel better.

  Of course, he wondered how long that would last, since he’d be in close proximity to Allison.. .and after that searing kiss in her office, he wasn’t sure just how much surfing he was going to be able to coach her on, and how hands-off he was going to be able to be.

  So he was surprised when he got to the beach and found Allison already there, looking like a true surf girl in her black-and-red winter wet suit. She was with a few of the neighborhood boys—he thought he recognized them, but at this distance, it was hard to be sure. They were yelling at her like loons, and sure enough, she was focusing all her laserlike attention on their instructions. He just sat on the beach, next to his short board, watching her as she paddled and, miracle of miracles, actually laughed.

  He was so engrossed in what he was watching though, that he barely noticed what was going on. The water had gone calm. If he’d been in it, if he’d been in the zone and water conscious, he would’ve immediately realized what was happening.

  Ninety percent of all rescues happen just after a lull.

  That fact registered just seconds before she stood on the board, and the tidbit of information was washed away by a massive wave of pride... a sensation that quickly turned to a lump of cold f
ear in his stomach as his mind finally put together what his subconscious had been yelling at him for the past ten minutes.

  Riptide.

  She wasn’t coming up, he thought with panic. She should’ve surfaced by now.

  He grabbed his board and rushed out into the water, yelling for the boys to come into shore as he headed out for her. He should’ve been paying more attention. He didn’t notice the cold of the water, didn’t notice anything beyond the spot of ocean where Allison had disappeared.

  Before he could get there, her board popped up like a cork, and she was a few seconds behind it. She took a deep gulping breath and immediately coughed.

  “Allison! Allison!” He paddled up to her, grabbing her, helping her onto her board. The boys had taken his shouted instructions to heart and were already safely on the beach. “Are you all right?” he asked, desperate for her answer.

  “I got rolled,” she said. “Scraped the bottom a bit, and that wave hit me like a sledgehammer.” She giggled a little.

  “The tide’s coming in heavy,” he said. “We need to go in now.”

  “No problem,” she said gamely, still with a smile, and started to paddle.

  It took him twice as long as it would normally, partially because he was trying to make sure that Allison got in all right, and partially because his muscles had turned to jelly at the sheer relief that the panic his mind had goaded him into was at least somewhat unfounded. When they got to the shallows, he ran to shore, untethering his board and throwing it onto the sand. He then went back and grabbed her, all but carrying her to shore.

  “Sean! Put me down!” she croaked as he slung her over one shoulder and tucked her board under his arm. “I’m fine, Sean! I’m fine!”

  It was as if he couldn’t hear her. Instead, he dumped her board on the sand next to his, and placed her on her feet. Then he stared her down. “What did I tell you when I started classes?”

  “That you’re a kook?” she said, her eyes gleaming.

  “You don’t surf alone.” His words could’ve pounded rocks to powder. He kept a grip on his temper, but his eyes kept searching her over, as if to reassure him that she was, indeed, safe. “There was a riptide starting. You could’ve been carried out.”

  He looked over to where the boys were standing, drying off. He finally recognized them. “Mark? That you?”

  “Hey, Sean.” Mark nodded, smiling slightly. “She’s one of your students, huh?”

  “You know you should be careful out here,” he warned instead.

  “Yeah. Shoulda seen that lull coming,” Mark replied with the supreme confidence of a twelve-year-old who is convinced nothing bad can happen.

  “You’ll be more careful next time,” Sean said in a calm voice.

  The kids all looked shamefaced, and nodded glumly.

  He turned back to Allison. “Don’t even try to be mad at me on this one,” he warned.

  “Did you see me?” she countered, obviously neither hearing nor heeding his warning. “I did it! I jumped up, just like I’d practiced! I found my sweet spot and everything. I rode that wave!" Her eyes snapped. “And I have had one of the worst days on record. Don’t even—”

  He couldn’t help it. He grabbed her, dragged her up against him and kissed her with all the pent-up fear and relief warring inside him.

  She was obviously surprised for a second, then she responded with a passion of her own that hit him like a Hawaiian giant. Her arms tugged his head down to hers, and he crushed her against him. She opened her mouth, and the kiss turned hungry.

  It must’ve been a long time, because only slowly did he register the kids’ hoots and whistles. He finally released her, resting his forehead against hers.

  “I was scared,” he said finally. “I was so damn scared that something bad would happen to you.”

  “I see that now,” she said softly. “But something great happened to me.”

  “I know,” he said. “You really did it. You rode that wave.”

  “No,” she said. “I found you.”

  And she kissed him again, slowly, full of promise.

  Suddenly, the interview, the surf shop, everything that he was supposed to sort out, all seemed unimportant. The only important thing in his life was getting as close to this woman as humanly possible.. .and never, ever letting go.

  “You’re not getting a surf lesson today,” he said against her lips.

  “Mmm,” she agreed, tugging him toward the car.

