I said, “Maybe one day I’ll paddle out to some of the bigger waves.”
“No! I mean, I want people to be safe out there.” He swallowed hard and looked out the window. “People think big waves are kids’ stuff sometimes. Not that you’re a kid or anything.” His eyes strayed to my chest then his head snapped up, looking me in the eye momentarily before gazing out the window again. “It’s only that people die out there … sometimes.” He looked at me and touched my forearm lightly. “Thinking about ocean safety is all.” His eyes locked with mine longer than was comfortable, and when he touched me, it felt like I had been jabbed with a cattle prod. Heat filled my body, starting at my toes and ending at the crown of my head.
“So, Holly, how long you been working at Mystic Seaweed?”
“It feels like pretty much all my life. A long time.”
“You’re too young for anything to be a long time.” His eyes looked me up and down then he quickly averted his gaze to the view. “Pretty good company. We get to surf for a living. Well, I get to surf for a living. What’s a rep do all day?”
I shook my head and laughed. “Not surf, that’s for darn sure. More like beg customers for their business all day long.”
His gaze flicked over my chest again. “I wouldn’t think you’d have to beg anybody for anything.” He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I mean, I’ll bet you’re really good at your job.”
I chuckled. “Beats working for a living I suppose. What about you? Do you really get to surf those big waves like out in Peru? What’s that place called?”
“Punta Hermosa?”
“That’s the place.” I turned to face him. “Isn’t that spot filled with sharks and freezing water?”
He smiled. “All in a day’s work.”
“What do you do when you get held down by a big wave? Isn’t that scary?”
“Not really. I just relax and hold my breath. We train for all that.”
I stared at him. “That’s dangerous.”
His return smile was slow. “Guess I wouldn’t do it unless it was. It’s kind of addicting.” He looked out the window. “I’ll bet you’ve got a passion too.”
I cleared my throat. “Closing a deal seems to be about it, these days.”
“Well, Ms. Holly, you may have to think about adding something to the list.” He stared at me so long that I finally looked away.
We stood in silence for a few minutes. The view really was spectacular. The Pacific Ocean churned below, and in the distance, a few sailboats effortlessly glided through the ocean under a brilliant sun. Jax broke the silence by saying, “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I put anything on this morning.”
He gazed at me, his sensuous eyes penetrating, almost as though trying to figure out a puzzle. “Well, it must be on your clothes. Perfume’s like that.”
Everything in the room stopped, and all I could hear were the ocean waves lapping at the shore. Finally, I said, “Well, I’d better get back to work.” Turning, I took the few steps to his kitchen counter, setting the empty glass down. “Thanks for the water.” My hand dug around in my bag for a business card.
He gave me a playful smile, his blue eyes alive with passion. But there was also a melancholy in those eyes. “Thanks for the swag, Holly. Surfers can always use extra rashguards.” I handed him my card, and as he accepted it, our hands brushed. I felt the warmth of his fingers and imagined what they might feel like caressing my body. We gazed at each other, and he smiled again. “It was an extreme pleasure to meet you.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “It was nice meeting you, too.”
When I got in my car, the first thing I did was call my best friend, Stan. I punched his contact information in with trembling fingers.
“Good morning, my beautiful friend,” he said.
I fiddled with the straw on my Jamba Juice, picked up the cup, and took a sip. “Hey buddy, I need to talk to you.”
“What’s up?”
I set the cup down because I’d almost choked having the liquid go down the wrong tube. “Guess who I just met?”
He sighed. “Is this going to be a guessing game, or do you want me to play psychic?”
I cleared my throat, the tickle going away. “Holy cow Stan, I met Jax Priest.”
Stan didn’t say anything for so long that I wondered if we’d lost our connection. “You still there?” I said.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “I’m still here. What are you doing with him?”
I toyed with the lace edging of my skirt. “Part of my job. I had to drop some rash guards and stuff off at his house. He lives in Encinitas, and he’s a big wave surfer, and—”
“I know who he is!” Stan said. His voice was high-pitched, like a girl’s.
