Another Shot with Summer

by Michele De Winton

  Once he was good to go, though, he couldn’t resist looking through a few of the images on his camera, checking for focus and light. Summer flickered into life on the small screen. He almost forgot to breathe. His gut had told him these would be some of his best ever photos, and judging by the images of a sunlit goddess, fairly dancing with the ocean, he was sure his gut was right.

  Summer came up behind him, wrapped in her shirt, and gasped.

  “I know, right?” he said.

  “I can’t believe you pulled it off without a small army. Or Photoshop. Wait a minute, does your camera have a nifty setting that treats the picture automatically?”

  He chuckled. “Nope. That’s you. Every inch.”

  “But I thought were we trying to get product type shots. That we were done. Why’d you take all those?”

  Ashton shrugged. “Because…I just couldn’t stop.”

  He turned to her, and with her mussed wet hair and the plunging light of early evening, her beauty scattered his thoughts.

  “It’s going to get dark soon. I’d better call a taxi,” she said.

  “I can give you a lift. It’ll take forever for a taxi to get here.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  “We’re in Brazil, not California. Accept the ride. The beach looks shiny enough now, but you know this place can get real dark real fast, and I don’t mean the light.” His hands fisted thinking of anyone trying to steal anything from her, let alone hurting her.

  She clenched her jaw. “I said I’d do the shoot. Not shoot the breeze with you.” Pulling out her phone, she dialed and put it to her ear.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you know as well as I do that if you manage to get hold of a taxi, it’s not going to get here till it’s well and truly dark.”

  She said nothing for a long moment, listening to her phone. Then she ended the call. “Fine. There aren’t any taxis available for at least forty minutes.”

  He looked at his watch. “My ride will be here in ten.”

  Ashton sat on the white sand and crossed his legs in front of him. A tattoo, which he’d had done as soon as he was able, traced the long scars down his right thigh and calf but didn’t cover it. Its black lines made out a stylized surfer who stood gazing at the ocean with seagulls circling his head.

  “Hurt much?”

  Ashton looked over his shoulder at Summer as she sat an awkward distance from him. Then he looked back at his leg and shrugged. “Only a bit.”

  “Why try and hide something that had such a big impact on your life?”

  I could ask you the same question. The photographs had shown him just how hard she worked to appear to be what the world thought she should be, rather than being her hot self. When she’d finally let go, she was far from the simpering woman he’d seen in all the magazine articles about her and T.J. The woman in the water was someone strong, resolved, ready to fight. “All that stuff, the cult of celebrity stuff the media will try and get you to buy into, you don’t need it to be successful. You know that, right?”

  “Says the two-time junior champion who had media interviews for breakfast. You courted the press back then harder than anyone.”

  He shook his head as her hackles rose. “I don’t mean to sound patronizing. Don’t listen to me. I’m crap at this giving advice stuff. You’re talented, anyone can see that. And you want it in the right way. You want to surf ’cause it feeds you, not because you want to be famous.”

  “You’re a psychic, are you?”

  He smiled at her snide tone. “No. But the camera never lies. I see people much clearer when I’m behind it than I do when they’re right in front of me.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You’re doing it again. Get your back up and you look like you want to bitch slap whoever is on hand. You’d be as hard-assed as my sister if you let yourself.”

  That stopped her. Her face flattened, the vulnerability clear in the drawn eyebrows, the pinched look.

  She shrugged. “What do you care?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t mean to get your back up. But when I do, I get this.” He held up his camera, the image of her flashing over the small screen again.

  She scoffed. “That’s not me. That’s lighting and the ocean and you being good at your job.”

  It was his turn to frown. “It is you. That’s my point. This is the real you. I should know. I’ve spent the last three years looking for the real in people. The raw bits. The hurt. All of the ingredients that make people tick.”

