“Of course I do,” she snapped at him. “What are you still doing here, again?”
Ashton shrugged. “I was leaving. Just figured you should know he has a lucky charm sewn into his wetsuit. He cried like a baby one time when he thought it had got ripped out.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Bullshit.” Her body moved, softened.
Ashton put his hand on heart. “Made us promise not to tell. But then, no honor among dickwads, right?”
Summer softened even further. “He always did that. Pulled me down with some barbed passive-aggressive shit. That was the beginning of the end, when I called him on it.” She pulled a strand of hair down from her ponytail and wound it around her finger. “I can’t help it. Sometimes I just wonder… What if he’s right?”
Ashton looked at her askew. “Right about what?”
“That my good form yesterday was a fluke. That I’m never going to nail this next heat, and I’m kidding myself about this whole thing.”
“Summer!” Another reporter started heading their way, and Summer groaned.
Ashton looked at the photograph clutched in her hand. Shit. Leave. This is not your problem to solve. But that’s what the old him would have done. The new him? Be a friend; it’s what Brooke would want you to do.
The reporter came closer, and Ashton made a snap decision. “Come on, let’s get away from this circus for half an hour. There’s still plenty of time till your heat, yeah?”
She nodded.
He put his hand on her back without thinking but was unprepared for the shock of contact. Like the night before, touching her stirred things inside him he’d didn’t want to get out of the box and look at. Just smile and carry on, Evans.
Smile? When his insides felt like they were about to be laid out in the sun and fried? He dropped his hand and looked down to avoid her reading anything from his face, and started for the road at the top of the beach.
Chapter Five
Summer followed the shifting planes of Ashton’s torso through his well-worn T-shirt as they headed up the beach away from the reporter. He was right. Just now she needed out of the media merry-go-round.
“We cross here.” They’d reached the edge of the beach, and he pointed to the road that ran along the coastal edge of the city. Ducking through traffic, Ashton steered them down a short alley. It was cooler out of the direct sun, and the noise of the crowd mixed with the dull thrum of traffic. Summer felt her senses calming, and she stopped looking for a reporter with every step.
“In here.”
She ducked under Ashton’s arm as he held the door to a tiny café open for her. A waft of his personal scent caught her: salt of course, and something earthy, oaky, even. Nice. Pity he was just another dickwad in the long line of men she’d chosen to make mistakes with.
The café was cute enough, with bright yellow walls and photos of local surf celebrities, but Ashton didn’t stop at a table; he walked straight to the kitchen and out a back door into an empty courtyard. A tall mango tree provided shade over two small tables, and the intoxicating smell of ripe fruit.
“No one will bother us here for a little while.”
Summer raised an eyebrow. In the midst of one of the world’s most bustling cities, with every surf journo, photographer, and groupie sprawled over the beach, Ashton Evans knew a garden bar no one else seemed to have found yet. “How?”
He shrugged. “Contacts? I’ve been to Brazil a few times. The guy who owns this place is a new friend. His daughter and I—”
She put up her hand. “I don’t need to know the rest.” Didn’t want to know the rest, more like.
He laughed. “Nothing like that. I shot some stills of her husband earlier this year. It’s what got me back in the water. He’s an old-school soul surfer. Or I should say he was. He had cancer. I went out on a last mission with him. He gave the photos to his wife as an anniversary present the month before he passed.”
“Oh.” Good one little green mistress-monster. She had no right being jealous of anyone Ashton was with, past or present.
“Shall we sit? And perhaps you should put that down for a bit.” He nodded at the photo she still had clenched in her hand.
Tucking herself into a chair and setting the photo on the table, she smoothed out the wrinkle in the left corner. “I still can’t believe it’s me. Do you think they’ll really do it? Go for the campaign?”
He shrugged. “Depends. You sure you want it? It means more of what we just ran away from. Fame comes with fame. The reporters will be hounding you all over again.”
