Page 9 of Reckless Hearts

“I was hopingI’d see you again,” I reply cheekily, figuring he’d show up here looking for a board. As much as it was just a hook up for me, I had a good time and wouldn’t mind doing it again.

He has this accent where every word rolls off his tongue in a way that makes my panties wet and my thighs clench together. It’s been a while since a guy has made me feel this way, and I’m enjoying it way too much for it to be a one-time thing.

He comes closer to me, my fingers nervously dragging over the slickness of the counter next to me. I need to keep my hands busy or I’m going to reach out to touch him instead.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, beautiful,” he murmurs, and my mouth goes dry, my body instantly responding to his closeness, his words, his smell. “I’m staying in the place right over there.” He indicates to the guest house where Nate used to live before moving into Mitch’s old apartment with Sage.

“Is that so?” I croon back, looking over my shoulder and wondering if we have time for a quickie before The Pipe Dream gets busy.

Twice a week we get a tour bus that comes through our little town from the main part of the island, and it’s scheduled to pull in here in about ten minutes. I can be quick, but I’m not sure I can bethatquick.

My eyes fall to Flynn’s lips, his full and perfect and so damn kissable lips, and again, I find my thighs clenching, remembering all the things that mouth did to me.

I’m caught in a fucking trance with this guy, and I want to drown in him. And it has nothing to do with his ability to surf. The crazy thing is, he looks strangely familiar, but I can’t place it. Or maybe it’s just the tanned skin and the crystal blue eyes, and the way he surfs that reminds me of every guy on the island.

He opens his mouth, his gorgeous, talented mouth, but quickly closes it when we’re interrupted by the sound of someone coming through the back door.

“Alana, it’s going down out there,” Owen calls as he enters the shop. “You been out?” He walks straight to me, completely unaware of the serious sexual tension between Flynn and me. Dropping a kiss on the side of my head like he always does, he says, “The bus just pulled up.”

Snapping me out of my Flynn-induced trance, I quickly reply to Owen. “Yeah, I was out for a bit today, but didn’t really catch anything.”

Flynn winks at me, and I smile like a schoolgirl, giddy and reckless. I definitely did catch something today, just not the waves Owen’s talking about.

“Looks like you’re about to get busy,” Flynn says, and again, my teenage brain immediately wants to reply with wanting to get busy with him, but I hold back.

Quickly, I head back behind the counter, reaching under it for where we keep the business cards, knowing we only hand out this one to special people.

“Here,” I say, handing Flynn the card with Tanner’s name and address on it. “Tell him I sent you, and if that doesn’t work, show him the card.” We don’t give them out often, so Tanner should be more than willing to help Flynn out.

Tanner has always been pretty selective about who he makes boards for, mostly locals and some of the bigger names who have come through here for surf competitions. It’s not that he doesn’t want the money that he brings in from making boards; he’s just selective about it, making Olsen Custom Boards more exclusive and harder to come by. It’s a great marketing technique.

“Here they come,” Owen tells me, smiling. I swear he seems to enjoy all these tourists and their millions of questions. If I didn’t know he was completely hung up on my roommate Sloane, I’d swear he was looking to find a girl he could have a fling with. “And twenty-five days,” he now adds, grinning at me. “You ready? Daisy and Sloane said you’ve been slacking.”

I know he’s trying to motivate me, but nothing is working at this point. It’s been so damn hard since Mitch died, and while I haven’t officially withdrawn, it’s been on my mind. I can’t see myself competing without him as my coach. It feels wrong.

I don’t respond, but judging by the way Flynn is now looking at me, my feelings are written all over my face. I’m usually pretty easygoing, happy and fun, but Mitch’s death has really taken a toll on me.

I plaster on a smile, faking it the best I can until this feeling passes—and it will pass. It always does. But the competition is still looming over my head, reminders of it are now popping up everywhere.

“You okay?” Flynn asks, genuine concern in his voice.

“Yeah, all good,” I lie, my smile widening. “Good luck with that board. Hopefully my name is your in.”

“I’ll report back to you,” he says, hitting me with a hundred-watt smile. He’s fucking perfect.

Perfect in bed.

Perfect to look at.

Perfect in the water.

“Can I get your number?” he now asks, just as the crowds are starting to file in. I hesitate—my life is in fucking shambles right now. I need to get my head on straight, and if I plan to compete, I can’t be bogged down with some guy complaining I’m not spending enough time with him.

But wait a minute, he’s not staying. He’s not even semi-local, not even from the mainland. This should be easy. He leaves, and I go back to my life. He can’t even be here long enough to affect my training. I think all of this as if I’m going to compete.

But being out on the water today, even if I only caught a wave or two before being deliciously interrupted, reminds me of how much I miss it. And more than that, how much Mitch would have hated to see me give up.

Fuck, I’m a mess.

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