by Taylor Hart
He scoffed, “You don’t need to be giving me instructions, little lady. I grew up surfing. Plus, don’t you understand the art of war? I’m your enemy, and I want to defeat you. You focus on your own center of gravity over there.”
After the two people in front of them wiped out, they both went to their respective stands and put their boards down.
The worker nodded at them, and then water shot out. Sam had a flash back to being at a parade with his mother when the firehouse had sprayed the crowd. He’d been so small it had literally thrown him down onto his bum. This was the same thing. Whoosh. And bam. He was on his back and floating up and to the back.
He heard Tiffany’s delighted laughter. He stood and walked back to the start, seeing her still surfing the waves. “Whoot! Guess you’re not as hot as you think you are, Cowboy!”
At her taunting, a nervous excitement wound into him. Getting a better view of her, he saw the athlete that he’d seen on that first day. Her balance was flawless. Her arms were muscled in a feminine way, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her. Not to mention the fact that she could juggle keeping her concentration and trying to look at him. It made him laugh and want to mess her up. “Watch out!” he called out to her, pointing.
Scrunching up her face, she spit her tongue at him. “Don’t try to mess me up. I can do this all day while you’re waiting for more turns on the sidelines.”
There was a two-person line for his side that he’d have to wait for. Not liking this at all, he tapped the guy about to go on the shoulder.
The guy jerked back to him, looking upset that his concentration had been broken. “What?”
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you let me go in front of you.”
The guy looked like he was young, maybe high school or college. A glint of recognition showed in his eyes. “Hey, you’re Sam Dumont.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks and sign something if you let me go.”
The guy moved out of the way. “Deal.”
In one motion, Sam slammed his board down onto the water. It shot him back so he was balancing next to her on her same wave.
They were both surfing next to each other in perfect harmony.
Tiffany was laughing so hard she started to lean forward and fall.
Reaching out, he grabbed her hand. “Balance!” he commanded, laughing at her. “Center of gravity.”
But it was too late. She lost her footing and squeezed his hand harder, pulling him with her.
They ended up tangled up at the back of the wave pool laughing and splashing. At one point he tackled her back and into the water because she continued to sing ‘I am the Champion.’
“Hey!” The ride boy called, standing above them. “You need to exit.” He pointed to the exit sign, but his eyes were bored, like he saw this every day.
Giggling they both got up and then raced to the lines.
This continued for the next hour, both of them doing pretty well. Eventually she snagged the hat and wore it a couple of times until he took it back saying, “Hey, you’re the one that called me Cowboy. I’m keeping it.”
As Sam turned back to the line, he noticed a crowd in front of the wave shop. Where there should be open space to the Main Street, there was a huddle of people filming and flashing cameras.
“Crap.” Reluctantly, Sam moved toward the men’s room to change.
After they changed, the guy that Sam had promised a hundred bucks stood waiting holding a permanent marker. “Will you sign the back of my shirt?”
Sam handed the money over and then took the marker and signed his shirt.
Tiffany was next to him, surveying the crowd. “Wow, news gets out fast.”
“Yeah.” Sam said. Sometimes he just wanted to be normal. Not that he necessarily hated being famous. He didn’t. But today he’d been having so much fun with Tiffany, and dealing with a crowd of strangers had never been fun for him.
Tiffany studied his face. “You really don’t like this attention, do you?”
He finished signing and nodded at the young man. “Nope.”
She frowned. Then her face lit up. “C’mon, let’s ask if we can go out the back.”
9
'It was totally a rush', Tiffany thought as they sprinted out of the shop and up the side street. It was even more of a rush when she heard someone yelling, “They’re going that way!”
Being a professionally trained athlete, Sam easily outpaced her and had to reach back for her hand. “C’mon, let’s go to the park.”
She took his hand without thinking, and they shot into the park, sprinting until they reached an empty pavilion with huge trees.
Sam hardly seemed out of breath while she struggled to control her breathing.
Sam tugged her against the side of the Pavilion. “Put your back against it.”
It didn’t bug her that he was still holding her hand, but it surprised her that she had butterflies in her stomach. Even more surprising was that Sam Dumont was nothing like what she’d thought he would be based on how he’d been portrayed in the media.
He was scanning the park. “I think we got away.” Then he yanked back. “Wait, someone is running through the park like a blood hound,” he whispered.
Both of them kept flush against the building. It was kind of funny to Tiffany that she was hiding out with a pro football player. Katie marrying Roman had taught her a little bit about having the media around, and she listened to Katie complain about it all the time.
Admittedly, Tiffany had always thought that it wasn’t as bad as Katie made it out to be, but she’d never said anything. She’d quit being jealous of Katie the minute they’d become best friends again. She’d told herself that her friendship with Katie was too important to ever let petty things get in the way again.