  The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the last spark of its warmth died on the ocean in front of them. Ashton closed his eyes a moment and inhaled it. The stillness, the quiet… It was heavenly. And her scent. Even from where she sat, he could smell it. Cold, crisp and salty from the ocean, but with a subtle underlay of something. He sniffed and hoped it wasn’t too obvious. Baklava? Fruit syrup and honey combined? This could get dangerous fast. The silence grew from something calm and beautiful into that self-conscious heartbeat of a teenager’s crush. Ashton cleared his throat but kept his eyes shut.

  “You’ve been looking at the ingredients that make people tick?” she said breaking into his moment. “I mean, seriously?”

  “I told you I was crap at giving advice. Don’t listen to me,” he said. “I’m crap at plenty. You know, back then—” A car pulled up on the road just above them and he stopped the apology he didn’t even know if he could articulate. “Ride’s here.” He stood and walked toward the car then cursed himself when two women climbed out of the back seat and came tripping down to the beach in shorts so short they were barely even there. He hadn’t wasted much time enjoying some of Brazil’s other sights this week. Didn’t mean he was ready to showcase the fact to Summer, though.

  “Oh, this is just perfect.” Summer’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and Ashton cringed.

  “Ash, honey. So good to see you. Jimmy said he was picking you up, so we came for a ride. Oh, hi.” The woman finally registered Summer, her hair still wet, standing beside him.

  “Hi,” Summer’s voice was flat.

  “I promised we’d give Summer a ride back.”

  The woman’s face faltered a second, then her overly-white smile flashed back on. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

  “You can just drop me and my board at the WSL hub. I can walk from there.”

  “Great!” Short-shorts beamed and threaded an arm through Ashton’s.

  Ashton opened his mouth to say something but then shut it again. What was there to say? He’d only make her angry again. Like his camera, the accident had shown him how much hurt he was capable of inflicting. Even on people he counted as his friends. He might have lost his career, but his friend had lost his life. That was enough to keep anyone focused.

  He’d made a decision to keep his love life strictly light and casual since. His history with Summer was a big part of that. It had sat heavy inside him all these years and he hadn’t been able to see how to wind any of it back. Especially as time had moved on and he’d gone from stupid decision to stupid decision. Standing next to her now though, his body wanted to change things. To sidle up to her, to make her understand how sorry he was, how sorry he’d always been. Whatever Romeo. That’s not going to happen now. No, it didn’t matter what he felt anymore. He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t do anything that wasn’t temporary unless it involved his camera. Better to end this shoot and walk away. If he didn’t see Summer ever again, it would be all the better for her.

  Chapter Three

  Alone in the tiny twin room she was sharing with Ashton’s sister, Brooke, Summer still felt Ashton’s hand on her arm as if it had imprinted itself there. She sighed and stared at the ceiling above her bed. If she didn’t get some decent shut-eye, the waves were going to eat her up tomorrow. Ashton Evans was about as important as a grain of sand on a beach. She’d done the shoot, and they’d got a few amazing shots; she had to give him credit for that. But now it was done. She didn’t have to spend a
single second with him again. And with the media at every turn, that was a good thing. The last thing she needed was them getting wind of something that wasn’t anything. The only reason there was so much tension between her and Ashton was because of history. Old history. And that’s where he belonged, behind her.

  The hours in the surf, combined with the jet lag that still hadn’t sorted itself out, did its work pretty quickly once she shut her eyes, but rather than drifting into the cool blue of deep curling waves as she often did, Summer’s dreams took her back to the end of Grumari Beach.

  The last strains of golden sunshine surrounded her as she dove into the sea, and the light caught on the tails of a school of tiny silver fish as they flashed past her. The sunlight brought with it the heat of the sun, her body thrummed with warmth. And when she burst up through the glassy water, the surface rippled away from her, on fire, alive and waiting.

  “You look like a goddess in that water.”

  She looked around but couldn’t see the speaker. The sun blinded her from his direction. But she could tell it was a man. His voice was rich, deep, like it held a little of the depths of the ocean in it, too. Gazing down, she saw the water dripping off her fingertips like liquid honey and realized the rest of her dream-body was coated, swathed in a glimmering gown of seawater sequins.

  “The water’s claimed you as one of its own.”

