Page 37 of Reckless Hearts

She raises a brow as she picks up one of her tacos. I watch as she bites into it, the sexy moan that falls from her mouth nearly undoing me.

“Fuck, Alana, not exactly helping,” I growl, just as Nate and Sage walk outside, potentially saving me from just fucking her right here on this balcony.

“No need to wait for the rest of us,” Nate says, nudging Alana on his way to a chair.

She rolls her eyes at him, and I laugh, taking the beer Sage now hands me. “Thanks for this. Looks great,” I say as they sit down at the table with us. This is a pretty sweet balcony, and they have an awesome view of the beach.

“So, Flynn, how are you liking Hawaii?” Sage asks, as she bites into her taco, shooting a quick look in Alana’s direction.

Chuckling, I reply, “I love it. It’s not my first time here, but yeah, always love coming back.”

Sage’s brows lift. “Oh, you’ve been coaching for a while?”

Now it’s Alana laughing as I say, “A couple of years, but I used to surf before that.”

“Used to surf,” Alana says with a snort. “He’s a five-time world champion.”

“Seriously?” Sage asks, at the same time as Nate smacks a hand against his forehead and says, “Holy shit, I thought I recognized the name!”

“See!” Alana shouts, pointing at me, a smirk on her face. “I’m not the only one who didn’t recognize you.”

“Fuck, sorry man, I can’t believe I didn’t put it together,” Nate says, shaking his head. “You’re a surfer, you’re Australian and your name is Flynn Roberts. What the fuck was I thinking?”

I burst out laughing, not actually giving a shit that none of them recognized me. I kind of like not getting the usual questions I get when someone does recognize me. “It’s cool, after what happened, it’s nice that people don’t remember who I am.

“What happened?” Sage asks, and I see from the corner of my eye Alana glance my way.

“Sage isn’t a surfer,” Nate starts, only for Sage to lean over and slap his arm.

“I am so!” she says, a look of indignation on her face. “You’ve been teaching me, and you said I had natural talent.”

Nate laughs. Leaning over, he wraps his hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. “Sorry, babe,” he murmurs against her mouth. “You’re definitely learning to surf.”

Sage nods once as she pulls back. “Which makes me a surfer,” she says, once again nodding as though to confirm her point.

“Okay, if you say so,” Nate says, clearly teasing her.

She lets out a huff as she turns to me. “Obviously, I’m a beginner so I don’t know much, but can I ask what happened? Why’d you stop surfing?”

I blow out a breath, sitting back in my chair as I glance at Alana. She gives me a sympathetic look, and once again, I can’t help but wish our situation was different. But I need to get over it, need to accept that Alana and I can never be more than friends and even then, we probably need to be careful.

“During a big comp, I got knocked out on a huge wave by my board,” I say, turning back to Sage because I know Alana and probably Nate have heard this story. “I also dislocated my shoulder. Messed me up pretty bad and in the end, I stopped competing. That’s when I started to coach.”

Sage blinks at me before turning to Nate and then Alana and then back to me. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say, waving away her concern, even if it’s nowhere near close to okay, even now. “It was a few years ago now, so?—”

“Don’t you miss it?”

Weirdly enough, that’s a question nobody ever asks me and it’s actually Alana who has asked me now. When I turn to her, she’s watching me, an expression on her face that I can’t read.

“Yeah, sometimes,” I admit, even though the reality is I miss it a hell of a lot. I’d give anything to be able to compete again, to be able to surf in Maui Pipe like she’s going to. I fucking hate standing on the beach watching.

She nods, licking that bottom lip of hers that I can’t stop staring at. “Maybe you should try again,” she says, her words soft. “I think someone once told me that even if you don’t do as well as you hope, it’s not a failure.”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head slightly, even as under the table, my foot moves so it’s resting against hers. “Sounds like good advice,” I reply.

The next morning, I wake early, my alarm loud in the silence of the room. I blindly reach over to slap it off, barely awake on account of spending most of last night lying here thinking about Alana and all the ways I wish things could be different.

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