Stan had been my best friend since the time we were kids. He was the one person in the world who knew all my secrets, and I knew his. But of course, the most dramatic thing that had ever happened to Stan was no secret to anyone. It had been splashed all over the tabloids and the news and would probably even become material for one of those stupid Lifetime Network shows. My best friend Stan, against my and his mother’s wishes, had married a mail-order bride from Ukraine. What he wasn’t counting on was the fact that she was stark raving mad. I still couldn’t believe what had happened because it was, like I said, the stuff of Lifetime movies where psycho crazy women murdered poor unsuspecting husbands and lovers for insurance money or spite.
Stan’s dearly beloved wife had taken up with Jax’s brother, Tyler, and murdered the poor guy a year ago. And she didn’t only murder him. She poisoned him to death, a slow and agonizing end that started with stomach cramps, progressed to coma and ended with his lifeless body lying on the coroner’s slab.
The psycho bitch was currently locked away in a loony bin because the experts said she suffered from some type of dissociative personality disorder. Unreal.
“I had to drop off some promo stuff for him,” I said. “I mean, I knew I would run into him sooner or later, but I was hoping I could avoid the whole thing. Thanks a lot for that one.”
“Hey, not my fault,” Stan said.
“He’s so easy to be with. Not what I expected.” And those eyes. I thought of Jax’s dreamy charm, his smile, his easy way and his athletic frame. “I gave him my card. I hope he calls.”
Stan’s voice was high pitched when he said, “What’s going to happen when he finds out who your best friend is?”
I sat up straight. “Can’t I live my own life for once?”
Sounding weary, Stan said, “Did you call me for support or to make me feel worse?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry. I just had to tell you.”
“Holly, I want to be happy for you. But Jesus, can’t you find somebody else to be interested in other than Jax Priest? Besides, I thought you liked being alone. And you’ve got me, don’t you?”
Precisely what I needed. More girlfriend-style exhausting talks late into the night with Stan. I had only spent a few minutes with Jax, but something about him was different. It wasn’t only that he was a big wave surfer, although I’ve always thought of the extreme athleticism of surfing monster waves to be a particularly sexy thing. There was a sadness mixed with his sexuality. I had wanted to take him in my arms and rock him, kiss his face and soothe him, tell him that everything was going to be okay. The poor guy must’ve been through hell and back losing his brother.
I was at the point in my life where I was ready for something more than casual sex. I wanted a real man in my life, not just friendship with Stan. I hadn’t considered seriously dating anyone in a while, but maybe it was time.
Jax
After Holly left, I found Butch at Swami’s, our favorite surf spot. “Dude, I just met the hottest chick,” I told him as we were walking down the stairs to surf, our surfboards tucked under our arms.
“Yeah, who? How?”
“It’s this chick who reps for Mystic Seaweed
. Right after you left, she came by to drop off some swag. Man, you should see the rack on her.”
He stopped walking, looked at me and smirked. “I leave you alone for thirty minutes. Dude, when are you going to stop screwing around? Or better yet, when are you going to share the wealth with your best friend?”
Guys had to act tough around each other. I could let my guard down with Tyler but he wasn’t around anymore. Butch and I had a friendship and a common understanding that we could be guys around each other which meant surfing, drinking beer, and yes, talking trash about the hot chicks and what we wanted to do to them.
“Hey Peg! When’s my new board going to be ready?” One of the regulars at Swami’s made his way up the stairs, his left hand balancing his board on top of his head.
Butch gave him a high five and said, “Call me at the shop later today.”
“Later!”
Butch and I paddled out to the lineup, the raw salt scent of the ocean heavy, my body responding the way I had trained it to do for years. Being in the ocean always made me feel alive.
