by Logan Chance
Instead, I revert to the familiar and tease her, “Lizard, aw, look at you all grown up.” I noogie her head as she swats my hand away.
“Shut up,” she jokes.
The brunette from Mecca sits on the couch. A low whistle comes from her mouth as she rises. “Well, hello, sailor.” She fans herself, and I let out a soft chuckle.
“Hey. Lexi, right?” I reach my hand out to shake hers.
“Yes. It’s great running into you again. Can I ask you something?”
I cringe inwardly, wondering what on earth she’ll ask. “Sure, anything.”
“Did you just call her Lizard?”
Lizzy steps in, pushing Lexi toward the hallway. “Ok, time for bed. Ryan, there’s no need to answer her.”
They exchange a glance, and I laugh. “It’s a great story. One I can’t believe Lizard here hasn’t told you,” I say as I sit down on the couch.
Lexi sidesteps Lizzy and plops down next to me. “Oh this I gotta hear.”
Lizzy covers her face and slides onto the bedchair on the opposite side of the room.
“When we were kids,” I start, smiling over at Lizzy, “we used to go to the community pool during the summers. Our parents would drop all us kids off. Me, my two younger brothers, Lizzy, and her sister, Alice,” I hesitate at the memories of those fun times. They were innocent, we were innocent, and it sucks how life takes that away replacing it with things that change who you are.
“Please don’t tell me she would eat lizards,” Lexi says in disgust.
“No, I’m sure that was you,” Lizzy says, laughing.
“A girl’s gotta eat.” Lexi laughs.
I shake my head, holding in my laughter over their repertoire. “Anyway, the concrete around the pool used to be scorching hot. And Lizzy here, would hop from foot to foot. Just like a lizard does to cool their feet. She was cute, standing on one foot, until she couldn’t take it anymore, and then bouncing to the other.”
“That’s kind of sweet. Ever heard of flip flops?” Lexi asks, smiling at Lizzy.
“Yes, duh. But, we were young.”
That’s always an answer to all stupidity in your younger years. I remember back to all the years Lizzy and I got into our fair share of stupidity.
“I guess I should get going,” I say, rising from the couch.
“I’ll walk you out.” Lizzy jumps to her feet, and her body moves toward me. Sexy as fuck. I shake my head as sexual thoughts enter my brain.
We move to the door in unison. A heavy fog clouds my vision as I only see her. Nothing else matters as I zero in on her lips. Lips I want so badly to claim. Every nerve ending in my body brings me one step closer. This is the start of my greatest fear. A fear of lusting after her. A friend.
Even though she’s nothing like the friend I remember. When we were younger I never thought of her this way.
I would never clam up with the desire to touch her. But her wild hair is begging, no pleading, with me to run my fingers through it.
Funny thing is, when we were kids, I’d touch her all the time. Many nights we’d lay awake in my small, twin bed watching TV, and she’d be nestled in my side as I ran my fingers through her hair. And not once, not once, would I ever think of her in a sexual capacity. Even when I was a teenager and my hormones were a fucking train wreck, I’d never go there with her.
But now, here, it’s all I can think about. My brain is misfiring all the wrong signals to my cock, making it harden as thoughts of us nestled on my old twin bed play through my memory. Her long legs, round ass, and perky tits tease me underneath her outfit, and I swallow hard as she opens the door for me.
She’s the same as always around me, so obviously I’m the only one with these thoughts. If she had any want or need for me, she’d be feeling the same things as me. She wouldn’t be acting like I’m a neutral party standing here.
But, she is. She’s treating me the same as her best friend in there on the couch. So, I hug her goodnight and walk away to my truck.
The next morning, I enter my father’s surf shop to get ready for a long day at work. Let me tell you about my dad.
He’s your typical beach bum, only he’s not a bum at all. His surf shop is one of the hottest spots in South Beach.
Sure, it’s no Ron Jon’s…but his little shop gets some serious action. I like to think of it like this—Ron Jon’s is for the tourists, while Funk You Boards is for all the locals.
