Between The Waves

by Ellie Malouff

  “Anytime. Oh, hey, I know this place. It’s a vacation rental, right?”

  “It is.”

  A small look of concern flashes over his face. “How long do you have it for?”

  Should I tell him that I’m renting it week-to-week in case I have to run away again? Probably not. “Why do you want to know? Making sure I’m not skipping out on the rest of my surfing lessons?”

  “Something like that,” he answers. I expect a smile, but I don’t get one.

  “Don’t you worry. I’m aiming to be an excellent wave slider by year’s end.” That is my aim. I don’t want to leave, but I may not have a choice.

  The corner of his mouth finally lifts up a little bit. “Should we schedule your next lesson? How about tomorrow?”

  “I can’t. Tomorrow is opening day at Wrigley Field.”

  “Opening day for what?”

  I swat at his chest. “For the Cubs, duh.”

  “Oh right, mainland sports,” he says and rolls his eyes.

  “Jake. It’s the Cubs. I can’t miss it.” My dad and I never missed opening day. Even though he’s not with me anymore, it’s something I’ll never miss, even from thousands of miles away.

  “Okay, okay. When are you free?”

  Even though I don’t have much going on, I don’t want to rush anything. Some time away will give me a chance to cool off. “How about next Friday?”

  “Weekly Friday lessons? I can be down with that.”

  “Excellent.” I lean up to kiss him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Jake.”

  He presses his fingers to the spot where I kissed him for a quick second before I think he realized what he was doing. It makes me chuckle and he shakes his head before taking off down the driveway. “I hope to see you around before then, newbie.”

  “We’ll see, Thor.”

  Lesson 2

  "Surfing's one of the few sports that you look ahead to see what's behind."

  Laird Hamilton

  Jake

  It’s been a week since I’ve seen Audrey. I was certain that we’d bump into each other on land or on the water, but we didn’t cross paths. Not that I was always keeping an eye out for her or anything, and if you believe that, then I’ve got a piece of swampland to sell you.

  That kiss was something. I’ve kissed dozens of women over the years, but that kiss was unforgettable. Her body in my hands, her hand upon my face, our mouths colliding again and again. All of it was superb, and if the last week’s mental replays in my bed and shower are any indication, I want to do it again…and this time I want more. Here’s hoping she shows up for her second lesson.

  As the morning goes on and customers come and go, I keep an eye on the beach for her. I’d love to see her coming and prepare myself, so I don’t come off like a teenage boy with an uncontrollable hard-on, even though that pretty much sums me up this week.

  But like with most things when it comes to Audrey, she’s full of surprises.

  “Hi,” she says from out of nowhere, poking her head around the side of the open window.

  Startled, I put a hand over my heart. “Jesus, Audrey. Where did you come from?”

  “The hardware store.”

  “What did you need from there?”

  “Something fun. I bought a grill.”

  That sounds promising like she might actually stick around Manalua. It’s not lost on me that she’s an expert at evading answers. Like when I asked her how long she’s renting for, she sure dodged that one. She should be in public office.

  Audrey starts chewing on the inside of her cheek. Could she be nervous, too? Weird. She’s got nothing to be worried about with me. “What’s up, newbie?”

  “I was hoping, if you weren’t too busy and you know, it’s in your wheelhouse, if you could help me put the grill together this weekend.”

  “Nope. All I know how to do is surf,” I tell her.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” she says sarcastically, and I’d bet my surf shop that she’s rolling her eyes behind those sunglasses. By the way, they’re the same ones she stole last week. I wonder if she’s wearing them to tease me.

  I wink at her, and she shakes her head like she’s delightfully fed up with me. “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Great, thanks!” she says and bounces on the balls of her feet.

  I come around the counter to meet her out on the sand. She looks just as pretty as the day I met her, wearing a maroon tank top and denim shorts over her swimsuit. Her hair is once again pulled through the back of her Cubs cap.

  “Did the Cubs win?” I ask.

  “You really don’t follow sports, do you?”

  “This is my sport,” I tell her, and flick my chin toward the water.

  I find her board and grab a beginner’s board just like it for me to use for the demonstration. Mabel can take a rest for this lesson. “Ready to pop-up on your board, newbie?”

  “I’ve been practicing all week,” she says proudly.

  “What?” This is devastating news. I wanted to be the one to teach her. I’ve got my own technique that I think will work great for her. “Have you really?”

  “Well, not exactly the pop-up part,” she’s quick to assure me. “But I looked up some good conditioning exercises for it. I read that that it helps to be in shape.”

  “It certainly doesn’t hurt. Let’s do it. Okay, step one, let’s find your natural back foot.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “How are you going to do that?”

  “Turn around.”

  She hesitates for a brief moment and then does what I ask.

  “I’m going to gently shove you,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “Are you serious?”

  “Trust me, will ya?”

  I wish I could see the expression on her face when she says, “Trust isn’t always my strong suit, but I’ll try.”

  I do what I said I would, and when she goes forward, she sticks her right leg out.

