Page 49 of Catch a Wave

“His name is Shaka,” Mavs scolds.

Kai looks straight at Shaka. “Don’t poop in my house, dude.”

Shaka’s tongue lolls out of his mouth and he pants.

KALAINE

(OUR SECOND WEEK IN BALI …)

Good first dates are more than short stories. They are first chapters.

~ David Levithan

Bodhi and I walk toward the beach with a big group of surfers who are all here for these nine weeks. He’s been making conversation with me our whole walk over here. The glances he keeps sending me are making me giddy. He’s the right balance between playful and serious. The air around us feels magical, and it’s not just Bali. It’s him. And us. He seems as curious about me as I am about him.

“Want to grab a couple of bean bags and cozy up near the fire?” He smiles down at me.

“Definitely.”

I know he has friends here, and I also know most of the single women on the trip have been checking him out. But he’s made it clear that he’s intent on hanging out with me. I’m definitely not complaining.

We walk over to the spot where a few resort employees are handing out these oversized bean bags I’d expect to see in acollege dorm room. Bodhi grabs one and then moves out of the way so I can take mine. We look around and find a spot not too close to the fire, but close enough to enjoy the view of the flames leaping high above the firepit, with the ocean off in the distance.

Leilani’s across the way, sending me meaningful looks I hope Bodhi doesn’t pick up on. Subtlety is not her strong suit. When Bodhi’s not looking I roll my eyes at her and stick out my tongue. Something about being around my life-long bestie brings out the high school antics.

My brother’s off with a girl from Portugal. I’ve seen them chatting over the past two days. I should send her a thank you note for keeping Kai occupied so I can actually get within ten feet of Bodhi. I swear, if Kai could wrap me in bubble wrap and caution tape and station armed guards around me, he would. He means well, I know he does. Unfortunately, his good intentions don’t make him less annoying.

Bodhi grabs some s’mores fixings for us when a resort employee comes by with a tray full of graham crackers, chocolate squares and marshmallows.

“So, here’s the question. And how you answer this will determine whether we’re meant to be friends or not.” Bodhi smiles and winks. “Burnt, brown, or somewhere inbetween.”

“Easy. Brown. Perfectly brown with a light crisp. Cooked with patience, and rotated regularly so the inside gushes out at the first bite.”

“Hmmm.” He runs his hand down his jaw and I follow the movement, enjoying the way his end-of-the-day stubble reflects the firelight.

“I’m a little more on the burnt side, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“So I didn’t ruin our friendship?” I tease him.

“With anyone else, that would be a deal breaker, but I’m thinking you have enough other qualities in the plus columnto outweigh your need for a gourmet chef to toast your marshmallow.”

I giggle. “Okay. So I should roast my own, yeah?”

“No way. I’m here to impress. Just kick back and let me cook for you.”

I smile as he hops up and walks toward the fire with the typical grace of a man who rides the water on a regular basis. He’s gorgeous and flirty and magnetic and I want to spend the rest of this trip getting to know him better. I instinctively look around for Kai. He’s usually circling like a vulture whenever a guy shows interest in me. I don’t see him, so I relax back into my beanbag and watch Bodhi stick two skewers into the fire pit. I allow my gaze to lazily drift around the beach and the cliffs, and then back to Bodhi.

Bodhi returns with two s’mores. “Just right,” he declares before plopping into his beanbag and handing my dessert over to me.

“We’ll see,” I tease.

I take a bite and pull the treat away from my mouth. A huge string of melted marshmallow goo stretches between me and the cracker, and crumbs fall all down the front of me. Great.

I look over at Bodhi and he’s grinning with amusement. “You’ve got a little something …”

He points at my mouth and then his finger trails down through the air to point where crumbs are scattered on my shirt. His face looks positively mischievous and thoroughly entertained by my inability to eat s’mores without making a mess of myself.

Meanwhile, I’m trying desperately not to get the goo in my overabundance of hair while attempting to wrangle the sticky strand into my mouth. I lift my other hand and pull the string of melted marshmallow away from the cracker, then I work it into my mouth in a very unglamorous move.

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