  She laughed and was surprised at the lightness of the sound. As if to prove the man’s point, the school of fish took a leap at the surface, and for an instant, the world seethed with glimmering silver life.

  Summer shook her head. “I’m dreaming. This sort of stuff only happens in the movies. Brooke must have slipped a bit of Disney Princess into my drink this evening. Think I better calm the hell down.”

  “If you like,” said the man. “Or you could just go with it.” Without warning he waded into the water. “If you let it, the ocean will tell you exactly what you need to know.” With the movement the speaker was revealed: Ashton.

  Summer’s body tightened. “That right?” There was still a lightness in Summer’s body, but even in sleep, her internal cynic stretched determined fingers around her heart, refusing to let her dive too deeply into the fantasy.

  The space between them dissolved, and Ashton’s arms were around her before Summer could protest. His hand cupped her chin and drew her face closer, tilting it up to give him better access. As if it were real life, his lips were warm, firm, and then they were demanding, easing any protest away and willing her to melt into them.

  Ohhh. Ashton’s mouth opened hers and his tongue drew hers out, dancing with it, twisting, imploring her to dissolve into him.

  “This can’t be happening. You’re a total douchebag—”

  But he pulled her into another kiss and stole the rest of her sentence. Finally, she pulled back again and looked up into clear blue eyes, warmed by the sun and the smile that crinkled their edges.

  “I’m different now. And I know you can feel it.” Ashton lifted her up and pulled her legs around his waist. Skin! Hard, hot, man-skin. Hours spent in rehab and running up and down the side of a football field meant there wasn’t an inch of extra padding on Ashton, and as her hands roamed from his neck down his shoulders, the ripple of muscle urged her to pull him ever closer.

  The water lifted her up, like it was a willing participant in the dream, and the flickering fish now swam away from him in a wide sweep, making the ocean truly glisten. Buoyed by the sea, there was no effort in being wrapped around him, and his hands on her butt felt more than right. They felt as if they’d been waiting too long to get there. The kiss deepened again. Summer wiggled, wanting to shed the last scraps of her clothing so her skin could feel Ashton all over.

  “Too. Many. Clothes.”

  The man was psychic, too.

  Striding towards the beach with her still in his arms, dream-Ashton seemed completely unfazed by the pull of water against his legs.

  “I can walk, you know.”

  “Not for long.” Ashton deposited her feet on the sand, only to draw her down on top of him straightaway. Like a fifties postcard, he pushed her hair back from her face and wrapped his arms around her as they lay with the small waves lapping at their toes. In the dream, her mind yelled for her to get the hell out of there, but her mind wasn’t in charge. Her hands clawed at his skin, loosening the waistband of his board shorts to release what was ready and waiting for her inside. He cupped her breast, and even through her wet bikini top, the warmth of his touch sent a sizzling ripple over her skin and deep into her bones.

  “Are you ready?”

  Hells yes, she was ready. But something scratched at Summer. An annoying flicker that threatened to turn Ashton into a puff of smoke and steal the climax she knew was coming.

  “Summer. Are you ready?” There was a rattling at the door, and Summer’s eyes snapped open. Noooo.

  “No way. Did you sleep in? What next? You never sleep in.” Brooke’s voice came loud and bemused as she finally wrestled her room card in the lock and stalked into the room. Summer groaned. Her dream of Ashton drifted away as if it had never been there in the first place. Summer tried to hold on to the tail of it, to keep a glimmer of feeling so beautiful, so desired, but with daylight barging away the glow of the dream, and Brooke rifling through a bag at the end of her bed, the image of Ashton’s wet glistening body faded quickly.

  Brooke stood, bag in hand, then smirked. She ran and jumped on the bed, her dark hair flying and the thickly inked sleeve tattoo on her forearm matching the long clean line of muscles under it as she punched Summer on the shoulder.

  “Hey, that’s my paddling arm.”

  Brooke made a face. “Whatever. Harden up, Roberts. And get the hell out of bed. Unless, are you actually hurt?” She pulled at Summer’s arm and inspected it till Summer pushed her off.

