“Thank you. I specialize in single-family homes in rustic locations. I originally built this one as a showpiece, but when it came time to put it up for sale, I couldn’t.” He runs a hand through the hair on the back of his head. “So, this is how I find myself living across the lake from my estranged family.”
“You’re an architect then?”
He nods, but he’s not making eye contact. I get the feeling we’ve trodden onto unsafe ground—because of his job? Maybe my questions bypassed “interested” and went straight to “nosy.”
“Let’s go ride, man.” I reach into the cooler and pull out one of the energy drinks and hand it to him. “Trust me, you’re going to have a good time.”
He scowls at the can, opens it, and takes a cautious sip.
“It tastes like candy,” he wails, but he takes another sip. I bite back a laugh at his mock outrage.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I pop open my own can and take a long pull, letting the sweetness settle on my tongue and the bubbles rush into my belly. Happy sigh. Yep, just like candy.
“God, what are you, eight years old?” He snickers.
“Forty. But who’s counting?”
“Really?” He stops and stares at me.
I heft my board under one arm and grin. “Really.”
He pushes open the glass door and waves me through, then follows. I can see the dock through the trees, so I take the path past a gorgeous swimming pool down toward the lake. He’s got a boathouse at the end of the dock, but he’s already lowered the boat into the water and pulled it out so we can get in easily. The Nautique, like his house, is more elegant than flashy in blue and gray. The bars of the wake tower are painted a simple black, with chrome racks for the boards on either side. A serious boat. I turn my attention back to Dave in time to hear him say, “You look way younger.”
“Thanks.” A flush heats my face now—and the compliment ain’t even true. I’ve got all the crinkles around my eyes to show for my years in the sun. “And you’re what, twenty-five?”
He snorts. “I’ll be thirty in September.”
Ten years. Not so much age difference. He’s closer to my age than to his brother’s.
“You’re a lot older than your brother.”
He nods abruptly. “Half. Riddles is my half brother. Same mother.”
“Right. Sorry. Ridley seems like a good kid. I’ve seen him ride.”
“Yeah.” His face softens. “He was the cutest baby on the planet. I loved coming home after school and playing with him. I would wear him around in one of those backpack things while I worked on my homework. He was just the coolest little guy. When I was younger, I hated being an only child. He was … the nicest thing my mom ever did.”
“How long ago …” I swallow. Definitely unsafe territory. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” I step off the dock and onto the boat, setting the cooler next to the driver’s seat and hanging my board on the tower.
“I came out during my freshman year in college. I was eighteen. Riddles was two. I went to live with my dad at the end of the semester.” He pulls his new board out of the boathouse storage and hands it over. I hang it on the other side as he continues. “I’ve not been welcome in my mother’s house since then. I kind of follow him on Facebook through mutual family friends, but I haven’t actually seen him since he was a toddler.”
“I’m sorry, man.” More than sorry, pissed. How could they kick their son out? I’m not close to my family, they moved back to South Georgia while I was riding pro, but we still talk.
“Yeah, whatever. Mom has her new family. At least Dad wasn’t a homophobe.”
“What’s he like?”
“He died five years ago. Cancer. C’mon, everything else is under the seats.” He unties the boat and hops in, pushing us gently away from the dock.
Well, shit. Way to stick my foot in my mouth. He’s not looking at me, and his body language is all closed off. Eager to get us back to solid ground, I roll with the abrupt change of subject.
“Okay. Head out toward the main channel; we need to go pick up a third.”
“A third?”
“A third rider. Someone to drive the boat while I’m in the water teaching you how to get up.”
“Oh.” He looks, what is that, disappointed? “I didn’t think about that.”
“Don’t worry, I figured you hadn’t so I asked my buddy Eddie. He lives a couple of coves down on the main channel. He’s in. We just need to pick him up.”
I don’t mention that Eddie and I have a history with riding that has nothing to do with wakeboarding. It’s not like he won’t figure it out the moment Eddie prances onto the boat. I’m looking forward to the show.
