Page 11 of Reckless Hearts

“Some might call it that,” he jokes, and there’s that smile again. He is fucking hard to resist.

“Guessing you caught up with Tanner, huh?” I now ask, thinking that’s why he’s here, to thank me for giving him a connection to Olsen Custom Boards.

“I did, but I also learned something about you, Alana,” Flynn muses, and I feel my heartbeat kick up a few notches, and not just because of the way he says my name.

“And what’s that?”

I hold the door open, Flynn stepping inside, his smell filling the air around me. There’s something about a surf guy that sets my body on fire, but with Flynn, it’s like a fucking inferno.

“That you’re surfing Maui Pipe.”

The cheeky smileon her face disappears as soon as the words are out of my mouth, making me feel like shit, like maybe I’m way off the mark here.

“Alana?”

She blows out a breath as she turns and walks farther into the house, leaving me with no choice but to follow her. We end up in the kitchen, and when she grabs a couple of beers from the fridge, offering me one, I nod and take it.

“Did I say something wrong?” I now ask when she still hasn’t answered me.

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “It’s just…I haven’t fully decided if I’m doing it.”

I take a swig of my beer. “But entries closed ages ago,” I say, immediately regretting my words in case they give me away. “I mean, right?”

She looks at me, a curious expression on her face. “Yeah,” she says. “They did, but, I could still withdraw.”

Now it’s me with the curious expression as I remember our morning on the waves and the question I’d asked her. “Thismorning,” I start, taking another sip of my beer, “you said you weren’t a pro.”

“I’m not.”

“Soooo…”

Alana takes a long pull of her beer, holding the cool bottle to her neck as she meets my gaze and says, “So I got an entry as an amateur.”

I blink, knowing full well what that means. Alana might not be a pro…yet, but she’s certainly fucking good enough to be one and probably will be if she has a good run in this comp. Only the top-ranked amateurs in the world get to compete in this, and given we are in Hawaii, basically one of the surf capitals of the world, Alana must have kicked some serious arse to get her entry.

“Wow, that’s impressive,” I say. “Why are you thinking of withdrawing?”

Alana hops up so she’s sitting on the kitchen bench, and I lean against the island across from her. “My…coach, I guess he is, he um…he died recently, and I…”

“Fuck, I’m really sorry,” I say, taking a step toward her. Alana waves me off, shaking her head.

“Yeah, it um…I don’t know, it’s really messed me up, and I just don’t know if I can compete, you know?”

Yeah, I really fucking do.

But I don’t tell her that. Instead, saying, “Don’t you think maybe he’d want you to compete, though?”

Alana lets out a small laugh, smiling as she says, “I know he would. He’d kick my ass if I didn’t.”

Chuckling, I say, “Well, there’s your answer then. You gotta do it.”

She groans now, her head falling back as she says, “Ugh, maybe. But I just?—”

“You worried about your form?” I ask, cutting her off with a smile. “Because it looked pretty good to me this morning.”

She snorts. “Yeah, and I’m sure you’re just saying that because you got laid.”

I laugh, pushing off the bench and walking toward her. I put my beer down on the counter beside her before sliding my hands up her tanned and very toned thighs. “Look, not gonna lie, that was an unexpected but very enjoyable bonus to my morning,” I say, my eyes dropping to her mouth. “But you are a very impressive surfer, Alana, and I think you should compete.”

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