Another Shot with Summer

by Michele De Winton

  Summer cocked her head to the side. “Come on, yes you do. He probably can’t leave it alone. It’s like a scab that’s all itchy—he’s gotta be in the water. Just like you. Just like me. Framing surfers in his photographs isn’t riding the waves, but I guess it’d probably get close.”

  Brooke shrugged and slung an arm around her. “Yep. You’re quite the wise one today, aren’t you?”

  She felt about as wise as a dung beetle. Summer shook her head at herself as they walked.

  “There’s Summer—hey! How is T.J. doing? Is he nervous today?” A reporter spotted them and tagged along.

  “Do you mean, how are you feeling about your heat, Summer? I bet you’re going to slay it, Summer?” Brooke cut the young guy off with a curt reply.

  “Sure, sure.” The reporter waved her away, his focus still on Summer. “Is there something wrong? Is the tension getting too much?”

  Summer stopped and swallowed her sigh, forcing herself to be calm. “T.J. is doing great. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him this focused or driven before. You’re in for a treat this season, I can promise you.”

  The reporter smiled, happy to have got a sound bite he could use. But when he’d gone, Summer turned to find Brooke fuming.

  “You know I had to do that,” Summer said.

  “You’re stuck with T.J., sure. But you don’t have to be his cheerleader.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You’re in for a treat?” Brooke mimicked Summer’s voice.

  Summer started walking down the beach again. “What else am I supposed to say? We’re still a happy couple, and I still support his goals, blah blah blah. He’s promised to support me in public, too. Maya made him swear to it.”

  “I bet she did.” Brooke smirked.

  “I don’t have a choice. Man, I wish I’d never signed that stupid contract.” She paused a moment, remembering the night Maya had gently broken the news that she couldn’t just walk away from her time with T.J. She hardened her voice, hoping it sounded sassy. “And it’s not like I want the media after me while I’m trying to concentrate. They would be up my ass looking for the dirt instead of watching me surf if we broke up.”

  Brooke played along. “And T.J. would love nothing more than to make you look shit.”

  “And sue me.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Asshat.”

  Summer grinned, finally. “Maya is right. Better to put my head down and suck it up until I win this competition now that I’ve finally qualified.”

  Brooke winked. “You mean until I clean up this competition?” She punched her in the arm affectionately. “I’ll stop nagging, promise. I just hate seeing you having to smile and make nice while T.J. does what he wants. You should have been here competing with me last year, too.” She shrugged. “But you’ve got your big girl panties on now, I’ll give you that. I mean, check you out, doing the shoot with my brother and not kicking him in the nuts or anything. I better watch my back. You might just beat me after all these years with that sort of focus.”

  “Better believe it.” Summer gulped down the flash of last night’s dream that surged through her at the mention of Ashton. Brooke was right. She was focused. Ready. Ready for this next chapter in her life to start properly. And she was going to own it. Shred the waves, claim the sponsors, be everything she hoped she could be.

  Chapter Four

  Ashton clicked on the image. Again. Sure, he’d upped the filters and taken out the lens flare that stole focus from the central hero figure, but other than that, it was untouched. She didn’t need any work. He let out his breath in a long, even stream. Summer Roberts was photography gold, pure and simple. She’s not made of glass, though. Summer might look all heavenly fresh, but she could give it when she wanted to. Guess she did hang out with his sister. No one was going to be pure as the driven snow and still be friends with Brooke.

  The exhale turned into a grimace. She was his sister’s best friend, the ex he totally messed up with, someone who was contracted to be with her ex in the eyes of the media, and also someone who deserved every happiness. Not the type to need his sort of luck and history crashing her life party.

  His cell beeped with a text. Maya. Time to face the PR music. Summer was only the subject of his photograph. If he put himself behind the camera—figuratively, anyway—he didn’t need to think any more about her after today.