And Eddie does not disappoint. When we pull up to his dock, we’re greeted by the man himself in a red velour bathrobe and oversized sunglasses. I hope to hell he remembered to put on a bathing suit.
“Darling,” he purrs as I reach out a hand to help him—sure, Eddie can board a boat himself, but he likes the attention. He hops inside and gives me an effusive air kiss—yeah, that was definitely for show. Eddie’s as much of a redneck as I am, though he hides it pretty well.
“What a delicious ride. And is this my host?” He turns to Dave, who has stiffened up. “Good morning, sunshine. I’m Edward Russell, but this guy calls me Eddie. You can call me anything you like, but endearments are preferable to homophobic slurs. Unless you’re family.” He lowers his sunglasses and raises his eyebrows.
I snort. “Leave the poor boy alone, you ancient queen.”
“I’m forty-three.” Eddie sniffs. “That’s not ancient.”
“Davis Fox. Dave.” Dave holds out his hand for a shake. His eyes widen in surprise when Eddie throws his arms around his waist and snuggles him. Eddie has that effect on people. And yeah, I’m fuckin’ jealous that Eddie’s big flamboyant act has gotten him into Dave’s arms within minutes, but I tamp that down pretty quick. Dave is not Eddie’s type. Too young, too cute, too blushy. My oldest friend isn’t putting the moves on Dave; he’s just being Eddie.
“Davis Fox of the Carolina Foxes—Charleston, am I right?” He steps back and gives Dave an appraising look. If there’s a family with old money in the southeast US, Eddie knows them, so I’m not surprised when Dave nods. Eddie drops the affectation instantly. “Your daddy was an investor in one of my business ventures. He was a good man, and I was lucky to know him. It’s nice to meet his son.”
“Um, thank you.” Dave peers down at his feet.
I take pity on him. “All right, y’all have met, can we ride now?”
Eddie laughs and reaches for his sash. “Of course, let me just get comfortable.” He pulls off his robe with a dramatic flourish and thank fuck, he’s wearing a bathing suit. Sort of. It’s a barely there Speedo, but at least it covers his junk. And yeah, I look—I’m only fucking human after all. Eddie’s three years older than me, but he’s got a real boyish figure. He swims and runs several times a week, so he’s still as toned as the last time I saw him naked. And waxed everywhere from the looks of it. I peek at Dave to see if he’s checking out Eddie’s proudly displayed assets. Nothing. No hint of interest. Not even a blush.
Good.
Eddie drops into the driver’s seat and glances over at me. “Well, darling. Who’s first, you or baby Bedhead over there?”
“Him.” We both speak at the same time. Dave blushes and looks down, running a hand through his rumpled hair.
“It’s your boat, Dave. Your lesson.”
“I want to watch you first. Just for one pull?”
I’m all ready to make an innuendo-laden quip, but then I see the hint of fear in his eyes, and honestly, it’s about damn time. I nod, kick off my flip-flops, and pull off my shirt, ignoring Eddie’s sharp whistle.
Dave digs my riding vest out from where I stashed it under the seat and I shrug into it. I look up from zipping to find two pairs of eyes fixed on me. I’m used to Eddie’s blatant admiration, but the
warmth in Dave’s gaze is new. And welcome.
“Isn’t he something, Bedhead?” Eddie stage whispers. Then, to me, “Darling, you look good. I haven’t seen you riding lately, what are you doing to keep in that kind of shape?”
I really don’t want to talk about physical therapy in front of Dave.
“I run three times a week and work out at the gym.” I shoot Eddie a warning glare and he nods, glancing back at Dave.
It’s as good as a promise that he’ll keep his mouth shut. At least in front of Dave. Fuck my life if he gets me alone though. It will be all, Darling, are you sure you’re taking care of yourself? You should talk to Dr. Thompson for a consult on that surgery. You know we just want to take care of you. You aren’t without friends, love.