Now, as she found herself hiding with Sam, she realized she didn’t want the media to find them. She just wanted to have more time with him. Realizing the direction of her thoughts, she quickly pulled her hand away.
Sam was peering over the side of the building again, but he turned back to her immediately. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off.
Tiffany didn’t understand how looking into his chocolate colored eyes made her go all gooey inside. She smiled nervously to show him it was okay. “Is there anyone still after us?”
He peeked out for a second and then came back. “Let’s sit for a bit to give them a little more time to disperse.”
“Okay.” She sat, and he sat down next to her.
He picked up a small stick and started drawing in the mud next to them. “That was fun.”
Picking up her own stick, she began to draw a flower. “I love surfing.”
He stopped and turned to her. “You would love Miami.”
She kept drawing. “Maybe, I’ve never been.”
“You’ve never been?”
She grunted at his complete confusion that she’d never been to Miami. “No, some of us don’t have millions of dollars to travel all over.”
Pausing, he let out a breath. “I know. Sorry. I just…I grew up there, and I forget the beach isn’t as accessible to everyone like it was to me.” He went back to drawing. “But I didn’t grow up with millions, just so you know.”
Putting the final touches on a sunflower, she leaned back, liking her work. She glanced over at the football he’d been drawing. “Figures.” She reached up and took his hat off.
“Hey, I need that for the show tonight.” He reached to get it back, and she leaned away.
He stopped reaching and leaned back. “So are you going to tell me about Brett?”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shrugged. “What’s there to say? I’m…”
“What?” He gently bumped against her to prod her to speak.
She sighed. “I believe in traditional stuff.”
“Oh, so you wouldn’t sleep with him,” he stated.
“I’m not talking about it.” She used the same tone she’d used on
Jared from earlier.
“Fine.”
“Fine,” she replied.
He turned and began another football.
Irritation coursed through her. “Don’t act like I should be ashamed of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No.” She pointed at him. “You acted like I’m a weirdo because I believe people should wait until they’re married.”
He got very still. “I may not be very religious, but I always believed in being with one person, okay?”
Giving him a look of disbelief, she shook her head.
“What can I say? I just haven’t lived that way.”
She processed this for a few minutes.
“When I apologized to Roman the other day, I meant it. It was my fault. I made my own choices, but part of the reason I was such a mess after everything was because…I thought I loved her. I thought…”
“What?” She wanted to know what he was going to say.
He blinked furiously, and she saw the moisture in his eyes. “I know it sounds stupid but I really thought I would marry her and somehow…” He laughed softly. “I thought that would redeem the both of us.” He shook his head and looked away, blowing out a breath. “I know. It’s stupid.”
Abruptly, she did something she never would have expected out of herself. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
He turned back to her. “Don’t.” He shrugged away from her touch. “I don’t deserve your sympathy. It was my fault. I did it. I messed up.”
She sighed.
They both fell into silence for a bit, focusing on their drawings.
Sam got up, looking side to side. “I think we’re safe. We’re going to have to get going. We go on in an hour.”
She stood. “I really appreciate you doing this.”
He shrugged, and they started moving toward the street.
Tiffany noticed a large van next to the Pavilion with a bunch of band members holding their instruments. “Hmm, it looks like we’ll have some competition tonight.”
Sam turned back. “Ah, don’t worry about it. When people hear your voice from the doors of MacCools, they will be lured in as if they were hearing the sirens from The Odyssey.”
Confused, she frowned. “Are you talking about that book that was required in high school English?”
He laughed. “Yep.”
“Wow,” she replied, genuinely impressed.
“Hey, not all jocks are dumb jocks.”
“I didn’t say that,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”
As they came closer to MacCools, they saw a line already forming outside the pub.
“Ohmygosh,” Tiffany said.
Sam stopped walking, tugging her back with him to the safety of a large tree across the street. “I guess word has already gotten out about you.” Sam grinned down at her.
Even more confused because it’s not like she had ever sung by herself, she tugged out her phone and found Jared’s number. “I don’t think this has anything to do with me.”
“Hello,” Jared answered.
“Why is there a crowd already?” she demanded.
He didn’t speak for a second. “I don’t know.”
But his voice gave him away.
“You told people Sam is here, didn’t you?” When she said it, she instantly knew it was true.
“No,” he said, but his slow response gave him away.
“Ugh.” She stomped her foot.
“What?” Sam asked. “Did he leak it?”
She nodded and turned away. “Jared, I’m not doing it,” she said.
“What?” he asked.
“What?” Sam asked at the same time.
She spoke into the phone. “I wanted to do this on my own.”
“I don’t care what you wanted, Tiffany. I stuck my neck out for you to have this gig, and you’re not skipping out,” he insisted.
“I’m not riding someone’s coattails again. I’ve been doing that for way too long.”
