Page 92 of Reel Love

“Ben! Cut it with the Aussie talk,” Kai says.

Ben just smirks at Kai. I’m laughing. Ben’s funny, and I need the laugh.

I also need to wrap this up before I leak that my date was actually with Alana. “So, anyway, we finished up the tour and I drove her home in the golf cart.”

“Where does she live?” Ben asks.

It’s a reasonable question.

“North Shore. So … everyone up for some waves?”

“Nice try, apple pie,” Ben smiles. “First, your grade.”

“My grade?”

“On your date.”

I have nothing to say. At least he’s dropped trying to narrow down where Alana lives.

“I give you a B plus. No. No. A minus. You definitely passed. You brought in humor. You got the interlaced fingers. You drove her home. Did you get a kiss worked in sometime during this tour?”

During the tour? No. Not unless you count the kiss I gently brushed across Alana’s forehead when we were walking out my bedroom doorway. Which I’m also not sharing.

“No.”

“Well, B plus, then. I think you get to ask for a second date.”

“I get to ask?”

Bodhi chimes in. “That’s how it works. I mean, sometimes the woman asks the guy these days, but usually it’s still the guy.”

“Purrrr-soooooot!!” Ben shouts, garnering the attention of a few other surfers who are zipping up their wetsuits down the beach from us.

Bodhi shakes his head, his shoulder length hair swinging with the motion. “Sorry about him. You know how he is. But, unfortunately, this time he’s not wrong. Ball’s in your court, man. Call her. Or text. Send her something. Let her know you’re thinking of her and you had a good time and you’d like to see her again.”

Kai nods silently in agreement.

“What did I tell you?” Ben asks.

“Pursuit,” I say like a dutiful elementary student.

“That’s what I’m talking about. Pursuit. Go get ’er, Tiger.”

“Let’s go get these waves,” Kai suggests.

Surfing does the trick. I’m focused on the salt air, the feel of my board beneath me, and the familiar scenery of Descanso across the beach from where we’re riding. We surf for a few hours and then say our goodbyes. I store my board in the shed at the side of my house and pull my cell out.

Bodhi’s words echo in my mind. It’s up to me to reach out. Maybe I should send her something. But what? Flowers seem so overdone and unimaginative.

I get an idea and make a call before I even have a chance to chicken out or question myself.

“Brigitte here! Is this the illustrious Stevens?”

“Doesn’t your phone have caller ID?”

“I’m kidding! What can I do for you mister merman, sir?”

I chuckle, and I think I’m blushing a little. Alana said Brigitte was the one to dub me a merman. I’m not complaining. It’s just a tad awkward hearing it from her.

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