I grab my helmet. “Okay, Dave, here’s what I want you to watch: How I hold the rope—low to my lead hip. How I approach the wake to jump—on the edges of my board. And when Eddie circles around, how I approach the double-up. You’re not going to jump today, but I want you to pay attention to my posture. Get in good habits now and you’ll be in good shape when you’re ready to start jumping.” It’s the same speech I give to every beginner before a demonstration. I don’t ride to show them how good I am. I ride to show them how to hold the rope and approach the wake.
But I still love the ride.
Eddie’s attached the rope to the tower and hands the end to me. Settling onto the platform, I grab the lube and push my feet into my bindings. Then I take the handle and jump in the lake.
The early morning air is warm, and the water is even warmer. I settle into the lake, let my board buoy me up. I’ve missed this. Eddie idles the boat forward, taking up the slack in the rope. When it draws taut, I signal that I’m ready.
The drag of board against water, the way my muscles bunch and strain, are old friends. Deep water starts are second nature by now, but I can still remember the sense of victory I felt the first time I went from horizontal to vertical behind a boat.
And the rush. Oh God, this is the best. There’s really nothing like hurtling along the lake’s surface at twenty-four miles per hour. I stop watching the boat—I’m watching the water. Between the wakes it’s a glorious mess, white and green churning together, like some fancy green-veined marble under my feet. But out there on the other side, it’s glass, just waiting for me to etch its surface with my board. Pushing the rope low to my lead hip, I turn my body and ride across the wake to the outside.
I want Dave to see my posture, so I cut out away from the wake and make a sharp turn back. It’s like a switch flips in my brain: now I’m performing for him, letting him see what I do best. I load tension on the line as I ride toward the wake, edging with progressively harder effort until I’m almost perpendicular to the big swell of water. Then, I straighten my legs.
Jumping wake is that simple, and it’s that hard. Even after all these years, the tension releasing on the rope and launching me into the air is still terrifying—it’s part of the thrill. Exhilaration rips a shout from my lungs as I lift my feet and use my rear hand to grab the board between my toes. I hold on as long as I can and then let go just in time to land on the far side of the wake. I look up to see Dave’s mouth hanging open. A rush of pride fills me. It was a simple grab, but his expression tells me I’ve still got it.
And I have nothing on his kid brother these days. He’s in for a treat when he sees Ridley ride.
I jump a few more times before Eddie signals he’s going to turn. Here comes the double-up—the point where two wakes converge and make one big-ass monster wake. I give myself room to cut toward it on my heelside edge.
A twinge of panic. I haven’t hit a double-up in years. Not since … no. But I’m coaching the guy for a double-up contest. This is part of the package, and let no one say they don’t get what they paid for from Legend Wakeboards.
I take a deep breath and I launch into the air. What could it hurt to give him a real show? I toss my hips back and my arms forward, and I’m soaring like Superman, parallel to the water, with my legs stretched out behind me. An Air Raley is a pretty simple trick, but damn does it look impressive. I fly for a long moment, and then I drop my feet, pulling the handle back toward my lead hip. I force myself not to stiffen in anticipation of the impact as I land on the far side of the wake.
The water’s smooth like glass; I slide down the far side of the wake and edge away.
I wave to Dave and Eddie and drop the rope. Adrenaline’s pumping through my system and I’m breathing hard as I sink into the water. Part of me, that angry, hungry part of me that fell in love with riding wake all those years ago, wants to keep going, keep riding, show everyone what I can do. Show them, show him—Dave—I matter. That ugly little attention whore can shut up though. I don’t matter. The job is him. Not me.
Several deep breaths later, I take off the board and wait for Eddie to circle around to pick me up. I lie back in the water with my hands behind my head and my feet propped on the board, letting the rush of warmth flood my veins. It’s been a while since I’ve spent a morning in the water, and God, I’ve missed this.
Maybe Eddie has a point about the surgery. It definitely wouldn’t put me back in competition shape, but fuck, I’m forty, it’s not like I’m going up against Ridley Romeo anyway.
Then I remember what recovering from back surgery actually feels like. No. I don’t need that in my life again. I know better than to even think about it.
