Page 34 of Caribbean Crush

I scrunch my nose like I’m confused. “So you’re in advertising? Client side or ...?”

“No,” she says more sternly now, her cool gaze slipping to Javier for a moment like she’s worried about his opinion of her. Oh. Oh. Maybe that’s why she’s giving me the cold shoulder. I wonder if I’ve interrupted something she had going with Javier. “I’m an influencer.”

“Like Sienna,” I say, pointing over to where my new friend stands at the bar. Javier follows my finger just in time to see Sienna laugh with the bartender and then look over at me. She wiggles her pineapple cocktail beside her head, pointing to the drink and mouthing, “It’s huge!”

I laugh and peer over to see Javier inspecting her from head to toe. For the moment, he’s forgotten that Avery and I exist. I have a hard time suppressing my satisfied smirk.

“I recognize her,” Javier says.

“Oh yeah?” I say, wanting to press the subject.

“We run in the same circles,” Avery says quickly, trying to remain relevant.

“She didn’t mention that,” I say before deciding it’s probably time to reel it in. I’ve done my job. I’ve ensured that Javier’s aware of Sienna. There’s no need to rub Avery’s nose in it. “So ... have either of you surfed before?”

Today will be my first time attempting it. Bold, considering I’ll have an audience watching me make a fool of myself. More guests arrive by the minute. Other tours are wrapping up, and everyone’s converging on the beach. The last few surfboards fill up, and our instructor starts the lesson.

It will come as a shock to no one that a girl who grew up surrounded by books and nowhere near a beach (unless you count the less-than-pristine beaches in the greater NYC area) isn’t all that great at surfing. I try my hardest. The instructor walks me through the motions—paddle hard, plant your feet, pop up, keep your knees bent, and stretch your arms out by your sides for balance as if you’re walking a tightrope. Logistically, I understand it. Physically, my limbs won’t cooperate. I tip over into the water time and time again, crashing through the waves, plunging under the refreshing blue surface. I don’t even mind. It feels good to get soaked, though the competitive spark in me grows annoyed that I can’t quite figure it out. Somehow, Avery’s even worse. She takes up most of the instructor’s time, but Javier sticks close by me, trying to help coach me as best as possible. He’s a natural, though he’s admitted to surfing a lot.

We sit side by side on our surfboards bobbing in the water, waiting for our turns.

“Last time I surfed, I was in Hawaii. The waves were massive.”

He arcs his hand up over his head to emphasize his point, and I laugh.

“Sounds awesome. Were you there for work?”

“Yeah, I covered the Kapalua Wine & Food Festival for The Times.”

I’m immediately envious. “So how does freelancing work for you? Do you choose your destinations or do publications post assignments?”

He shimmies his hand from side to side. “Both. This trip was last minute. I’m filling in for a friend. I was in Bolivia last week.”

My jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”

He smiles and shakes his head.

“I can’t imagine. I’m not even close to getting there. This assignment is a first for me. I’m usually behind a desk at Bon Voyage.”

“You’ll get there,” he reassures me with a sympathetic smile.

Yeah, hopefully sooner rather than later.

“So do you travel alone mostly?”

He doesn’t understand my intent when he replies, “Yes. No assistants.”

“Right, but what about a girlfriend? Or are you married?”

He looks at me anew, like he’s trying to feel me out. I nod my head toward the beach, trying to help him catch on. “Sienna was wondering ...”

Realization dawns, and excitement sparks in his dark-brown eyes. “Ah. No girlfriend. No wife.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that on,” I say with a cheeky smile before our instructor calls my name to let me know I’m up next.

“Oh gosh. Here goes nothing ...”

It’s my last turn before our surf lessons end, and I’m hopeful I’ll finally succeed. Even Avery somehow managed to accomplish something resembling surfing in her last attempt. Antsy to catch a wave, I paddle through the water as fast as I can. The instructor shouts, “Now!” And I shoot to my feet and squeal with glee when I find my balance. Adrenaline spikes my blood. My heart hammers, and my smile is impossibly wide as I become one with the water—Moana has nothing on me—then it’s over in the blink of an eye. I lose my footing, and with a sound something akin to whooaohshit, I go crashing into the surf in a tangle of limbs. I doubt I was standing up on the surfboard for more than a few measly seconds—worse than Avery—but when I swim up and break through the surface, I still hear loud cheering.

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