She nodded automatically then caught the hard truth in what he’d said. “I’ve wanted to surf since I can remember. I’m good enough. I should have been here last year, but I didn’t back myself enough, and T.J. talked me out of it. I’m going all the way now, and the media can either get on board or get out of my way.” He went to open his mouth, and she put up a hand. “Thanks for sticking around and everything, but you don’t have to give me the full pep talk just because I had a wobble back there. It’s not the media I can’t handle, it’s the lying. And the being sure I’ll get found out and get my ass sued. Maya told me to check everything with a lawyer before I signed anything, but I thought it was just a relationship prenup, and I wasn’t about to steal any of his money. The clause about maintaining his brand and reputation…” She shook her head, almost talking to herself. “I didn’t get the full implications of it. I was an idiot. I should have ended it with him ages ago, and then I wouldn’t be in this mess right when I need a clear head.”
She watched Ashton perk an eyebrow. It should have been quirky, but it just made him more goddamn hot. What the heck was with that?
“That’s a load of bull.”
Okay, hotness cancelled. She startled. “Sorry?”
“You had your own reasons for sticking with him so long. But maybe you haven’t worked out what they are yet.”
Woah. This was more like the Ashton she remembered from her teenage years. “And you know this for sure, how?”
“’Cause I’ve seen it a hundred times. Something got under your skin when you were starting out, and you’ve been scared of it ever since. T.J. must have offered you a way to squash it.” He tipped his head to the side.
Summer goldfished her mouth a couple of times before she managed to push words out. “Maybe I just needed a bright, shiny man-toy.”
The laugh almost exploded from Ashton. “Fair enough. Though, I wouldn’t have picked that.”
“Well, I guess you wouldn’t pick much. You never were very good at reading signals.” There, she’d said it. But he barely reacted. Although, why would he remember what he did to her so long ago?
Because it broke your heart? Good one.
“Fair call. Sorry.” Ashton put his hand over hers.
Did he mean sorry, sorry? Sorry for being a dick now, or for what he did to her five years ago? Summer looked down at where their hands touched, and Ashton snatched his away. Avoiding glancing up and acknowledging reality, she could still feel her fingers covered by his, still feel the warmth of his skin on hers. Still wanted to feel it there.
No, she didn’t. She would have kicked her body for betraying her if that wouldn’t have made her look like a complete idiot.
“If you want to win at this game, you have to be in it for more than the money,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “I appreciate you getting me away from the media just now. But I really don’t need a full pep talk.”
“You’re right. I’ll shut up.” He nodded at someone peeking out the door, and a gorgeous woman came out with two steaming cups of tea.
“Lemon,” she said. “Calming.”
Summer smiled and took the cup. When the woman had left, they sat there awkwardly a second, and Summer pulled on her hair. What the hell was she doing here?
“Don’t get caught up in it, is all.” Ashton said quietly. “I’ve seen plenty of surfers splash out a season heading for the top, the cash, and all the glory, and t
hen something just doesn’t connect. They change, get cocky, think they know best, and next thing you now, the ocean takes a swipe at them and they end up broken or stuck without form for the next couple years, all but forgotten.”
Surfers like you. Summer stilled herself. She’d only heard bits and pieces about the accident that had landed Ashton in a Balinese hospital, killed his buddy, and broken his drive for competitive surfing, apparently forever. “You weren’t in the ocean.”
He shook his head. “Nope, I was just stupid.”
Stupid was right.
He looked at his watch. “You’ve got ten minutes. You can spill and get your shit together, or you can take all that frustration into the water. What’s it going to be? I’m not going to be your pep-talk…I don’t know…bitch, but you can vent if you need to. Figure I’m hollow enough that it’ll just bounce off me.”
Summer picked up the photograph and toyed with the corner. What the hell. He was right, she needed to vent if she was going to concentrate out there. “It was my father.”
Ashton frowned.
“The thing that kept me with T.J. The thing that made me listen to him when I should have backed myself instead.”
