Page 113 of Tides That Bind

“Alright. Paddle.”

It still surprises me how immensely my arms ache from wading through the water, battling the tide over and over. I realize this is why Riley—who survives off high-fructose corn syrup—has deceptively strong arms despite their leanness.

I imagine he could hold me like I’m the most delicate thing in the world in one breath, and keep me pinned against the wall in the other with very little effort.

I fantasize about both.

When we approach a larger wave, I stop paddling to grip the edges of the board as we go over it. The movement makes my ass slide down his stomach.

“You’re really gonna get it.”

I half shrug. “Take it up with the ocean. It’s not my fault.”

What is my fault is the way I shimmy a little further down so the right part of me connects with the right part of him. So I deserve the playful slap to the outside of my thigh.

“You’re all bark,” I tease. “But no bite.”

It’s at this point Riley draws a yelp from me when he does bite—right into small amount of exposed skin of my neck. But he’s quick to soothe the spot with a kiss.

“Focus,” he tells me.

Defeated, I follow his lead.

“Now. Turn, turn,” Riley says quickly as I see a wave approaching in the distance. Even though we haven’t pulled this off, we need to make sure we’re far enough out thatjust in caseI have the chance to flip backward from Riley’s shoulders into the water, I don’t break my neck.

“Paddle.”

I do. As fast as I can, but its Riley who really gives us speed.

“Up first,” he commands.

I know my flexibility that gives me an advantage here, because Riley doesn’t leave me a lot of room to work with, but I manage to crawl out from beneath him and stand. The feeling alone is a high, but when the board teeters as Riley gets on his feet behind me, I know we have to aim for something higher.

His right hand comes to my waist as we use our lefts to hold balance.

“Ready?”

“Ready or not.”

It’s a whisper, but Riley must hear it. Because his other hand comes down to grab my waist. My instinct is to grip the board tightly with my toes, but there isn’t any time for that. Because for the first time in a month, Riley lifts me up and sits me on his shoulders.

His voice is painted with the same disbelief that I feel when he yells, “Hands, hands!”

I know there isn’t time to waste. Every second counts, because if we’re going to do this, we have to do it now.

I squeeze Riley’s hands. We both know the ocean waits for no one.

“Come on,” Riley commands.

From up here I don’t have to admit to Riley that I squeeze my eyes shut when I pull my legs up to stand, using his arms for support.

And when I open them, I’m watching the longboard break through the water from above.

“Riley!” I exclaim when a seagull wizzes past me. “Riley, I think I’m flying.”

The sound that Riley lets out of his chest is a mix of disbelief and sheer joy rolled into one.

“Yeah. You are.” He squeezes my ankles. “But you’ve gotta get down now.”

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