  “Cool, you’re goofy footed.”

  She whips around. “I’m what now?”

  “Goofy footed. It means your left leg will be your back leg on the board.”

  “Well, that’s rude.”

  “Hey, I didn’t make it up. So when we put on your leg rope, or the leash as we call it, that will go on your left ankle. Cool?”

  “As the deep blue sea,” she answers and gives me one of her greatest gifts, a small smile.

  Eight.

  We walk out to a sandy spot, near the shop—so I don’t have to close it down—and get to work. We go over last week’s lesson about her body positioning on the board and her paddle technique. After I’m sure she still has it down, we start. My method is a cross between the traditional and Australian methods, with an emphasis on how you use your legs for balance and rising up. She nails the chicken arms and does okay with moving her right leg beneath her body into position to stand.

  “And keep looking forward, no matter what,” I tell her. “Don’t look at your hands. Don’t look at your feet. Don’t look at me. Just look straight ahead, and you will keep your balance.”

  “Like this,” she says as she stands in a semi-crouched position, looking straight in front of her.

  “Almost,” I say, and position myself behind her body. “May I?”

  She heeds my lesson and doesn’t look back to see what I’m doing. “Yes,” she answers anyway.

  First, I start with her back foot and nudge it to a more optimal angle. Her hot pink toenails are sexy as fuck and the idea of seeing them up close and personal crosses my mind more than once. Then, as gently as I can, I place my hands on her hips, pull them slightly back, and run my hand up the small of her back to smooth out her posture. The curve of her ass and the slight swell of her lower back slay me. A bead of sweat slowly trickles down her spine, and it intensifies my craving for her. I promise myself that if I can just get through this in some form of a professional manner, I’ll let myself have free rein over those thoughts when I’m home alone later.

  “Fe
el better?” My voice is husky, and my hands are back on her hips as I ask this. I take a step closer to her body for no purposeful reason, besides the fact that I want to be as close to her as possible. “Like you have more control?”

  She still hasn’t looked my way, and I have no idea if this is affecting her the way it is affecting me. It takes her a moment, but then she croaks out, “Yes.” Her voice pleases me as much as it teases me.

  Do not squeeze her hips, I repeat to myself over and over again. I resist successfully, but I do inch even closer to her and allow the fabric of my shorts to graze against her bikini-clad ass. The erection I’m sporting needs to be tapered down immediately. Otherwise, I might start grinding on her, and she’d probably slap me across the face, which I’d completely deserve.

  I know there isn’t some proper code of ethics in surfing instruction, but I aim to be a decent human being. Plus, I want to take this seriously and not just fucking fool around with this girl as we’re doing this. It means something to me to share the sport I love so much with others. It’s dangerous out there. If she’s going to attempt to surf, I want her to do it right.

  With all of this in mind, I step back and count to ten. She’s still not looking my way, nor is she moving out of the position. She’s just bouncing up and down at the knees as if she’s trying to get a feel for it.

  That’s my girl.

  “Okay, stand down. Let’s keep practicing that pop-up.”

  And that’s exactly what we do. I give her tips, I correct a few things, but she’s a fast learner, and she gets the hang of it on dry land. On the water is a whole different thing, though, and I’m excited to see her try.

  “Ready to put on a wetsuit, newbie?”

  “Yep, I have one in my bag,” she says and goes to grab it.

  “Oh cool. You took my advice?”

  “I did. The shopkeeper was excited to help me when she realized I was taking lessons from, and I quote, Brian’s boy.”

  I roll my eyes at that ridiculousness. My old man has been dead for fifteen years, and I haven’t been a boy since pretty much the day he died.

  It looks like Audrey wants to ask me a question about him. Honestly, I’m an open book. I’d be willing to answer anything, but it’s been crystal clear to me since the moment we met that she is the exact opposite of that. Maybe I can bargain with her. A little tit for tat.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask her.

  She chews on her lip for a bit and hesitates. Perhaps she knows my game.

  “I’ll tell you about my dad if you tell me something about you.”

  She frowns and I’m one hundred percent certain that she will not go along with this game, but as I said, Audrey is full of surprises.

  “Okay,” she agrees. “But let’s get out on the water first. We can tell our stories afterward, maybe over lunch?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I reply and mentally pat myself on the back.

  With our boards waxed and our wetsuits on, we paddle out to a prime beginner’s spot. It’s a low swell area with a solid sea floor, a great place to practice pop-ups.

  There’s a little trepidation on her face when we straddle our boards, just like last time. “Audrey, I promise, I won’t let you get bitten by a shark, okay? Put your trust in me. I know the signs. I’m always watching. I’ve got you. Just have fun.”

  She lets out a heavy breath and nods.

  “All right, let’s get in position.”

  She follows my lead. We both lie on our boards with our arms bent at the elbows and palms pressed against the boards.

  “Remember, you will fall and it’s okay. It’s pretty shallow here, and these waves are a touch bigger than ankle busters, but I’m not going to let a thing happen to you, got it?”