My father is a great man. Been surfing his whole life. Taught me to surf at the ripe ol’ age of five. His unfulfilled dreams of going pro were passed on to me and my younger brothers. Out of the three of us, only my youngest brother, Lance, is living the dream. Still in high school and competing against champions. Yep, you heard that right…I’m related to a pro surfer. Which doesn’t really get me very far, but in the surfing community it sure does.
Everyone knows who we are. The Wagner’s. The surf experts.
My father spots me near the register and walks over. “Hey, son,” he says, sounding high as fuck. But, he isn’t. He’s never even touched the stuff, or so he claims. But, I’m sure back in the seventies he was all over that shit. He runs a hand through his shoulder length, sun bleached, blond hair and smiles.
Yeah, this is daddy dearest. You think my dad is a character, wait until you meet my mom. And just on cue, she comes out of the back room. “Ryan?” She rushes over, like she didn’t just see me yesterday, hugging me and pampering me with kisses. I’m twenty-two, not twelve, but she doesn’t care. She’s a complete beach bimbette. Well, I know that sounds mean…but just wait.
“Did you do the inventory for last night, Barb?” my father asks her.
My mother purses her lips, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder as her blue eyes wander toward the ceiling, hoping the answers she needs are there.
She’s like an older Pamela Anderson without the huge rack. My mother never got on the fake boob train like most Miamians. Or the fake lips, either. Ok, my mother has nothing fake except the blonde color of her hair. And, for an older woman, she’s kinda hot. Sure, she’s my mom…but, I know other guys think she’s a full on milf.
“I think I did,” she finally answers. “I’m not really sure, Loren.”
My father smiles, kissing her on the top of her head. “It’s ok, dear. We’ll just have Ryan do it.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.” I grab the clipboard from behind the shelf and head toward the back-storage room.
I count the boards two at a time letting my thoughts wander to Lizzy. The fact she’s back in my life has me smiling all day, until I need to leave for my weekly appointment with Dr. James.
The doctor’s office is the last place I want to be. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky, and it’s perfect weather to grab my board and hit the beach. I fire off a text to Lizzy, asking her to join me after my appointment.
She agrees, and it makes my smile wider as I enter Dr. James’s office. He goes over my vitals asking the normal questions. Headaches? No. Nausea? No. Muscle aches? No.
All is good, and I head back to my little bungalow…ok, yes, it’s on my parent’s property. But, it’s still mine. I know you all were wondering how I afford anything…well, I get by.
I grab my board, and a board for Lizard, and head off to the beach.
Spotting Lizzy’s little Vespa, I pull into the spot right next to it.
Her blonde hair is wild when I step onto the beach. The sand is hot beneath my feet, and I rush off to where she sits on a towel waiting for me.
“Ready to do this, Mrs. Davenport?”
She shields her eyes as she tilts her head to gander up at me. “Oh, why Mr. Davenport, I thought you’d never show,” she says in the most twangiest of southern accents. My heart beats a little faster that she remembers the silly names we called each other.
She outstretches her hand, and I haul her body from her spot. She giggles, and we head off toward the deep blue.
Don’t think I didn’t notice the skimpy getup she’
s barely wearing. Because believe me, it’s all I can stare at. I can’t turn away. That’s why I grabbed her so quick. An urge to throw a towel over her, to keep anyone from looking at the full breasts exposed by the tiny top, nearly overwhelms me. The only thing stopping me is the fact I wouldn’t be able to see them if I did. Fuck. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
6
Lizard
“A true friend is someone with whom you dare to be yourself.” - Frank Crane
The way he’s focused on me sends goosebumps igniting across my skin. The beach is packed with tourists and locals, everyone searching for the perfect spot along the shore, but it feels as if we’re alone.
“Just watch me for a few waves, then we’ll get you started. Do you remember everything I taught you ages ago?”
