Page 33 of Ride the Wave

He’s still confused, but the corners of his lips twitch. ‘Oh. Thanks.’

‘It’s been nice getting a glimpse of your routine,’ I admit, omitting the part about howverynice it was to observe him doing yoga and how disappointed I am that I won’t get to see the show again. I tilt my head at him. ‘You know, if you’d turned up yesterday and mentioned the yoga, and said everything you did just then, I wouldn’t have had to find that out on my own. I did ask what else you’re doing to prepare for the competition other than surfing. Sounds like yoga and the gym are two big components of your process.’

He glances at the floor and then brings his eyes up to meet mine, a knowing smile creeping across his lips. ‘You talked to my dad today.’

‘I did.’

‘He’s the one who got me into yoga.’

‘I know.’

He nods, looking thoughtful. ‘Okay I get what you’re saying. We should talk.’

‘We should. But you said that to me at Marina’s Bar, like you were fully on board, and then stood me up later,’ I remind him, sticking out my chin. ‘So.’

‘So… what?’

‘So, I’m good at my job, Leo,’ I tell him, allowing a touch of exasperation to filter into my tone. ‘If you want me to write things about you that have the potential to impact not only your career in a positive way, but also that of your mother’s and your father’s business, then you need to start showing up.’

He looks down at his trainers guiltily, but I carry on, unaffected by any remorse he’s showing. This isn’t personal; it’s business. And suddenly, it’s as though his reaction gives me full permission to get everything off my chest that I’ve been wanting to say to him. So I continue brazenly, letting it all out without much thought.

I think the yoga has relaxed all of my body, including my tongue.

‘I’ve already said to you that this feature is going to be written. Right now, you’re not coming across as the kind of man people tell me you are – but that’s not my problem, it’s yours. I write the truth of what I get to see. If you want to keep brushing me off as this tabloid journo here to ruin your life, then that’s up to you. Mess me around, be the arrogant, selfish arsehole the press painted you as a lifetime ago. But you have the choice to just beyou. I’ve said how I want this to play. I’ve made my intentions clear. Now, it’s on you.’

Whoa.

My rant has surprised even me. In my defence, all of that was true. Normally, I wouldn’t tell a star athlete that he was coming across as an arrogant, selfish arsehole, but I get the feeling that Leo Silva needs to be spoken to plainly. All cards on the table, no one trying to bullshit anyone else. I think he may appreciate that.

I hope so, anyway.

‘Okay,’ he says finally.

‘Okay what?’

‘Okay, let’s talk,’ he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Are you free now?’

‘I… yeah. I am.’ I put a hand on my hip. ‘Where shall we go?’

With a hint of a smile, he gestures for me to follow him. ‘I know a place.’

10

The beach.Of coursethat’s where he, a pro surfer, wants to chat.

Jesus, he could have been a bit more original.

But if this is where he wants to talk, then I guess this is where we’ll talk. He’s already pointed out that sitting on the sand with no one around has the distinct advantage of privacy compared to a bar or restaurant. I mean, so does his flat or my flat, and neither of those require getting sand all over my leggings, but I’m not going to kick up a fuss now. Not when he’s finally ready to be interviewed.

‘At least you’re wearing shoes that are more practical for the sand today,’ he notes.

‘I don’t choose shoes for their practicality,’ I grumble, kicking sand off the toe of my trainer.

‘Funny enough, London, I’ve noticed that.’

‘Are you really going to keep calling me that?’

He chuckles to himself in response and I roll my eyes.

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