Lawless

by Ward, Tracey

  He shakes his head, his smile widening. “You’re mom learned how to make them on one try.”

  “Well, she’s amazing.”

  “So are you. Keep trying.”

  “Ugh!”

  He laughs as he grabs a grape out of the bowl on the counter. “What time do you work today?”

  “I don’t. Don gave me the day off since you’re home. Do you want to go into the shop anyway?”

  “Yeah, after I hit the surf. I need to talk to him about Tahiti.”

  “Are you gonna go?”

  “I don’t know if I need to.”

  “But do you want to?”

  He shrugs. “It’d be killer, but if I don’t have to so why do it?”

  “Practice. Prize money. Fame. Glory.”

  “Only one of those sounds appealing.”

  I wipe my hands on a towel and toss it near the sink. “You should go.”

  “You should go with me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Uh uh, no. One a year, we agreed.”

  “Two. I’m still pushing for two.”

  “Maybe next year. This year I want to do the World Tour event with you.”

  Lawson is going back to Portugal. While he didn’t earn himself an invite to compete in the World Tour for the championship, he did impress the people in Cascais who organized the Billabong Pro. So much so that they invited him back, giving him a wildcard invite to compete. He won’t earn any points, he can’t possibly win the championship title, but it’s a good opportunity to get experience on the tour against the guys who made it. And any prize money he earns is his to keep.

  When he started making his schedule for the year he asked me to go to at least four events with him. That’s a lot. It’s a lot of time away from work, time traveling, and a lot of expense. It’s easy for Lawson to go because it’s his job. He makes good money when he wins or places and his sponsors pay him well to make the appearances.

  All of his boards, once clean and devoid of any emblems or stickers, now all sport a very distinctive red A and a simple yellow and black emblem that reads ‘Dee’s Wax’.

  While I was away Lawson went to Don for advice on diving into the qualifying tour. In addition to advice and an offer to mentor him, Don offered him sponsorships. One from Ambrose Surf and another from the board wax business he’s part owner in. Lawson and Don’s partner agreed and there was a small press conference in Florida at the Dee’s Wax headquarters where Lawson signed with both companies. Suddenly the sky was the limit on his travel, he was renting his condo from Don for a song, and he had one of the most adored men in surfing history backing his play. That’s when the wildcard came in and since then Lawson has exploded all over the surfing scene. He was well known in California and by a few of the pros who competed against him when they came here, but his face is international now. Guys in Australia and Africa are watching out for him, studying his competition footage and getting a feel for what they’re up against.

  A whirlwind, that’s what.

  “You could go to both,” Lawson suggests.

  “I have to work.”

  “Not really.”

  “Don’t start that again,” I warn him.

  Lawson doesn’t charge me rent. He grudgingly accepts help with utilities, and if he got this way I would quit my job at Ambrose and spend the year traveling to events with him. I can’t do it, though. I gave up on playing piano in an orchestra because it’s not what I wanted, but I’m not looking to lose myself entirely. I’ve joined a small band with three other girls, playing keyboard and just jamming on the weekends. We have no goals, no dreams of making it big. We play to play, that’s all there is to it, and I’ve never loved piano more. I’ve never played this way before – wild and untethered. It feels like the way Lawson surfs. Following a rhythm where it takes me. No rules, no expectations. Only a feeling. Freedom. I’m addicted to it and if I quit everything to follow Lawson around the world I’d have to give that up too, and I won’t do it.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” he relents, stepping back from the counter.

  I soften my tone. “It’s not that I don’t want to go.”

  “I know. I get it, though. I’ll back off.”

  “Thank you.”

  He grins at me, quirking his eyebrow high.

  “What?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. Only looks at me disapprovingly.

  I pick up the towel and throw it at him. “Let it go!”

  “No way,” he laughs. “It’s still fun.”

  “I’m gonna start leaving you Thank You cards in your suitcase when you go. Thank you for leaving your dirty underwear on the bathroom floor for me to pick up. Thank you for drinking ninety-nine point nine percent of the milk and putting the dredges back in the fridge.”

  “Thank you for rocking my world last night,” he throws out with a grin.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I meant—“

  “I know what you meant. Oh!” I pick up my phone, checking the calendar. “Remember, you have a date with Aaron tomorrow.”

  He cringes. “Don’t call it a date. It sounds weird.”

  “What do you want me to call it?”

  “An awkward lunch in a dark room?”

  “He’s making progress,” I protest. “He’s been in L.A. for almost a year, and he and your mom are looking at apartments next week. That’s huge for him.”

  “I know,” Lawson agrees tiredly. “I get that he’s doing better but it’s still exhausting going over there. He still won’t talk about anything that happened before the accident. It’s like he made huge strides after talking to Katy and now he’s backsliding.”

  “He’s working on it.”

  “Yeah. Hey,” he says, his tone lightening immediately as he changes the subject and the feel of the room, “if I make you that sandwich will you surf with me today?”

  “Baby, if you make me breakfast I will do anything you want.”

  He laughs, coming around the counter. “That’s a bold promise.”

  “I’m counting on you being a gentleman.”