  “I’m fine. I just haven’t got used to the time zones.” With the last traces of her dream gone came a simultaneous sense of relief and dismay. Relief that it had just been a dream, and dismay that her body had betrayed her so completely. What the hell, girl? Ashton was not someone she was willing to dream about. He was not someone she wanted to dwell on, period.

  “Well, surf’s up. So come on. Our heat is on this morning.” Brooke’s eyes lit up as she said it, and the glee emanating off her was contagious.

  Summer grinned. “Can you believe it?”

  “Of course I can believe it. We worked our asses off to get here.” But Brooke’s grin was just as broad as hers. Summer let herself wallow in the thrill of it for a moment. She and Brooke had known each other since they were kids, when the two of them and Maya had begged rides in the back of Ashton’s pickup. Maya still caught a wave now and then, but she didn’t have the same passion Summer and Brooke shared. But all three of them were dead-set on making an impact on the WSL. A big one.

  “I’m coming,” Summer sighed. Good one. She rolled to standing, and as her thighs pressed together… Holy Damp Pants! She was hot, wet, and oh so ready for her dream man. No. Way. A rush of confusion and embarrassment over took her again, but she shook her head. The ocean would take his place. “Meet you downstairs in ten,” she yelled then ran to the shower. A sharp, cold blast should get her head back in the game.

  But on the beach as she waited for her heat, Summer couldn’t help revisiting where her dreams had taken her. She hadn’t thought about Ashton in years, and then in one afternoon, her subconscious had taken her almost all the way to climax? That was some messed up shit. But there was no hiding the fact that if Brooke hadn’t burst into their room, Summer was sure she would have gone all the way to a starry-eyed orgasm, and managing that, just by thinking about a man, had never happened to her before.

  So what the hell does it mean, genius? It meant that her teenage girl crush wasn’t over. Shit. Yep. What the hell was wrong with her? Holding on to a crush for a guy who had practically destroyed her self-confidence and who she knew for a fact was a slime-turd? The last thing she ne
eded was another dude making her feel crappy. This was her time. Time to get the WSL part of her plan nailed before she got the happily ever after part sorted, too. Girls could do anything, and she was about to prove they could have everything, too.

  “So, do you reckon Ashton’s going to stick around for a while?” she asked.

  Brooke shrugged. “He’s pretty keen to get into the WSL photography team. Be nice if he did. But really? He’s more likely to bail again. He’s still caught up in everything that went on with the accident. We had a chat last night after you guys came back, and he seemed a bit lost. You know, like he was somewhere else.”

  Maybe because he was shredding her dreams in the next room!

  “Be nice to hang out with him for a bit. I’ve missed him.” Brooke was quiet. Serious for a change. “I guess I missed him more than I realized. I know I always used to give you grief about liking him, and he always used to tease the hell out of us back when we were kids, but he has some good ideas about life now. Solid ones, you know. Down to earth. I don’t do enough for him.”

  Summer bit back the comment about his good ideas mostly being to do with looking after himself and not giving a shit about how much he hurt people. She’d never told Brooke what happened back when they were teens. Just said she broke it off with Koby because she decided they were too young. It was partly true. Summer knew they were too young. But when Koby had asked her to marry him, the thrill of it, the excitement, broke through her fixation with Ashton and made her think she could move on. When she’d gone to Ashton to test her theory, twenty-year-old Ashton’s kiss had brought her back to reality. The reality that even the promise of a lifetime of love from someone else couldn’t get Ashton out of her heart. Big mistake.

  Still, she wouldn’t wish the physical pain Ashton had been through on anyone. “Sucks about the accident.”

  “Yeah, but I think he’s closer to getting over it than he lets himself believe. I think he needs to cut himself some slack instead of keeping that big fat splinter of blame in his ass forever. He’s still angry—deep angry, you know—and I think he wishes he was in the water rather than shooting it. I don’t know why he’s doing it to himself. Why he wants to come back to the surf scene at all.”