by Vivian Wood
But of course it’s actually a nice place, with white tablecloths and a scattering of people eating, though it’s only early afternoon. There’s even an impressive-looking blonde at the hostess stand.
“Hi! Do you guys have reservations?” the hostess chirps.
“We’re friends of David Gage’s,” Jameson says.
The hostess widens her eyes a little. “Of course! Right this way…”
I look at Jameson questioningly as she leads us right to a table by the tiny front window. He just lifts his brows in response. The hostess seats us at a rounded table, puts a couple menus in front of us, and promises that someone will be right with us. Then she scoots off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Who is David Gage?” I whisper.
“He’s the chef.” Jameson picks up the wine menu, squinting at it.
“The hostess seemed to think that was weird.”
“What?” he says, discarding the bar menu in favor of the food menu.
“That you were a friend of the chef.” I pick up my menu, studying the salads.
“Oh… David’s sort of…” He thinks for a second. “He’s never had a thought that he kept to himself. He just says everything he thinks, some kind of radical honesty bullshit. And he’s pretty critical. I’m guessing that most of his staff are afraid of him.”
I peer at Jameson over my menu. “But you’re friends with him?”
“Yeah. The guy’s a genius, and a riot too.”
A waiter arrives to take our drink orders and tell us the specials. Jameson looks at me.
“Is there anything you don’t like on pizza?”
“I’m a vegetarian,” I answer. “So… meat.”
He folds his menu and looks at the waiter. “Will you ask David to make us a vegetarian pizza? Chef’s choice.”
“Of course,” the waiter says, bobbing his head. “I’ll put that in for you.”
“And a bottle of whatever wine he recommends to go with it,” Jameson says, handing the menu over. “Thanks.”
I hand my menu over as well, thanking the waiter. The waiter vanishes, and Jameson and I are alone again.
“So…” I say, trying to think of something to talk about. “Have you talked to Asher at all?”
Jameson frowns. “No, not really. Your brother is a stubborn bastard. Every time I get home, he’s not there. And when I see him at work, he’s very…”
“Brusque?” I supply.
He squints at me. “I was going to say untalkative. Is that a word?”
I shrug a shoulder. “It gets your point across well enough.”
The waiter returns with a wine bottle and two glasses. There is a whole charade that Jameson and the waiter play, where the waiter pours the wine, waiting for him to smell and taste it. The waiter even leaves the cork on the table, which is something I recognize from eating at fine dining places with my parents.
I finally get a little of the wine, which is red. I turn the label toward me, and read it.
“Garnacha. Sounds fancy.”
“Mmm,” Jameson says, taking a sip. “Your brother would probably appreciate this more than I do.”
I taste it, finding it a little more bitter than I expected. I make a face, and Jameson chuckles at my expression.
“That good, huh?” he asks.
“The only wine I’ve ever had much of is my mother’s chardonnay.” I sit back with a sigh.
“You tutored me,” he says, moving his chair closer to mine. I can’t help but feel a little flutter in my stomach at his nearness. “Let me teach you how to taste wine. That way even if you don’t like it, you will look fancy when you try it.”
I laugh. “Okay…”
“Okay. First you want to take the glass, and hold it by the stem. Apparently that’s important so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the wine.”
He shows me how to hold it, and I copy him.
“Okay.”
“Next, you want to swirl it clockwise. You get a good view of the color of the wine, and then you stick your nose in the glass.” He does, inhaling deeply.
I do the same. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to smell. It just smells like wine to me.”
His mouth kicks up into a half smile. “I’m just smelling the raspberry and cherry notes. Anyway, then we taste… just take a small sip, and kind of roll the wine around in your mouth.”
Sipping the wine, I swish it around a little, then swallow.
His mouth quirks up. “You’ve got a little…”
He reaches out and touches the corner of my mouth with the pad of his thumb. Our eyes meet, and I swallow. I watch his eyes drop down to my mouth.
Maybe he’s wondering how I taste right now?
Then he gives himself a visible shake. “Sorry. Um… what did you taste? In the wine, I mean.”
“It tastes like wine.”
He rolls his eyes a little. “Alright. I taste maybe… black cherry, cinnamon, black pepper… but overall it’s very fruity and full-bodied.”
I grin at him. “You sound very proper. A well-mannered young man.”
He chuckles. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess. And it’s a little weird to hear you refer to me as young man.”
I make an exasperated sound. “I’m not that much younger than you are.”
“Ten years,” he chides me.
“Almost ten years. We’re not that different, you know. It’s all in your head.” I take a sip of the wine to punctuate my statement.
He sets down his glass, turning serious.
“We couldn’t be more different if we tried.”
I cock my head. “Do you think so?”
“I do. First off, I basically dropped out of middle school, while you’re getting a degree after college.”
I give him a hard look. “You dropped out of high school.”
“Yeah, but it was in the beginning of the ninth grade year. Anyway, our growing up was… very different. You were always wrapped in bubble wrap, while the world just dragged me over the rocks, again and again.”