I sat on my board on that gorgeous California day and looked up at the Self Realization Fellowship. Swami’s, as the local surfers called it, was a temple built by a famous Swami many years back. The place looked like something straight out of India, its domed shape and white and gold painted exterior let me dream that maybe there could be salvation for my sorry soul. I had been up to the meditation gardens once, and it really had made me feel peaceful, the way it was so beautifully manicured and overlooked the ocean. Then I had noticed how good the waves were and got back to my real church, paddling out to the lineup with mighty strokes.
As I scanned the horizon for the next set of waves to roll through, I thought of Holly. She had a commanding presence mixed with a soft feminine feel, and yes, she really did have a nice rack on her. Holly was an especially pretty lady, but what really got me was whatever that perfume was she wore. When she walked into my apartment, at first, I was confused because I’d felt instantly aroused, and I didn’t know why. I hoped she hadn’t noticed my growing hard-on as I’d readjusted my jeans. Then, as we stood next to each other making small talk, the delicious aroma of Holly’s scent filling my nostrils, I realized what was happening. It was the exact scent of Rosalyn. Sandalwood. I had taken another deep breath and then another as my body tingled with the memories of the hot sex Rosalyn and I had. But Rosalyn was gone, and Holly was here.
I smiled at the memories of Rosalyn as a head-high wave rolled through. I whipped my board around, got into position, paddled, and dropped into a perfect glassy wave, my board responding with S-turns that made me feel like I was skiing a perfectly manicured slope.
When Butch and I, happy and relaxed, headed back to the parking lot after the session, I told him, “I’m going to call that girl I told you about.”
“You do that, buddy. But when you’re done, I would appreciate your presence in the shop.”
I brushed my wet hair out of my face and sighed. In between all these glamorous surf sessions where professional photographers took photos of me surfing waves in Hawaii, Indonesia, and South Africa, I got to work at the Mysto Spot Surf Shop giving surf lessons.
Butch left for the shop and after I put my surfboard into the back of my truck, I retrieved Holly’s business card from the console. My thumb caressed the raised lettering. The card bore the Mystic Seaweed logo and read: Holly Robertson, Senior Account Executive. I punched the number in, and heard her feminine voice tell me that she was away from the phone but would be delighted to call me back. Hearing her voice, I pictured her slender frame, her athletic body, and I swear I could almost inhale that delicious scent.
I waited for the beep and cleared my throat. “Hey, Holly. It’s Jax. You met me this morning? How’s your day going? I’ll take a hundred of whatever you’re selling.” I chuckled. “That’s got to be the world’s worst pick up line. I was wondering if you want to have dinner? Or maybe we can go on a hike or surfing? If you want some surfing tips, I give one heck of a surf lesson. So, anyway, give me a call. And thanks again for dropping off the swag. It really was an extreme pleasure meeting you. Here’s my number.”
I hung up the phone and stared at the surfers in the lineup. A romantic date, maybe some hot sex. That was all I had in mind. What would be the harm? So what if she reminded me of Rosalyn?
Holly
The day I met Jax, I walked out of the Hobie Surf Shop in Dana Point, mentally counting my commission dollars. Another sales contest was on, and as usual, I was in the lead. I didn’t know why people always thought sales was so difficult. It was a matter of setting goals, staying focused, and keeping your eye on the ball. If everything went according to plan, I would make around twenty grand this month. Plus the contest money. The warm California sun hit my face, and I smiled. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jax. That smile, those blue eyes. That body. Goddamn. I know, girls are not supposed to think that way. But why not? Ever since my divorce, I had happily enjoyed my life of freedom. I made my own money, I called the shots, and I had sex with who I wanted, when I wanted.
I swung my legs into my BMW, the leather like butter against my skin, and picked up my iPhone. One new voicemail. I hit play and heard the low, husky masculine voice of Jax Priest asking me if I would like to get together. He seemed to babble at one point and I thought it was adorable.