  “I can hold my own,” she tells me and lifts her chin. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

  “Ever hear the term wipeout?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, where do you think it comes from? No one has ever been perfect in this sport. You will wipe out. You will simply lose your balance for no good reason. You will get water up your nose, and you will taste more salt water than you could ever imagine. So this is it, newbie. Pop-up on your board in this water, and you’re officially surfing.”

  A small swell comes our way. It won’t break, but her eyes grow wide, and I can tell she’s eager. In a rush, she pops up on her board and hangs there for a couple of seconds before tumbling over into the water. Her board flips over after her.

  It’s not necessary because she can easily push up off the sea floor to get her head above water, but I slide off my board anyway and meet her underwater. With my arm around her waist, I bring her back up to the surface with ease.

  “Did I do it? I kind of did it, right?”

  She’s so excited, and that makes me excited, too. She goes to give me a high five, and we slap hands and splash each other in the process.

  “Ready to get back up and try again?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Want some tips?”

  “You’re the master, so yes.”

  “Okay, next time, don’t rush. Do it like you did on the sand. Keep looking straightforward. Don’t forget, and let the water push you on the board.”

  “Got it.”

  A better swell comes our way and this one will break. If she can get up, she’ll get a good push on the white water.

  “You got this,” I tell her and flash her a shaka sign.

  She does it back. “Hang loose,” she says excitedly, and that makes me laugh.

  “Now,” I instruct her.

  And she does beautifully, but the wave breaks a little harder than I predicted, and she wipes out rather dramatically. My head knows that she’s going to be just fine, but my heartbeat triples in speed. I slide off my board in a rush and find her beneath the surface. We swim up together in each other’s arms.

  I’m worried that she’s going to be discouraged and that she’ll want to give up, but honestly, I should know better. Audrey is tough and determined.

  “That was fucking amazing!” She throws her arms around my neck and gives me a hella good hug.

  I squeeze her tighter, pride radiating through me. “That pop-up was great. You really went for it.”

  She pulls back and our eyes connect. They’re as bright as the sky behind her and they’re the last thing I see before she presses her mouth against mine. Her lips are trembling, probably from the adrenaline. She tastes understandably salty, but surprisingly sweet. I pull her body closer to mine, and she wraps her legs around me just like she did last week. It drives me absolutely wild and makes me uncomfortably hard in my wetsuit. My hand goes up to the back of her neck and I kiss her deeply. I’m ready to drag her out of the sea, rip off these suits, and dive right into her on the spot. But…the ocean knows better. My surfboard smacks me in the back of the head on the swell of a wave and brings me back to my senses. I pull away and lift her up as a wave passes through us.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

  “So did I,” I tell her, feeling foolish because this isn’t the place to lose myself in her. “And remember, what’s rule number one?”

  “Never turn your back on the ocean?”

  “That’s right and boy, did I ever. You’re really something, newbie,” I reply.

  Nine. And it’s a good one.

  Audrey

  “You like burritos?” Jake asks as we approach Manalua Manny’s, a food truck parked across the street from the beach.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what you eat in Wisconsin. I’ve heard something about cheese curds.”

  “You haven’t lived until you’ve had Wisconsin cheese curds.” Thank God I’ve tried the real thing and can testify under oath that they are super delicious. “But I love burritos.”

  “Manny makes great burritos. I’ve known him since preschool. He’s got mad skills.”

  “Mad burri
to skills, eh?”

  One side of his mouth lifts up into a smile. “Yup.”

  We order and end up getting them on the house. Manny is indeed a friend of Jake’s and the two chat with one another for a few minutes. I can tell that he likes Jake a lot and he spends a good chunk of that time thanking Jake for helping out his mom when her house flooded.

  “If she needs anything else at all, tell her to call me. I’ve got lots of furniture and stuff in storage,” Jake says.

  “Thanks, man,” Manny replies, and they fist bump.

  With our burritos in hand, we walk back toward The Hut, and I’ve got some questions. “Why do I have a feeling that you don’t pay for much around here?”

  He laughs at that. “Manaluans are kind folks.”

  “That’s becoming obvious to me. It seems like a real sense of community here.”

  “Absolutely. I know it sounds cheesy, but we really take care of each other. We watch out for each other. Call it island-life mentality, but we don’t believe in every man for himself. We know that we’re stronger when we work together.”

  “I love that.”

  Maybe I had a subconscious sense for that when I decided to move to the Hawaiian Islands. Manalua appealed to me for a lot of different reasons, both logistical and for safety. I liked that it’s off the beaten path and that it doesn’t show up in a lot of internet sites for tourists. I only found it because I dove into Google Maps and perused the island virtually. But now I think it was destiny.

  Jake sets us up, picnic style, outside his shop and we simultaneously unwrap the top bit of foil on our burritos. I went with chicken. He chose fish.

  “So Little Miss Audrey, when we were last hanging out on the beach, you agreed to tell me something about yourself. What have you got?”