I couldn’t really disagree with that. “I can’t help being born rich any more than you could help being born… not rich.”
I blush a little. He frowns.
“Right. There are other reasons we don’t hang out, though. Like your big brother will beat me to a pulp if he finds out that we had dinner tonight, no joke. And I owe Asher, big time. I wouldn’t do anything to mess up our friendship.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I think Asher already thinks your friendship is wrecked.”
Jameson pulls a face. “Yeah, but I didn’t do anything to make that happen. That’s my point.”
“And yet, here you are, hanging out with me,” I say, sipping my wine. “Tasting the forbidden.”
He goes a little pink. I’m starting to love that I can make someone so much bigger than me uncomfortable. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Relax. I’m just teasing you again.”
He sighs. “The point’s the same. I’m like some wrong side of the tracks nobody, while you’re just… you’re like a princess who is locked away in her tower of books. You just look down on the rest of us, and pass judgement.”
He waves a hand. I feel indignant.
“I am not!” I say, smacking his shoulder. “That isn’t fair.”
“It doesn’t have to be fair,” he says, pinning me with his dark chocolate gaze. “It just is how it is.”
“What if I don’t like how it is?” I say. I lean closer to him. “What if I want to smash the paradigm? What if I want to rebel a little?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah… I’m not really in the market for any rebels, just now.”
The waiter comes back, loaded down with a freshly made veggie pizza and a couple of plates. He sets them down on the table. “Can I get you anything else right now?”
Jameson looks at me, amused. “Do you have any water for our young rebel over here? She doesn’t like wine, apparently.”
I flush deep red. “I don’t need any. I’m fine.”
“I’ll bring them just in case,” the waiter reassures me with a wink.
That wink makes me want to die.
“Fine,” I mumble.
Across the table, Jameson is dishing up the pizza. I take my slice, taking a bite. But I don’t taste it, really. As Jameson moves onto talking about a movie that he’s seen recently, I’m wondering about his list of differences between us.
Are they really that great?
More importantly, can they be overcome?
I silently sigh, indecisive.
8
Jameson
I tap my fingers on the dashboard of my Jeep Wrangler, looking at the time. It’s 9:55 am, and I’m sitting at a remote nook of Redemption Beach, waiting for Emma. Today is our first real surf lesson, or at least our first one on the beach.
We’re supposed to meet at ten. Then again, she might be defiant and show up late, knowing that I can’t say anything.
I grit my teeth. Why am I doing this, again?
I look out at the beach in question, which is deserted. With a rocky sand bar located not too far from the shore, this section of beach is often empty. People are afraid that they’ll get caught in rip tides and get dragged along those rocks. Fair enough.
But it’s totally fine for my purposes, being that we’ll hardly get in the water today. I glance at the clock on the dash again, growing tense.
I fidget with my wetsuit, which I’m only wearing on the bottom half of my body. On the top half I’m wearing a t-shirt. It wouldn’t normally bother me to be half-naked, but somehow Emma’s planned presence makes me extra aware of my clothing choices.
I stare at my clock for another minute, then decide to move. Fuck it, I shouldn’t wait around for Emma. I can at least set up without her.
As I climb out of my Jeep though, Emma whips her enormous Mercedes SUV into the spot next to mine. She’s out of the car in a flash, her raven’s wing hair tied up, and her shorts revealing a hell of a lot more than they cover.
I take a moment to drink the sight of her in her bikini top and shorts. Her hips and shoulders are super slim, but she has amazing fucking tits and long legs… and an ass that won’t fucking quit.
Fuck. Just… fuck.
Emma bounds up to me with a grin. “I’m here on time.”
“That you are,” I say, doing my best not to look anywhere but her face. That’s a sure fire way to get hard, which would be so fucking awkward right now. “Ready to go out to the beach?”
“Yeah. I need to put my wetsuit on somewhere…” she says. She points out a tan tote bag she’s carrying on her shoulder.
“You won’t really need it today,” I say. I force myself to look out at the ocean instead of looking at her.
“Okay. I brought the suntan lotion.” She squints at the ocean too.
“Yeah.” I grab the two surf boards out of the back of my Jeep. I start to plod out into the sand, not looking forward to her applying sunblock with me standing right there.
I swing the boards up over my head, carrying them by balancing them on my head. The sand underfoot gradually grows more wet and dense as we get closer to the water. Emma trails along behind me, looking around at who knows what. There’s not a soul to be seen here on this cloudy day, not even any seals or gulls around as far as the eye can see.
The land vanishes on both sides, falling away to form a small peninsula. There’s just the two of us here, alone together. I swallow, realizing that this might not have been the best idea. But it’s too late now for that.
When we are a stone’s throw from the water, I carefully put the surf boards down onto the sand with a muffled thunk.
I glance over at Emma. “This seems like a good place to settle for the moment.”
She scrunches her face up as she puts down her tote bag. “You’re the boss.”
“First things first. Sunblock?” I ask. “I already have a base layer on, but I could do with another coat on my face.”
She nods, producing a tube of expensive-looking lotion from her bag. “Here.”
