Page 5 of Try Me

Some days were hard.

These parties were the hardest. Everyone was drunk or well on their way to getting there. It made it easier for Declan to play his role as playboy partier. The others were too drunk to notice he was faking, and the three olives helped fool them that his drink contained more than fizzy water. Declan was careful to always keep a glass in his hand for reasons that had nothing to do with thirst. If he had a drink in his hand, everyone assumed he was as drunk as they were.

“Do you want to dance?” Claudia asked.

Declan looked down at her blankly, and she mimed the activity in case he hadn’t heard her over the loud music. She was kind of cute, and for a moment, Declan felt something. Then, like a wave fading out with the tide, it was gone. He shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

Claudia’s eyebrows knit together. “You’re no fun at all, are you?”

“Nope,” Declan admitted, scanning the club for a glimpse of McKenna. His agent was prowling around here somewhere. He knew this because Claudia hadn’t stopped him from going to the bar. She wasn’t his babysitter tonight, which meant McKenna was planning on playing the part himself.

Declan needed a place to disappear to before McKenna saw him. He’d done his duty for now with Claudia. Getting his picture snapped with her would suffice until the end of the night when he had to make sure there were pictures of them leaving together. In the meantime, he needed a private corner to hide. Even at the busiest, most crowded parties there was always a place to hide.

He noticed a glass door that led out to a patio. Bingo.

“I need some air,” he said, already heading in the direction of the back patio.

Claudia caught the sleeve of his jacket. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

“Find someone who wants to dance?”

Claudia’s jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly. “Good thing I’m being paid,” she said.

Declan’s eyes flew to Claudia’s, and his lips thinned. “Keep your voice down,” he warned, risking a glance around them to make sure no one was listening. “You’re getting as much publicity out of this gig as I am. Shut your mouth, flaunt your talents” — he gestured at her body — “and find someone who wants to dance with you, because it’s not me.”

He turned away before Claudia could comment and strode for the patio. To Declan’s annoyance, every few steps someone stopped him. The sponsors wanted a word about his next commercial. The surfers wanted to slap his back as they plotted where to stab him. Their dates wanted to catch his eye and smile. Women dressed in skimpy outfits carrying trays of free Kinsling Vodka and cigarettes blocked his path. Declan ignored the temptation they offered, fighting his way to the patio door.

As the door closed behind him, muffling the sounds of the party, his hand went automatically to his tie. Wrenching it loose, he sucked in a breath of fresh air. The patio wasn’t deserted, but it was quieter than inside the club, and dark. He could let the mask slip for a moment and no one would see.

Declan made his way over to the far end of the patio that bordered on the beach front and looked out over the sparkling sand. Yesterday morning, he’d won the biggest contest of his life on that beach. Those waves had crowned him US champion. Two and a half years after getting his pro card, Declan was at the pinnacle of his career. He’d won World Championship last season, and yesterday he’d won the US Open Championship.

Declan leaned his elbows against the iron fence that encased the patio and sighed deeply. Rattling the ice in his cup, he took an unsatisfactory pull of the water.

Even though his career was everything he’d ever desired, and he had a bounty of beautiful women at his disposal, Declan couldn’t have been more miserable.

Winning the biggest surf contest in the continental US had been the best moment of his life, but there had been no joy in the victory.

His family wasn’t there.

Keoni and Eddie weren’t there.

A sneer settled on Declan’s fine features at the thought. If Eddie and Keoni had been there, Declan would have never won. Out of the three of them, Declan was the least deserving of the title. Keoni had more talent than all the contestants combined. He was the one who should have signed with McKenna. But Keoni didn’t have the right look. He wasn’t American enough to win hearts on the mainland. Keoni’s skin was too dark, his stare was too intense, and his Hawaiian Pidgin accent made him too hard to understand.

US Open Championship of Surfing hadn’t really been a contest without Keoni Makai, so Declan didn’t really deserve the title.

“Bishop!” A deep voice boomed across the patio.

Declan froze at the sound of McKenna’s voice. His first instinct was to hide, but there was nowhere to go. Taking a deep breath in preparation, Declan turned to face his agent. After two years with McKenna, Declan could predict the lecture coming almost word for word. Without having to be asked, he handed his drink to McKenna.

“It’s water,” he said. “Try it.”

McKenna glared down at Declan from his superior height. Never breaking eye contact, he raised the glass and sipped. He smacked his lips in disgust. “Fucking olives,” he said, thrusting the glass back at Declan. “You need to get your ass back inside. This night is about you.”

Declan rolled his eyes, grateful for the cover of darkness so that McKenna couldn’t see.

“Your date is dancing with Bobby Carter, for Christ’s sake.”

Good for Bobby. Declan actually liked Bobby, who’d placed fifth in the contest yesterday. Bobby Carter was a Californian who’d switched to surfing after playing football for University of Hawaii. Technically, Bobby was a Hawaiian surfer, but he was even more haole than Declan. Occasionally he and Bobby talked about Pipeline, Waimea Bay and other surf spots from Hawaii. But never Sunset. Out of respect for Eddie, they never talked about Sunset.

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