Jared didn’t speak for a second. Then he said, “You better be here in half an hour, or I’m never giving you a shot again.”
10
As she got off the phone, Sam let out a breath. “Well, I don’t mind being a media plug for you,” he offered. And he didn’t. There were times when people were sneaky about using him and he resented it, but not for her.
She twirled her hair that was already drying into perfect curls. “I just…” She turned away from him.
He couldn’t resist touching her shoulder.
She didn’t move. “I told you what Brett always said to me.”
Anger pounded into him, again.
Her eyes flashed back to his. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could this without him.” She took a step back from him. “And now I have a famous football player around.”
The way she said it, like he was pond scum, made him grunt out a laugh. “Wow.”
At his reaction, she actually smiled. He loved how beautiful she looked in this moment with her mascara smudged beneath her eyes.
He couldn’t stop himself from softly reaching out and running the back of his hand down her cheek.
Blinking, she turned away from him. “Don’t do that, Sam.”
Letting out a sigh, he moved away from her, trying to think of how to fix this. Taking out his phone, he realized they only had twenty minutes.
“And Jared won’t just let you sing by yourself?”
Running her hand through her wet hair, she turned back to him. “You heard him, he wants a band.”
“And you don’t want me to play?” he asked again.
She shook her head. “Yes, I want you to play, but—you know if you do…”
“They won’t hear the music, they’ll see Sam Dumont, scorned Destroyer’s player.”
She hesitated. “Yeah.”
Noticing a hot dog stand, he motioned for her to come with him. “C’mon, I think better on a full stomach.”
She fell into step next to him, and he ordered two hot dogs. He held one out to her.
“No thanks.” She shook her head, then frowned. “We just had a late lunch.”
Flashing her a grin, he stuffed half of one in. “We just worked it off surfing.”
She pulled out her phone. “I just got a text from Roman. Josh is on track to come home tomorrow, and Katie is going to stay on her trip.”
“Good.” Sam almost felt bad for forgetting the real reason he was hanging out with Tiffany. “Real good.” He pulled out his phone and saw the same text from Roman.
Nodding, she bit her lip. “So how long will you stay then?”
He shrugged. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead since Roman had needed him here. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll probably leave tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Tiffany said, looking wistful.
Loud music started, and both of them turned to see a band playing in the park. People were putting out lawn chairs and blankets.
Sam had an idea. “C’mon.” He jogged back toward the pavilion.
She was beside him. “What are you doing, Sam?”
He grinned and stuffed the rest of the hotdog he had left into his mouth. “You’ll see.”
After interrupting the park band’s first number, which made the lead so mad at Sam that he almost punched him, Sam pitched his plan, telling them up front he would triple whatever fee they were getting paid.
11
After running back to the hotel, with Sam staying back with the band so as not to attract attention to her, Tiffany tried to salvage her appearance. Good thing her mother always kept a back up make up bag in the truck.
She’d cleaned off the mascara smudges and reapplied some base and blush and lipstick and then another round of mascara. She’d taken her halfway dried hair and piled it on top of her head, holding it down with a band and then tugging out some wisps so it looked soft and messy.
She stared at herself in the rearv
iew mirror of the truck and thought it had actually turned out okay. Then she thought of getting up on stage. With a band she didn’t know. As the lead. With no one else to share that spotlight. Sam had made it crystal clear they were all back up singers if they wanted to get paid.
Her mouth went dry. She picked up a bottle of water she’d left in the truck. It tasted lukewarm, but it was wet. She drew in a long breath through her nose.
The terror stayed right inside her chest, making her pulse race like when she was a little girl hiding under the blankets at night when she thought there was a monster.
No. No. No. She could do this, she told herself. She closed her eyes, wishing Brett’s face didn’t appear in her mind as she relived the moment he’d told her she wasn’t meant to be a lead.
Dink. Dink. Dink.
“Bahh!” She jerked back, completely unhinged.
There was Sam’s face in the driver’s side window. He lifted his eyebrows and pulled open the door. “What’s going on?”
“Seriously.” She threw her hands up.
He frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, feeling completely jittery.
The look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her. “Uh-huh.”
“What?” She was defensive.
He swallowed and then folded his arms over his chest. “Then come on.”
Frozen, she took in another long breath.
“I knew it. You have that look.”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to do positive imagery. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t leave.
“Just give me a sec.”
“You’re like a rookie before his first pro game.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re psyched out.”
She leaned back into the seat of the truck. “Maybe,” she whispered.
He sighed and turned away from her, leaning back against the truck, not facing her. “Listen, I get it.”
She kept her eyes closed. “Right, you get it.” No way.
“Hey, have you been watching this past season? I—”
She cut him off. “You’ve been a pro player for three years. So you had a bad season. That doesn’t mean you’re afraid to go in.”