“Right.” He said nothing more, waited to let her continue or not without pushing.
“He was worried about all this. Thought I should get a real job, or at least get married and start breeding. When I was with T.J. …”
Again, he didn’t fill the silence for her, didn’t suggest an easy end to her sentence.
“I don’t know. Guess my dad was just looking out for me.”
“Really?”
She shrugged.
“Sorry if I sound like a stuck record, but that’s crap, too, and you know it,” he said. “Your dad was a pro. He lived to surf. Why didn’t he cheer you on?”
“He was a pro, yeah. So he didn’t want me to be one. He wasn’t around much when I was little, and then he ended up alone and lonely at the end of his life. He didn’t want me to have the same finale. He wanted me to get married, have kids, and reckoned I couldn’t do that and surf. When T.J. said I wasn’t ready, I backed off entering last year. I thought I wanted to do it their way. Now I say bullshit to that.”
“You gonna have it all, huh?”
She bristled. “Hell, yes. And no one is going to tell me I can’t.”
He held up his hands. “I’m not, that’s for damn sure.” Ashton took a deep breath, and Summer watched his shoulders broaden as they juggled with all the oxygen. “We’re getting very deep and meaningful, don’t you think?”
Yep. More deep and meaningful than she’d been with T.J. the whole time they’d been together. Not once had he asked her what she wanted. Not once had she even thought about bringing up her dad and his incessant nagging for her to get real.
“Just don’t forget why you’re out there, then. Let the ocean own you. Ride with her, not against her.”
Summer smiled. “That was almost poetic.”
Ashton ducked his head, drained his drink, and looked at his watch again. “It’s about as poetic as I get. Come on. Time to go get wet.”
She looked up at him. Wet? The image of him shirtless, the ocean streaming off his torso as he pulled her out of the water and laid her on the sand flashed in front of her. This new Ashton was the sort of guy you were supposed to fall for. Tall, broad, a little bit dangerous, and now, suddenly, he was someone who listened.
He held her gaze, and she was startled again by just how blue his eyes were. He might have given up his surfboard, but his beloved ocean still owned a part of him, and it swirled in his gaze, bright, glittering, tempting her to throw caution to old briny for a change.
All thought of T.J., of the WSL, of everything that was just outside the doors, melted away. It was hot in Brazil, sure, but the heat that sped through her veins tipped Summer into a state ripe for internal combustion. Her holy-damp-pants moment from her dream had transferred to reality, and her very core was threatening to melt unless it got some attention.
Then someone in the kitchen dropped a plate. The smash ricocheted through her whole body, and she almost jumped back. This was not happening. Not with the press just outside, and not with Ashton Evans. She stood, her skin still tingling, her heart racing in a jazz beat that would have got anyone dancing. “I’m going surfing,” she managed. As he stood to follow her, she put up a hand. “I’ll see you around. Time to let the ocean know I’ve only got eyes for her.”
She felt Ashton’s gaze on her back, and she smiled. That was better. Guys didn’t get to have the monopoly on making people feel the heat and then dropping them like a stone. The way Ashton had looked at her, it had almost…holy surf wax. But she wasn’t going there. Not now, not ever.
But then a new thought struck her. Didn’t mean she couldn’t toy with him now she knew he was hot for her. Give him a taste of his own medicine? Her grin broadened as she walked back through the kitchen, down the alleyway, and out into the burning brightness of the beach. She was going to have it all, including the fun Ashton owed her, before she smashed her way into the WSL leaderboard. It was time to get real and nail this event.
Chapter Six
“That will get Brooke Evans a nice score, and if she doesn’t make it to the next round, I’ll eat my board shorts.” The commentator’s Australian drawl boomed through the loudspeakers, swiftly followed by his Brazilian counterpart.