“I…uh, no. Not really,” I confess.
His smile is engaging, and I listen to his instructions as the seagulls squawk high in the sky.
The heated sun on my skin mixed with the smell of coconut from my tanning lotion, makes me remember how much I used to love coming here with him.
The white crest of the waves crash around his knees as he moves further out into the ocean. I worry momentarily about his shoulder, but it’s not really that bad of an injury. He should be fine.
The cool waves break at my feet as I stand in awe studying him. His smile is contagious as he focuses on the upcoming wave in the distance. He’s always loved surfing, and I always loved watching him.
When he mentioned joining the military, my heart cracked. I’ll never tell him how I would visit the beach after he left, listening to the waves crash as I thought about him on the other side of the world. Praying he was safe, melancholy because I hadn’t heard from him. Those are things he doesn’t need to know.
I can’t help but smile as Ryan lies along his board, paddling toward the shore. The wave picks him up, and he hops to his feet.
God, his chest should be illegal. So sculpted and chiseled. Planes and ripples everywhere. Grooves I’d like to explore with my tongue.
I snap to attention, mesmerized, as he rides the wave out, his board moving under his direction. His body dips and turns, and he makes it look so easy. It’s not easy at all for me, though.
Shit. I’m going to have to do that soon, because here he comes. His dripping wet body walks up to me.
“You ready, sunshine?”
Unsure, I scowl, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes trained on him. “I guess.”
“Let me show you a few basics,” he says, bending over to position my board on the wet sand. “Step on,” he urges.
When my feet are planted on the board, the feel of his hands on my waist startles me. Chills race all over, hardening my nipples.
“You want to be centered on the board.” He squats, and his hand nudges my legs apart. His head is eye level with my pussy, and, suddenly, this skimpy, pink bikini doesn’t seem like such a great idea. “Open your legs for me,” he says, and maybe it’s my imagination, but his voice just dropped an octave.
“Ok.” I inch my feet up on the board. No lie, his face is nearly between my legs. His dog tags catch the sunlight against his bare chest, and I can’t speak. His soft touch, roaming down my legs, ignites something in me, making me wet before I ever get in the ocean.
He runs his hand down my back, stopping just above my bikini bottom. If you can call it that. It barely covers my ass. “Lie on the board.”
I do as he says, and I swear I hear him curse under his breath. My bikini rides up, and I reposition it as his eyes glaze over, eyeing me closely.
“Ok,” seems to be the only word I can utter.
“You’ll want to paddle as fast as you can when the wave comes.” His hands glide up my sides, to my shoulders, and now I’m really getting turned on. My hard nipples press into the board beneath me, probably carving out a new logo, as I squirm under his “basics” training. His touch borders on sensual. Does he realize this? How am I supposed to pay attention? My thighs squeeze together when his fingers trace under the thin strap of my suit.
I glimpse over my shoulder and his gaze narrows on me, his hand not stopping its trek along my heated skin. He licks his lips, and I need to cool off.
“I’m ready,” I lie.
He stares at me a beat before nodding and helping me up. His eyes drift down to my nipples covered by the two teeny triangles, and he scrubs his hand across his jaw. “Let’s do it,” he says. Oh, I want to do it alright.
We paddle our boards out together and sit, straddling them, with our feet dangling in the water. “This is nice,” I say.
“I love surfing. I’ve missed it so much while being trapped in that sandbox overseas.”
My eyes scan along the coast, perusing the many families enjoying the afternoon weather. “Was it really bad?”
“Not always.”
We bob along, not really paying attention to the waves anymore.
I debate on asking more. Chewing my bottom lip, I decide to question further. “What were some of the good things?” I smile and peer at him.
The sun reflects off his brown hair, casting it into an almost golden color. Light reflects in each water droplet trickling down his tanned chest. “The guys I served with,” he answers. “They were some of the greatest men I’ve ever known.”
I run my fingers along my board. “Do you still keep in touch?”