  They were halfway there when Mark yelled out, “Yo! How about your surfboards?”

  And one of the other kids said, “Sheesh. Get a room."

  Which was the point.

  They somehow managed to gather their boards and get into his truck, leaving her Jag at the beach. “Your place okay?” he asked, thinking of privacy.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Just hurry.”

  Oh, yeah. They were definitely on the same page. He drove as fast as his ancient pickup would allow, but it still seemed like a million years before they got to her town house. He grabbed their boards, but she led the way.

  The second they were in the town house, he propped the boards up against the wall while she locked the door. And then they catapulted into each other’s arms.

  It was times like this that wet suits were particularly awkward, and she laughed breathlessly as he unzipped her. “I was a real surfer today,” she proudly stated.

  As the zipper lowered, he saw her petite but full breasts pressed against the neoprene. His body, already hard, seemed to tense to the breaking point. “Holy crow,” he muttered. “You are...beautiful. Unbelievable.”

  She led him to the bedroom, a room he’d never been in.

  He couldn’t have named a single detail if he tried. All he was aware of was her. She tugged awkwardly at her wet suit, laughing with frustration as it caught on her skin. He peeled off his wet suit with some difficulty, too… partially because his skin was still dry, but mostly because he was clumsy with desire for this woman. He stripped down to the waist, feeling another rush as she paused in her own undressing to stare at him. “You’re pretty amazing, there, yourself,” she murmured.

  He couldn’t help it. He leaned over and kissed her, then tugged the wet suit off her shoulders, not even looking as he slipped it off of her arms. When his hands came in contact with her smooth, slightly damp skin, he shuddered slightly. When her bare chest pressed against his, he groaned.

  “Sean,” she whispered against his throat, pressing tiny, maddening kisses. “Please."

  She pulled away and tugged at her wet suit hard enough to think she’d tear the neoprene in half. He sat on the bed, wiggling off his wet suit, then looked up to find her naked, and staring at him, desire and nerves warring in her heart- shaped face.

  He took in the look of her, her slight but perfectly proportioned figure, her hair tumbling in wet waves around her shoulders. The flush of cold and passion on her barely sun- kissed skin.

  “You’re perfect,” he breathed.

  She smiled, like the sun burning off clouds. Then she walked over to him, taking a deep breath. He opened his arms, and she stepped into them, like the last piece of a puzzle.

  He just held her for a moment, warming her, feeling her shiver against him and causing his already sensitive skin to go haywire. But he swore he’d remember this moment forever, breathing in the smell of her—girlish perfume and the intoxicating scent of saltwater and sea air. He tilted his head back, kissing her chin... kissing her lips.

  She sighed, and then pushed him over onto the bed.

  He laughed in surprise, but only for a second. Passion quickly burned everything away but the pure need for her.

  She was, as always, unstoppable. Her delicate hands smoothed along his skin as she responded to his kisses with an ardor that almost knocked him out. The feel of her, sliding along the length of him made something snap in his mind. He wanted her. He had to have her.

  And now, he actually could.

  He tore his mouth
away. “Condom,” he said. “I don’t.. .1 want to make sure you’re okay.”

  She smiled, then rolled away for the briefest of seconds, pulling open a drawer and producing a foil packet. “You know, I used to think it was dumb to have these around when I never used them,” she said, her eyes glinting mischievously.

  He rolled one on with haste, laughing to himself about her remark in the dressing room: I have a whole new respect for people who have to put on condoms. Then he paused. “You’re sure?”

  She leaned back against the bed, holding her arms out. “More sure than I’ve ever been about absolutely anything,” she breathed.

  He was a man who didn’t need to be told more. Still, he wasn’t rushing. He kissed every inch of her, reveling in the taste of her, the feel, until she was begging for him in an incoherent nonlanguage of sighs and moans. Finally, he slid on top of her, gently, carefully. She wrapped her legs around him, her eyes full of trust, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

  “Now, now," she insisted.

  But she wasn’t quite ready, and he moved slowly, entering her carefully, gauging her reaction, taking his time to be gentle even as the effort practically killed him. She was pressing against him, her breathing uneven, urging him.

  Suddenly, it was just like catching a wave—the rush, the feeling of being embraced and pushed. She cried out his name, kissing him feverishly, and he started to move, their bodies moving together, matching perfectly, melding in a perfect dance of passion in motion.

  She let out a rippling sound as her body contracted around him, and that was it. With a groan, he pressed against her, sensation exploding around him. When he could get his wits back, he rolled over, carrying her with him, resting her on top of him.

  She let out a long, sighing breath. “That was... wow.”

  “Wow,” he repeated. “You’re as amazing as I knew you’d be.”

  She smiled. “So. When can we do that again?”

  He laughed, wrapping his arms around her as warmth that had nothing to do with the adrenaline and passion in his system seeped through his body. “Make that even more amazing.”