  #

  “Oh. Migod.” Ashton sat next to Maya at the tiny desk she’d managed to squeeze into her hotel room. She’d only been in Brazil a week, just like him, but somehow it felt like she’d been there a lot longer. Perhaps because the tiny room didn’t have a clear surface anywhere. Clothes, shoes, magazines, her laptop, printer and tablet… the place was packed. For someone who organized other people lives, she seemed to love to wallow in clutter.

  As she clicked through the ten images Ashton had chosen to retouch, it was all he could do to not fidget or reach to tidy things into piles. Stop it. Why did he feel like he was on trial? He was good at this. What was wrong with him?

  Looking over her shoulder, he saw she’d stopped at the last image, his favorite. He knew it wouldn’t sell anything, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. The image of Summer in the water—coated with gold, the water dripping from her fingers and a look of lost abandonment on her face—was too good to hide. He went to shut the lid of his laptop, but she batted his hand away.

  “I know, it’s not really what they’re looking for. But I thought the second one might be a bit more California-girl-sells-juice.”

  “The second one?” Maya looked up at him with a frown. Then clicked back through the images to the one he’d pinned as the most commercial. She shook her head. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong. But it’s a bit ordinary. I mean, it could be an ad for anything wholesome, and Summer looks…” She cocked her head. “Nice.”

  Nice. Meh. Ashton shrugged. “Sorry. I know you said we’d nail it in an evening, but I’m not really a sunshine-girl kinda guy.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “I’m not a monk. But we’re talking about the photos. I’ve been shooting dudes for the past three years.”

  Maya waved a hand as if flicking his words away. “Has Summer seen these?”

  Ashton pulled the laptop over and went again to flip the lid closed. “Only briefly, on my camera.”

  Maya grabbed his hand. “You totally have to show her.” She looked at her watch. “It’d be good to give her a boost before her next round in the water. There’s time. I want to send them off to the client first.”

  “Send them off? But I thought you said—”

  “What? That she looked nice? Sure, in that second picture. But in that last one… Show me again.” She turned the computer back towards her and clicked on the last image. “She looks amazing. The shot is amazing. My client is going to freak out and want to plaster it on every billboard, surf blog, and magazine slot they can get their hands on. You have done my career a big solid, my friend.”

  “Really?”

  “Dear God. Really. Since when do you doubt yourself?” She squinted at him through low-lidded eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Ashton Evans?”

  He got drunk and killed his best friend. He took a breath. “I guess shit happened, and I got wise to my cocky self.” His face must have shown the darkness of his thoughts.

  “Shit. Sorry. Stupid thing to say. But really, Ashton, this…” She looked at the photo again. “The others are good, but this is amazing. You’ve totally done it.”

  “It?”

  “Crossed the PR gold boundary of getting a commercial shot to look like art, and art look like a commercial shot. You make it look…” She bit on her lip. “You make her look real but that indefinable bit better. Like what we all want to look like. Like who we all want to be. And you know what else? I want to have what she’s having. In this case, a big long drink of summer. Oh man, this client’s gonna love me. And you, too, of course.” Maya cou
ld hardly conceal her glee.

  Real. It was because Summer was real. It felt like she was one of the most real people he’d met in the last three years, and he’d hardly spent any time with her.

  “Won’t be a sec.”

  Ashton sat as Maya logged herself into her account on his machine, sent off an email, and made a series of phone calls that seemed to include barely any words before she announced with a grin, “It’s on, baby. Welcome to the big league. We should go tell Summer.”

  “What?”

  She started for the door, then stopped. “You’re right.” She pulled out a cable and attached it to his laptop. “I like to be prepared.” Her printer whirred and clunked, then the tiny thing spat out a pretty good quality version of his image. “Let’s go.”

  “You don’t need me.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. Come on, I have news.”

  Oh shit. But with Maya practically dragging him by the arm, he either had to shake her off, hard, or go with. And he didn’t feel like pissing off another of his sister’s friends. Not today.

