Page 8 of Reckless Hearts

Alana reverses out of the parking spot, the windows open and her hair blowing in the breeze. At first, I think she isn’t going to answer me, even though it wasn’t really a question I asked, more of a statement. But just as she pulls onto the main road, she gives me another quick look, before murmuring. “Very.”

It doesn’t take us long to get back to the beach, Alana pulling onto the side of the road, the engine still running and telling me she isn’t going to be joining me back on the waves. I only got to surf once before our incredibly hot hook up, and I’m already itching to get back out there.

“You, uh, you wanna join me?” I ask, jerking a thumb at the ocean. “Catch some more waves?”

She smiles, shaking her head. “Can’t, sorry. Got some things to do this afternoon.”

“Sure, no problem,” I say, pushing away my disappointment. “So, I guess…I don’t know, I’ll see you around?” I ask, again wondering if I should just ask her for her number.

“Yeah, I guess you will,” she says, head tipped to the side as she studies me.

I let out a laugh, shaking my head at how weird this all is. “Okay, well, thanks for a great morning,” I tell her, opening the car door.

She laughs, pushing her hair back as she says, “No, thank you. You were right about the ridiculously good part.”

With a grin, I can’t resist leaning over and planting a hard kiss on her mouth. “Told you,” I whisper against her lips before I get out of the car.

I grab my board from the roof and then stand by the side of the road, watching, waiting for her to drive off. Just as she starts to inch forward, she stops, leaning over to the open passenger window. “Flynn?”

“Yeah?” I ask, a grin on my face as I crouch down to meet her gaze.

She tips her head in the direction of the surf shop across the road, the place where I’m staying for the next couple of weeks. “If you’re after a custom Olsen, you should try The Pipe Dream.”

My grin widens as I give her a quick salute with two fingers. “Will do.”

Alana gives me one last smile before she drives off, leaving me standing by the side of the road, wondering if I’m ever going to see her again.

I spend a couple of hours surfing, loving the way the ocean feels against my skin, the thrill of catching a wave never getting old.Despite everything that’s happened, I still really fucking love to surf. Surfing has never been the issue; it’s competing that fucks with me.

By the time I head back to my accommodation, the surf shop has closed. There are no hours of operation on the front door, and I make a mental note to go in there first thing tomorrow morning, see if I can’t get myself a custom board.

Then I head back to my cottage, showering before falling into bed, my night filled with a restless sleep that’s part jet lag and part dreams of Alana and all the things we did together.

The next morning, I wake late, the sun streaming through the open blinds that I must have forgotten to close last night. My stomach rumbles and I roll out of bed and head into the kitchen, grateful for the welcome package Nate mentioned.

Opening the fridge, I grab a bottle of guava juice, drinking it straight from the bottle as I stand at the open fridge. When I’m done, I spy a basket of fruit on the kitchen bench and I grab an apple before pulling on a T-shirt and some board shorts and heading over to the shop.

I walk around to the front, smiling when I see the lights are on and the shop is open. Pushing open the door, I hear the bell above it ring.

“Be with you in a sec,” comes a female voice from somewhere in the shop.

I don’t answer, instead taking my time as I look around. I barely noticed it when I checked in yesterday.

I smile, recognizing some of the drawings from my cottage. Only now, they are emblazoned on T-shirts and hats. In the corner of the shop, near the counter, I see a rack of Olsen boards,a sign above them that says “Olsen Custom Boards”. There’s another sign too, one that indicates they aren’t for sale, and again, I wonder what the hell I have to do to get my hands on one. As I run my eyes over them, they’re all custom designs and are also covered in Nate’s drawings.

Fuck, this guy is the artist for Olsen?

This means he did Alana’s board too.

Which means maybe he knows her.

My heart pounds in my chest as I take in the designs, my fingers itching to pick them up.

“Okay, sorry about that. What can I do for you?”

I turn at the voice, a grin curling my lips at the woman who now stands in front of me. She’s wearing a tank top that also bears the name of the shop.

“Alana, hey,” I say, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “Fancy running into you again.”

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