  “You obviously don’t know me very well.”

  I hug him from behind, my cheek on his back and his heartbeat hollow and strong in my ear.

  “I know you,” I promise him affectionately. “I see you, Lawson Daniel, even if no one else does.”

  “And what do you see?”

  “I see the ocean in your eyes.”

  He chuckles, jostling us both gently. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know you too, Rachel Mason.”

  “What do you know?”

  He turns to face me, pulling me close. His lips hover over mine, only a breath away but still too far. “I hear the music in your heart,” he whispers.

  “So sappy,” I laugh. “You must be tired.”

  “Among other things.”

  I back up, pointing to my unfinished breakfast. “Sandwich first.”

  “Surfing first,” he counters.

  “Sandwich before surfing.”

  “Those are your priorities? Sandwich, surfing, sex?”

  “Yours are surfing then sex!” I exclaim. “Why are you judging my sandwich?”

  He pauses, debating. “Sex, sandwich, surfing, sex.”

  I smile. “That’s a sex sandwich.”

  “This conversation is becoming a tongue twister.”

  “Sally sells sex sandwiches in the surf shop by the seashore.”

  “Rachel?” Lawson laughs.

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  I smile, stripping my shirt off over my head and stepping into his arms, my hunger put on hold. “I love you too, Lawson.”

  Thank you for reading Lawless!

  I hope you enjoyed. If you did, please leave a review.

  They are invaluable to indie authors such as myself.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from my NA Romance, This is the Wonder.

  I went to Europe to study. To party, to hide, to ru
n away from the endless sea of choices that would mold and shape the rest of my life. I wasn't ready for any of that. Not yet. I wasn't ready to have all the answers.

  And I definitely wasn't ready for Jax.

  Handsome, sweet, and sporting the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen, he swooped into my world and changed everything. Suddenly I wasn't scared of making choices. I wasn't afraid of voicing answers. It was easy because where Jax was concerned, my answer was always "Yes".

  But I've been quick to find out that loving a military man isn't easy, and while Jax seemed like the answer to everything, he has questions of his own.

  Doubts about his future. Fears about his past.

  Chapter One

  “The toilets are flooding! The toilets are flooding!”

  I look up to see Mel standing in the doorway to our compartment, her face flushed with panic and disgust. “What is that? Is that like ‘The British are coming’?”

  She frowns. “What? No, it’s like the friggin’ toilets are friggin’ flooding.”

  “Number One if by land, Number Two if by sea?”

  “I don’t think that’s how it goes,” Ben comments, propping his sunglasses up on his head and into his black hair. He winces at the bright morning sunlight pouring in the window of the train. Promptly he pulls his glasses down again.

  “Like it matters,” I tell him. “It’s toilet humor. I have artistic license here.”

  “Anything goes? Like in international waters?”

  “Is that a toilet joke too? ’Cause I don’t get it.”

  “We can’t all be as clever as you.”

  “Anyway,” Mel interrupts emphatically, “I was coming back from the bar car, which is packed, by the way. Seriously, an absolute madhouse. Took an hour to get a drink so I stuck around and drank it while I waited in line for another one.”

  “Why didn’t you just buy two at once?” I ask.

  “Can we stop talking about alcohol?” Ben complains.

  We ignore him and his hangover.

  “Because they don’t let you,” Mel whines at me. “It’s like they’re trying to keep people from getting too drunk—which is insane because everyone is smashed already. Did I mention it was a madhouse in there and the bathrooms are destroyed?”

  “What do you expect? It’s literally called ‘The Party Train to Oktoberfest.’ It should not be experienced sober.”

  “Or hungover,” Ben groans.

  “Shush it!” Mel shouts at him, making him wince and visibly cower in his seat. “We told you to stay behind at school. You should have listened.”

  “I thought I could rally.”

  “How’s that working out for you, Rally Queen?” I ask him, poking him in the stomach.

  He grabs my hand hard and glares at me through his Ray-Bans. “You’re the devil.”

  I smile sweetly at him.

  “And don’t call me ‘Queen,’” he continues. “People will think I’m gay and I’ll never nail a hot foreign chick.”

  “Technically, you’re the hot foreign chick here,” Mel reminds him.

  “Stop talking to me like I’m a girl.”

  “Then man up and stop acting like a bitch,” I snap, poking his stomach again.

  He groans and lurches across the cramped compartment toward the door. I note the panicked look on the faces of the strangers sitting across from us and I feel a little bad. We are loud, obnoxious Americans through and through today. We’ve all been together on this train since five this morning and they have yet to speak to each other. I don’t even know if they speak English. If they do, we’ve probably made them wish they didn’t.

  Mel quickly opens the door for Ben. “Where are you going?”

  “To the bathroom to throw up!”

  “But the toilets are flooding!”

  “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” I chuckle at Mel. “It’s melodious somehow.”

  “He’s going to be sorry he went in there.”

  “I think he’s sorry about a lot of things right now.”

  “How much longer till we’re there?” she asks, sitting back down beside me. She smiles politely at the strangers. They don’t respond. I’m not sure they’re real humans. “I need to keep this buzz going until we get there or I’ll crash.”