  Down the stairs, through reception, and then out of the air-conditioned world of the hotel into the slap of hot air that was Brazil, Ashton followed Maya on auto-pilot. In front of them, the beach shimmered. A heat-haze glistened, shifting across the white sand. Gazebos and tents dotted the beach, all branded with sponsors’ logos. A temporary bar was set up at one end. The whole place was alive with people. Plenty of young local kids walking around, trying to spot a pro and get a selfie or autograph. But there were plenty of people just lying on the sand, soaking up the sun, watching the water. The salty tang of the ocean waves crashing on the beach permeated everything. Ashton let the heat and salt soak into his skin. Home. This scene, mad and brutal as it was, was where he belonged.

  Maya, on the other hand, seemed all kinds of wrong, her high heels possibly the most inappropriate thing he’d seen on a beach ever. Still, as she tottered on her toes, she seemed to have some sort of radar for her girlfriends, and in the mix of hundreds of people on the beach, spotted Summer tucked up against one of the sponsors’ tents, watching the surf. “Summer, sweet cheeks, you just got yourself a sponsor.”

  Summer turned. Even having spent the last hour looking at photos of her on his laptop, the real woman still got under his skin and—and what? Threatened to rip away that layer of epidermis and leave him in a hot bleeding mess on the floor. Oh man. Being around these women was turning him all sorts of stupid.

  It’s done. Maya just wants to crow over it. That’s all he needed to remember. Tonight, he could go out, drink his one daily beer, catch a cab back to the hotel, and forget all about Summer Roberts in the arms of some nice, willing, local girl. ’Cause when in Brazil…

  “That’s not me,” Summer said, gazing at the printout Maya had pushed into her hands.

  “Come on, babe. Enough with the bashful Disney princess. But while the photo is amazing, that’s not the best part. I wanted to have you both in the same room”—she looked around the beach— “so to speak. The client wants to use this one. Now. But they want more. You get another shot like this to prove it wasn’t a one-off, and they’ll sign you both for a full season’s campaign. It’s huge.”

  Summer’s jaw dropped. “A sponsor? And a season’s campaign?”

  Maya nodded. “It was going to be a one-off promotion, I know, but when they saw this and I told them about your stats this season…Well, here we go, baby. And you know what? They don’t even care who T.J. is. They’re new on the surf scene, and you’re going to be their golden poster girl. If we play our cards right, they’re going to be with you all the way to the top. Then when this stupid contract with T.J. expires, world’s your oyster, babe.”

  Summer turned to Ashton. Fuck. The look in her eyes was a mixture of elation, fear, and anger. A look to melt a guy’s heart and get him into all sorts of trouble, all at once.

  “You owe him a thanks,” Maya chirped. “And you’ll be working together again. Isn’t that great?”

  “Thanks.” Summer smiled, but it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes.

  She looks about as pleased to have to work with me again as a shark with a tofu burger. He shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. I’m just the guy behind the camera. You’re the one that makes the picture pop.”

  The loudspeakers crackled into life with the disembodied voice of the commentator. “And the scores are out. There were some nasty falls in that last heat. Looks like we might lose a few of the hopefuls early. This next one is the decider, though. Get ready to start your engines, ladies.” The announcer was way too chirpy.

  Summer frowned. “Why don’t they get someone with some balls to do the announcing for the women’s competition? It’s like they want all the spectators to grow an extra set of ovaries or something.”

  Ashton snorted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to like her more.

  “Shit.”

  He turned to follow Summer’s gaze. The scores for the last round were written on the board hung on the WSL beach tent, and Summer was not near the top. A nagging voice in his head told him to touch her, to reassure her that it would be okay, that she would be okay. But his hands stuck rigid to his sides. Not here, not now, not her. Still, he hated to see anyone’s dreams falling away in front of them. Especially hers. It reminded him of how easily his had been sunk.

  “I know I had a bad run in that last set, but the one before was good. I thought they might have evened out. Guess I’m one of those hopefuls about to get eliminated,” Summer said.