Summer shielded her eyes as the sun shook its cloud cover and the ocean and beach started looking like the postcard it had when she’d arrived. Sitting on the sand, she looked back out at the waves and tried to focus on what was happening next. Big chance time, lady. No question. She pushed Ashton to the back of her head and watched the form of the water.
Maya appeared at her shoulder. “Brazil’s waiting for you to show it your stuff. And ain’t it good to know you’re here because you earned it.”
Summer felt the creep of a smile soften her lips. It was nice to be here. And now, she was here for her, not as half of the golden couple she’d made with T.J.
She looked over at the WSL tables and saw a horde of people fawning over T.J. As usual. It was odd thinking that all of them used to fawn over her when she stood beside him only a few months ago.
“Excuse me, could I get a shot of you over with T.J?”
Anyone say “speak of the devil”?
The photographer poked his lens at her before she had a chance to answer. Smiles on, lady.
“Not right now. She’s competing next. Hope you’ll have your camera ready,” Maya butted in.
The smile was fully formed now, and Summer nodded rather than adding anything.
“I heard you were finally taking the plunge and getting into the competition. Can’t have been an easy decision when you’ve got such high standards to compare yourself, too. But good for you.”
Summer swallowed the expletive she wanted to throw at him for his patronizing attitude and instead stood, her shadow blocking the light the reporter had moved into to get a better photograph. “I’ve taken the plunge, yes. I’ve been taking the plunge for the past decade. Which people might realize if women’s surfing got half the attention that men’s surfing did. You can write that down.”
Maya jumped in. “No, you cannot write that down. It was off the record. Summer is about to have the ride of her life, that’s something you can write down. And if you want a hit story, watch this race. You are going to get the shot of your career if you do.”
The reporter pursed his lips. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
He shrugged and headed down the beach, readying his camera.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. But remember, not everyone is like that. There are a whole heap of people rooting for you. Don’t let him get to you,” Maya said quietly.
“Really? What if he writes for someone important?”
“Meh.” Maya waved her hand as if to fan the words away. “He’s a nobody, and anyway, you got this. I know
you. And I say you’ve got this.”
“Right.” Summer took a deep breath and tried to channel some of the spark she’d felt with Ashton in the cafe. Let the ocean own her—that’s what she’d said she was going to do. All she needed was to concentrate on getting the best waves she could and blast her way onto the leaderboard. Her first heat might have been crap—the nerves had got to her—but she was in good form. All she needed was to pull some of the 180 action she managed before this all started, and she was golden. It was her time, she could feel it like the bubbling beginning of a wave churning in her blood. “I’m up. Time to get wet.” Summer dragged her rash-shirt over her head, grabbed her board, and jogged down to the water’s edge.
The water curled around her ankles, and the cooling sensation made her stop a moment. This was it. T.J. meant nothing, and Ashton was just a distraction. This is who she belonged to, she just needed to remember that.
As Summer ducked under the first set of waves, the reporter, T.J., her rush of emotions over Ashton, and the universe of sponsors and race-rankings faded behind her. The world was blue. Quiet and noisy, fierce and gentle, the ocean was her challenger and her friend. Time to play.
She dived, paddled, and soared as wave after wave became a playground of gravity defying momentum. Her set was solid, she knew that, but not good enough yet to make her stand out against all the other talented women who had been in the surf that day. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another competitor sweep by on a beautiful sheet of blue. On the surface of the water, a fish flickered silver as it kept time with the woman’s board, and the grin on her competitor’s face illustrated exactly the thrill charging through Summer. Bobbing, sitting up on her board, she admired the last pump through the water, as the ride finished, and the other surfer howled to the world.
Summer sighed happily. This was what she was here for. Shame the swell was starting to get sloppy. What had started out as clean, smooth blue water was starting to fill up with foamy spray as the waves crashed in on themselves early. Too bad. She needed a win here, and she needed it now. She squinted at the clock on shore. She only had a short window to pull something big out of the bag.
Another Shot with Summer (Hot Tide Book 1) Page 5