I smiled as waves of desire unexpectedly coursed through my body. No way had I planned on getting involved in anything more complicated than a glass of wine that night or the next night. Jax was hot, there was no denying that. Remembering his bare chest and his six-pack abdomen, I thought, hell yes! I would love to go on a hike or for a surf or to dinner with you, Mr. Jax Priest.
I relaxed back against the seat. Something was happening in my life. I was ready for more than casual sex. Although I had just met Jax, there was something about his vulnerability that made me want to show him that compassionate women existed. He seemed in need of the warmth of a caring woman. Maybe I could be that woman.
Jax
When I returned home after surfing with Butch, I leaned my surfboard up against the wall and walked over to the kitchen counter to feed my Siamese Fighting Fish, Blue-ee. Gary, the kid who lived down the hall and who also liked to surf with me after school, had given it to me. Gary had knocked on my door one afternoon with his skateboard at his feet and the fish bowl held in front of him.
“Can you keep him for me? Please? My mom won’t let me keep him ‘cause I was bad. Thinks I can’t handle being responsible.” I looked at the deep azure blue fish, its dainty fins fanning around him and swaying in the water like a costume from Cirque De Soleil.
“What’d you do this time, buddy?”
“Jeez. Just ‘cause I threw wet toilet paper wads on the ceiling of the girls bathroom at school, my mom freaked.”
“Dude, I told you not to get caught.” I stifled a laugh.
“Will you keep him for me?”
“I don’t know, kid. I travel a lot.”
“I promise to come by and feed him when you’re not home.”
“You promise?”
He nodded sheepishly.
“I’ll leave the key under the mat.”
“Hey little guy,” I said as I threw a few flakes of fish food into his bowl. It almost looked like he smiled up at me. Blue-ee had turned out to be the best—make that the only—pet I ever had. Whenever I got home from work or surfing, he was always there waiting for me with a wave of a fin and what I convinced myself was a personality. Those days I needed all the companionship I could get.
My studio apartment wasn’t big, but it was big enough to hold everything important to me. I had my quiver of surfboards, my workout equipment, my bed, and in one corner, Tyler’s old surfboard along with his Fender Stratocaster with the leather strap that had his name engraved into it. The board, the guitar, and his music were all I had left of my brother besides memories.
I opened the top drawer of my dresser where I kept
my DVDs along with a photo of Rosalyn. Like a relic from another time, her gorgeous face smiled up at me, her warm brown bedroom eyes drawing me in. I thought of the way I used to get my hands all tangled up in that unruly mane of blond hair. While all the girls were flat ironing their hair into submission, Rosalyn let her wild curls take over, like a house afire.
Jesus, I missed her. She was the only woman I’d ever been in love with. I tried not to think about her because she was gone, but especially this past year, when I needed someone late at night, when the nightmares kicked in, I would reach across my lonely bed and wish that Rosalyn’s warm body was next to mine. And it wasn’t only this past year that I missed Rosalyn. If I were completely honest with myself, I’d never gotten over her, and she’d been out of my life for many years at that point. What would it take to exorcise her from my soul? She’d made an imprint, branded me in a way that I sometimes thought wasn’t healthy. I compared every woman I met to Rosalyn.
There were lots of things left unspoken between Rosalyn and me. Heck, I was only a teenager when we became involved, and she’d thought our age difference was too great. My brother was the only person who’d ever found out about our affair. She’d made me promise to never tell another soul that we’d had sex, and I’d kept that promise.
But we were good together. We were fucking fantastic together.
I missed her. Was she really that great? Yes. How could she be? How could anybody be that great? I wasn’t mad at her anymore, and time has a way of making memories seem better than the reality.
I shook my head to clear the thoughts and selected one of my favorite DVDs from the Cougars Gone Wild series. I’m not especially proud to admit that I liked to watch porn, but I was a single guy. I’d never lived with a girlfriend, had no roommates around to watch over me, and besides, was there any other better feeling in the world than an orgasm? I mean, besides dropping into a big wave?
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 28