  I check my watch, hissing sharply through my teeth. “Four more hours.”

  Mel throws her head back against the seat and sighs heavily, devastated. “That’s too long.”

  “Take a nap. Then it won’t matter if you crash ’cause you’ll wake up revived and ready to go.”

  She rolls her head to look at me, her blond hair fanning out over the seatback. “Are you going to take a nap too?”

  “Oh, hell no.” I grin, pinning my own brown locks high on the back of my head. “I’m no punk.”

  “Oh it’s like that, is it? You think you can hang better than me.”

  “Think? No, I know I can. I’ve seen you drink. You dove in too deep too fast on this one. You’re one Heineken away from drooling on Ben’s shoulder and waking up confused by life, mumbling ‘Where are we?’”

  “Fuck you! No. That’s not how this is happening. I’m staying awake with you the whole way, then I’m getting drunk and finding myself a hot-ass German guy to make out with.”

  I snort a laugh.

  “What? What are you laughing at?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug. “Just be careful what you wish for.”

  “What are you talking about? Have you seen these guys? A lot of them are gorgeous.”

  “No, I agree. A lot of them are. They also wear man-capris without shame.”

  She scrunches her nose. “Ugh.”

  “And they don’t wear deodorant.”

  “Ugh!”

  “And they bathe once a week.”

  “You’re killing me.”

  “I’m just being honest.”

  “At least most of them speak English. My German is terrible.”

  I eye the woman and two men sitting across from us. “Yeah, they all speak a little English. Even the ones who pretend they don’t.”

  The woman raises an eyebrow at me.

  I knew it!

  The door to the compartment bursts open again and Ben stands there looking bedraggled. His shirt is blotted with either water, sweat, or something completely undesirable, and his eyes are mournful.

  “The toilets are flooding,” he hiccups pathetically.

  I hitch my thumb at Mel. “It’s funnier when she says it.”

  ***

  “Where are we?” Mel mumbles, raising her head from Ben’s shoulder and swiping a hand across her mouth.

  Right on time, I think to myself, loving it when I’m right.

  “Munich,” I tell her, then I grab her arm and shake her roughly. “Oktoberfest in Munich!”

  She sits up immediately, all memory of sleep gone. She turns to shake Ben but comes face to face with him already wide awake and looking at her.

  “Sleep well?” he asks, grinning like a cat.

  I look away and start rifling through my purse, but I know Mel is blushing. She’s had a thing for Ben since we met him at the start of this semester abroad. We’re all living, breathing, and slacking on our studies in the same building and I know it’s driving her crazy. He’s a good-looking guy when he’s not covered in questionable fluids, but he has severely questionable motives and intentions. She’s headed for heartache with that one, but good luck telling her that.

  We disembark the train in a mad, stumbling rush of bodies and excitement that floods into Munich’s train station. We’re instantly surrounded by a mix of all kinds of nationalities. I hear Italian, Japanese, French, and, of course, American and British accents. I don’t even know where we’re supposed to go, but I link arms with Ben while Mel does the same on his other side and we follow the flow of the crowd out into the streets. I’m sure someone in this herd knows where they’re going.

  “Are you feeling any better?” I ask Ben as we sidestep a coup
le making out in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “Getting there,” he mutters, his eyes downcast.

  I worry for a moment, thinking he’s still really sick. I actually have some sympathy for him. Then I see what he’s looking at. The girl walking just ahead of us is wearing fishnets—honest to God fishnet stockings—in neon green. They disappear up her legs under a short skirt made of black tulle. She looks like a hooker ballerina.

  “You’re gross,” I mutter quietly.

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of the crowd.”

  “You can’t hear me over the color of those fishnets.”

  Mel leans forward to look at me across Ben’s chest. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “The difference in the speed of light and sound,” I tell her.

  “Seriously? Why? Wait, is there a difference?”

  I shrug. “I’m a business major.”

  Mel frowns. “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to get. She’s drunk,” Ben interrupts, squeezing my arm against his side pointedly.

  I take my cue to shut up.

  Not surprisingly, the herd makes it to Oktoberfest where it joins the massively bigger herd of people milling around the grounds. This thing is huge, the largest fair in the world, and I feel a little claustrophobic being in this crowd. I know I’ll get used to it, especially after we visit the beer tents, but for now it’s kind of freaking me out.

  “Where to first?” Mel shouts above the din of music, people, and carnival sounds. I can see rides rising up in the distance at the end of the midway that’s made up entirely of food and drink stalls. Running parallel down the center is a string of booths selling crafts and souvenirs. This is only one section of the fair and we could spend hours walking through it just looking. But I didn’t come here to look; I came here to drink, eat, and be stupid, so I quickly point to the tall peak of one of the largest beer tents.

  “There!” I shout. I swing around and point to the peak of another tent across from the first. “Then we go there. And there. Then there.”

  “Okay, okay,” Ben stops me, nodding wearily. “We make the rounds. Got it. Let’s do this.”

  “Think you can make it?”

  He shakes his head as though to clear it, then leads us forward. “Only one way to find out.”