Physical therapy is going fine. And if the only riding I do is giving lessons, that’s okay. ’Cause if I start thinking I still matter to this sport, I might start wanting things that hurt. Ain’t nothing good ever came from that.
hen Eddie pulls around, I clamber onto the swim platform and wait for Dave to get ready. I put my board back on the tower while he pulls off his T-shirt and stashes it under a seat.
Ohmygod. My mouth is dry, my heart is racing; holy hell, he looks good.
Davis Fox has seen the inside of a gym. I mean, I thought he’d be more of the adorable-geek-not-really-a-gym-rat type, but a guy doesn’t get lats like that without working out. He has a naturally athletic physique, the kind that doesn’t require a lot of upkeep, but dayum he’s lean and toned with just the right breadth to his shoulders. I bite back a groan.
He’s slipping into his vest and totally catches me looking at him. Grinning, he makes a big show of putting on the helmet, rolling his eyes at me as he does. Finally, he sits down next to me on the swim platform and starts to put his size twelves into the bindings.
And they stick.
I shouldn’t laugh, but come on, it’s funny. “Eddie, can you toss us some lube?” Dave blushes and reaches over his shoulder for the bottle. He squirts a little into each binding, but it won’t be enough, so I take the bottle and do it for him. His feet slide easily into the bindings now, and I lean close to whisper, “No such thing as too much lube.”
“I’ll remember you said that,” he whispers back.
And he fucking winks at me.
So, of course I do the only logical thing: I shove him off the platform and into the water.
He’s still laughing as I toss the lube back and jump in after him. Eddie pulls away from us, and I pass the handle to Dave. I float along next to him as Eddie takes up the slack in the rope.
“You’re not likely to get up on your first try,” I tell him as I show him how to hold the rope, arms between his knees, board scrunched as close as possible to his butt. “But if you do, don’t panic, just bring the handle down to your hip and enjoy the ride.”
He nods, determination settling across his features.
“Are you ready?”
He nods again.
“Signal your driver.”
He raises a hand, and Eddie starts to pull him. At first, I think he might actually get up on his first try—lucky bastard—but he doesn’t turn the board in time and goes ass over teakettle into the water, then comes up sputtering.
“What did I do wrong?”
�
��Don’t forget to turn the board—if you try to ride with it sideways, you’ll fall over.”
He nods again as he gathers the rope. “How many times did it take you?”
“To figure out how to get up? Eighteen.”
“Really?” He looks at me appraisingly. “So as long as I get up in the next sixteen pulls …”
“Tell you what, if you get up in the next sixteen pulls, I’ll buy you dinner.” Now where the fuck did that come from? Take this guy on a date? Is that what I want? Hell yes.
“Your boyfriend might not like that.” He gestures with his chin toward Eddie.
Eddie? He thinks I’m with Eddie?
“Eddie is my friend. Sometimes fuckbuddy. But we aren’t a couple.”
He grins. “Good to know. Okay, you’re on: sixteen pulls. I think it’s only fair that if I need longer than that, I should buy dinner.”
Warmth spreads in my guts. Looks like either way, it’s a date. I nod.
It takes him every last one of those sixteen pulls, but then he rises out of the water like a lake god, muscles bunching as he swings his right foot forward—huh, he’s goofy?—and draws the handle down to his hip.
I shout something as he rides away from me, something with cussin’ and whoopin’ and just all-around noise, because I know he’s feeling that thrill, that victory, and fuck, I don’t even… This is my favorite part of giving lessons.
He rides a little way before he catches an edge and tumbles into the water. Dave’s grin is huge as I swim to him, and I can’t help myself; I give his shoulder a squeeze.
“Good job,” I say, and he blushes. It could be my new mission in life to keep his cheeks pink.
This time, when Eddie swings around, I climb back into the boat so I can watch. As we’re pulling away from Dave, taking up the slack in the rope, Eddie asks, “So what’s going on with you and Bedhead? He’s kind of cute.”
“A little flirting. That’s all.” Dave rises effortlessly from the water this time, and I have to grin. He’s so proud of himself; it shows in every line of his posture. “Kind of cute? That boy is adorable.”
Double Up Page 2