“Yeah, sometimes.” He glances over his shoulder, spotting the perfect wave. Excitement lights his eyes. “Let’s try for this one.”
We both lie flat on our boards and paddle. Ryan is a pro, he catches the wave with ease and hops to his feet.
Me, not so much. The wave picks me up, but I’m not quick enough on the jump. The wave passes me, and Ryan rides the swell out.
When he spots me on my board, I raise my hand. “I don’t know what happened, man. I tried,” I call out.
He laughs, slightly, as he paddles back to where I am. He pushes at my shoulder, almost causing me to go down. “Hey,” I say.
“Did you not do like I showed you?”
I roll my eyes. “Easier said than done, hotshot.”
“Let’s try again.”
We keep trying for another hour until I finally declare I’m unteachable. Hey, it’s not my fault. Some people just can’t be taught certain things. I’m ok with it.
After, we hit an ice cream shop with exotic flavors and a 1950’s vibe with red, leather padded barstools and a mammoth red and gold jukebox in the corner.
This was quite the hotspot back in the day. I spot the pinball machine. “Care to make a wager?” I ask Ryan, pointing in the direction of the antique squared away between a small dinette set and an old-school soda fountain.
He looks at the machine and back at me. “You’re on. What’s the bet?”
I purse my lips, tapping my chin. “If I lose, I’ll…um, clean your house for a week?”
“In a french maid costume?” His tone is serious, and it sends chills over my skin. I stare at him, until he can no longer keep up the facade and cracks a smile. “How about if I win, I get to decide where we go this weekend?” he asks.
“And if I win, I’ll pick the activity,” I agree, my heart warming to the thought he wants to hang out with me.
We walk over, slide quarters in the machine, and Ryan fires away. He’s good. I’ll give him that. He slams into the machine with his hips, and then my face grows hot. He is fucking this machine, gripping the sides as if it’s a woman’s body. He pounds again, and my thoughts fall further into the gutter. A picture of him thrusting into me invades my mind, and I push it away as best I can. It’s not easy pretending not to notice how his muscles flex and work the machine like he owns it. Nothing else exists except the tension in his face as he focuses on the task at hand. His teeth capture his bottom lip as he concentrates. The machine should be put away after his abuse on it. Retired to a dusty abandoned warehouse, never to be played again.
He finishes his round, smiling at his 300 score.
When he turns around, we’re close. Too close. My body warms, a burn that explodes in my chest and travels out through my skin.
“Do you think you can beat me, little girl?” he asks looking down at me. The challenge in his voice sends a shiver through my body.
I swallow. “I feel like I need a cigarette after watching that, but I think I can handle it,” I reply, faking a confidence I no longer have.
“Let’s see what ya got.” For the next minute or so, my concentration is solely on the game. Yeah, on the game. I don’t notice him inching closer behind me. Or the way his ocean scent wreaks havoc on my senses. I try to pretend I can’t feel his chest pressed lightly against my back. I lean forward a bit, causing my ass to brush against his groin. Oh, God. Concentrate.
His lips brush my ear. “I wonder what else you can handle,” he whispers.
My ball completely sinks, and I lose the round. The hairs on the nape of my neck rise, and I close my eyes a beat too long when his hand slides onto the small of my back.
Swirling around, I push against his chest. “Cheater,” I whisper.
Heated eyes, heavy breathing, and a complete want thickens the stuffy air of the shop.
“All’s fair at the ice cream shop.” His husky tone hardens my nipples.
“Is it?” His eyes drop to my mouth. The jingle of the door when a customer enters jolts me from my haze.
Ryan doesn’t appear fazed in the least.
“It is.” He leans in, and I close my eyes, waiting, hoping, for the kiss I pray he lays on me.
Before anything happens, someone comes up behind him, calling his name.
“Been a long time, man. How the hell are ya?” Timothy Rivers comes into my vision.
Ryan is on point, shaking his hand, pretending that ‘almost kiss’ didn’t just take place.
