Page 48 of Broken Hearts

I’m ogling him, my cheeks flushing when he catches my eyes scanning his gorgeous body, the lines of his muscles, the way his boardshorts hang low on his hips, making me wonder about what he looks like without them.

“So, this one mine?” I ask, nudging the board next to me with my foot. I have to strike up a conversation or else my mind is going to take a dark and dirty turn. Not that I would mind.

“Nope. This one is,” Nate says, motioning to the board he set down.

“But it’s so big,” I croak out, and that’s really not what I meant to say, as Nate lets out a low chuckle. Guess we both have the mind of a fifteen-year-old boy.

“The bigger the board,” he says, winking at me, and now it’s me laughing, my cheeks flushing pink. “Here, take this.”

He tosses me a rash guard, it’s obviously too big, but something I’m going to need otherwise he wouldn’t have given it to me. I should have known to buy something from The Pipe Dream because surfing in my string bikini is probably not advised.

I pull off my shorts and tank and slip the rash guard on and it hits about mid-thigh, covering me up more than I thought it would. I can’t imagine this is conducive to surfing, getting tangled up in this oversized shirt, so I gather the extra material in my hand, pulling it behind me, I tie it in a knot.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and I bite the inside of my cheek as he steps closer to me, the heat from our bodies now radiating between us.

I inhale deeply, breathing him in as his body moves closer to mine, his fingers grazing along the bare skin of my stomach, setting it on fire with just a simple touch.

“You look so fucking hot right now,” he whispers. His words almost lost among the sound of the waves, but they now live forever in my mind.

His fingers play with the strings on the side of my bikini bottoms, his lips trailing along my jaw as he says, “First rule of surfing. Communicate. Tell people what you want.”

My mind is screaming to tell him I want him, right here on this beach. Just take me on the sand, right now. I’ll worry about the ramifications of sand in my vagina later.

My breath hitches, my heart racing and when he pulls away, I nearly scream at him. What the hell? Is this really about surfing. I was kind of hoping it was a metaphor for something else.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, City Girl,” Nate says, leaving me bereft and wanting more. “Grab that board. We’re gonna paddle out and see if you inherited any natural talent from your dad.”

“I can already answer that,” I say, heaving the giant board off the sand and under my arm. “The answer is no.”

“Can you even swim?” There’s a hesitation in his question as he clenches his teeth together, hitting me with a desperate look.

“Yes, I can swim. I’m a really good swimmer. My mom would get in these phases where she would sign me up for anything and everything. She isn’t very good at sticking with things, but the swim team lasted several summers,” I tell Nate, rambling, trying to distract myself from hot shirtless guys and sharks and sex and…

“Flat on your stomach, Sage,” Nate commands, his board now in the water, and I do as he says. Following him as he paddles out, my feet wanting to kick unnecessarily as my arms move on the sides of the board, actually keeping up with him.

“Good girl,” he calls out, and I laugh.

“I’m not a dog!”

“Fine! Keep up if you can!” Nate shouts, laughing, paddling harder and leaving me behind.

But I’ll be damned if he gets to win, and I will keep up. Digging my hands into the water, I push it back with force, moving myself forward faster than I expect. My arms are going to be sore tomorrow. I just hope I can wash my hair.

When I finally catch up to him, I’m out of breath and trying not to sound like a rhino blowing and huffing. “My ass is so out of shape,” I mutter through ragged breaths. All that Pilates has done nothing for my stamina.

“Looks pretty damn good to me,” Nate says, his legs straddling his board now, floating out in the water.

His words are flirty and sweet, and I love the way they make my stomach flutter. Shifting so I’m now straddling the board like him, I take in a deep gulp of air.

“Okay, what’s next? And why are the waves so small?” I have no idea why I say this. I don’t want to be surfing on something that looks like a tsunami, and I almost had a heart attack just paddling out here.

Nate lets out a deep throaty laugh that again has my stomach doing a somersault. This guy has no idea how just a simple thing is making me a wreck.

“Small waves for a newbie,” he replies, wetting his lips and I do the same, tasting the salt of the ocean on them. “Make sure your leash is attached.” He points to where it’s floating in the water, and I strap it to my ankle. “Now, look over your shoulder.”

I do what he says, his eyes on me.

My body ignites with an excited nervousness, my hands flat on the board, my heart hammering in my chest.

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