  Maya patted her arm. “No way, babes. You can do this. You’re gonna do this. You’re an ocean goddess.” She waved the photograph then pushed it into Summer’s hands. “Gotta fly. Got all of our careers to organize. Knock ’em dead.”

  Left alone on the beach with Summer, Ashton looked at his watch, hoping he could leave before he put his foot in it and made an ass of himself like he almost had last night. “I should head off, too, really. Where’s Brooke? She abandoned you?”

  “Pretty much. She got a great score, so she went to flirt with Holo.” Summer waved over at the bar tent further along the beach on the sand, where a group of men were lounging around. One of them turned, and Ashton recognized Holokai Keahi straight away. The Hawaiian pro surfer was easy to spot. Relaxed posture, board shorts, and faded T-shirts all proclaimed his commitment to the water rather than to the glam of the industry. Brooke could do worse than hang out with a guy like him.

  Check you out, getting all paternal over your little sister.

  “You’ll be wanting to get your head in the game, anyway. I’ll get out of your way.”

  Summer’s face fell, and he frowned. The confidence she’d had yesterday was gone, and she was going to need it if she wanted to nail her next heat. “You’ll be okay.”

  “What? Yeah, sure.” She was looking over his shoulder. “Hey, don’t go yet.”

  His heart contracted, then he looked behind him, and the little thrill dissipated when he realized why she didn’t want him to leave yet. “Hey, T.J.”

  The guy, who apparently factored far too heavily in Summer’s self-esteem, stood with the sun haloing his head. Ashton’s photographic brain took over, and he could see why T.J. had sponsors crawling out his ass. Good bones, “don’t give a shit” airs—the camera would love him. “Hey, man, long time.” Ashton held out one hand and shaded his eyes from the sun with the other.

  “Hey.” T.J. nodded a greeting, ignoring the outstretched hand. “Your heat’s up next?” he said to Summer.

  She nodded.

  “You’ll need to kill it if you’re going to get through to the next round. Better pull out some moves like yesterday.” He smiled. “Unless it was a fluke.”

  Jeezus. Ashton waited for Summer to take the guy’s attitude down a notch, but she just nodded stiffly. The silence broadened a moment too long as a journalist swung in and snapped a photo of the three of them, Ashton feeling like a wonky third wheel on a decrepit cart. Man, no
wonder the woman was on edge. Having to be on show, on someone else’s show? That must be hard work. He waited till the reporter was out of earshot. “She’ll do fine. I saw her smashing it yesterday.”

  He looked directly at T.J. until the man caught his eye. “You having a nice rest this season? You don’t want to push things too much. Best to play it safe. Doesn’t make sense to try out new moves or challenge yourself when you can cruise through doing what you’ve always done, hey?”

  What are you doing? Ashton couldn’t believe the sly dig had come out of his mouth. It was something the old him would have done. A Bait and Bash was what they used to call it; bait the guy till he was riled enough to snap back, then knock him down till his ego was hardly able to stand.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

  “Oh no. Sure.” Ashton injected just enough fake concern in his tone to make it clear he didn’t give a rat’s ass what T.J. did or didn’t do.

  “Anyways. Have fun now.” T.J. nodded again at Summer, and once he was out of hearing Ashton raised an eyebrow at her. “No good luck? No knock ’em dead, babe?”

  “No, not anymore. But it’s fine. Dickwad doesn’t know that his gear bag has about two pounds of seaweed and a dead crab in it. Sitting in the hot sun all day, he might need some good luck to get the stink out.”

  “You did not.”

  She shrugged. “Couldn’t possibly comment.”

  The flicker of a smile was gratifying to see, but it didn’t drive away the frown lines that had moved in over Summer’s eyebrows. Ashton didn’t buy her bravado. Her stiff body, the frown, the way she held her hands so tight, it all screamed anxiety.

  “You know he’s only trying to spook you, right?”

  “Of course I do,” she snapped at him. “What are you still doing here, again?”