She tosses it to me, and I squirt a little into my hand before tossing it back. I lotion my face as best I can, trying to ignore her as she lotions her legs, her torso, and her chest. She takes special care with her face, but she still leaves a big smudge under her right eye.
But I remember how close we came to kissing when I removed a drop of wine from her mouth at the restaurant a few days ago. There’s no way I’m taking that chance again, so I just keep my mouth shut.
“Ready?” I prompt.
“Almost. Would you mind doing my back?” she says, turning away and dangling the tube of lotion over her shoulder. It’s kind of an assumption on her part that I’ll say yes… but then again, what straight, red blooded man would say no to that?
I grit my teeth. “Alright.”
Taking the lotion, I smooth it across her shoulders. I suck in a breath; her skin is sun kissed, incredibly soft, and warm under my hands. I spread it out over her back, admiring the arrangement of tiny freckles I find there. I’d honestly forgotten that she was so much smaller than me, but touching her like this, being so close, I can’t help but remember.
“Make sure you get it down low,” she says, turning her head to see me. “I don’t want a weird lower back sunburn.”
I don’t say anything, just obey her command. Her lower back is so perfect, with two perfect divots at the base of her spine. Her ass starts just below where my hands are now, so trim that you could bounce a quarter off of it. I lotion her lower back, my hands spreading the lotion out until I am almost gripping her hips.
I won’t lie, it’s not the first time that I’ve thought about holding her just like this… and it probably won’t be the last. I realize that I am growing hard in my wetsuit, which is a no-go. Releasing her suddenly, I thrust the tube of sunblock at her.
“Done. Take it,” I say.
She turns around and takes it, a little smile on her face. I wonder if she waited until she was here to put on the suntan lotion on purpose, just to fuck with my head. After all, she hasn’t exactly been discreet about wanting me to notice her.
And notice her I do. All the damn time, even though I’m not supposed to do it.
“Time to get serious,” I say, scowling.
“Yes sir,” she says with a wink. “I like when you’re bossy.”
I roll my eyes. Picking up one of the surf boards, I move it about five feet from the other, and lay it back down.
“All right. Come stand right here,” I say, pointing to the end of the board.
“Okay…” she says, moving.
“The first thing to do is to try to practice your position and body movement here on the beach.” I move to the end of the other board. “So we’ll get on our knees…”
I kneel, and she does the same.
“Then I’m going to try to hold the sides of the board, maybe two thirds of the way down. Like so.” I grab my board so that Emma can see. “Now I pull myself onto the board, holding onto the sides. Keep your hands on the sides of the board, and your arms tucked back. See this weird sort of chicken wing thing that I’m doing with my arms?”
She frowns. “Yeah, sort of.”
“Then just push yourself, your head only, up a little.” I do the move. “The first few times you surf, you can make it easier on yourself by riding the whole wave that way.”
“That doesn’t seem that hard,” she says.
I chuckle. “We haven’t even tried standing up yet. Let’s do it from the beginning.”
We both return to kneeling at the end of our boards.
“Alright. Grab the sides… yeah, that’s right. Pull yourself on. Tuck your arms. Now watch…” I slowly turn one of my legs out so that my ankle touches the board. “I turn my right leg like this. I lift my chest up… then I slowly, carefully slide my left foot forward. I get my balance… and then, voila!”
I open my arms, look
ing at Emma. Her look of utter incomprehension makes me laugh.
“What the hell did you just do?” she wonders.
“Look, Law School. If I can do it, you can do it. Let’s start from the beginning.”
We go through the steps ten times, until I’m absolutely sure that she’s got it down.
“You got it? Do you feel good about what you’ve learned so far?” I ask, standing and brushing the sand off my knees.
She mimics me, brushing herself off. She rolls her eyes. “Just because I understand the theory behind something, doesn’t mean I will actually be able to do it. It’s hard.”
“You will. Just not today. The water is pretty unsafe here. Instead of a sand bar, it’s pretty much just rocks.”
She looks pretty skeptical.
“How do I like… spot the right wave? I am guessing I don’t just go after the first one I see.”
“You’re right about that.” I scratch my stubbled cheek. “Let’s just go out to catch a baby wave.”
“I thought you just said the water is dangerous here!” She looks downright distrustful now.
“I mean, for real surfing, it is. But we’re barely going out. Not far enough to do any damage.” I pick up the neoprene cuff that is attached to my board. “Make sure that you tether yourself to that board.”
“Okay…” she says.
She gets her wetsuit out of her tote bag, wiggling out of her shorts and trading them for the suit. I shuck my shirt, but leave my suit where it is. The sun feels good on my bare skin. I’m not sure if it’s cheating to use my upper body as a distraction in the face of her nervousness, but I’m going to do it anyway. Still. I can feel her anxious eyes on my back as I pick up my board and head to the sea.
“You’re safe,” I reassure her. “We’re barely going to go in. You’ll see.”
True to my word, I slog in, floating my board alongside my body. When I see that the water has risen to her waist, I stop. “I think this will do it.”
