Page 13 of Ride the Wave

‘I—’

My words disappear as he starts peeling off his wetsuit right there in front of me, revealing his perfectly sculpted torso, the water beads on his skin glistening. I swallow and determine to keep my eyesup, firmly focused on his face, refusing to let them linger on the way his arms are flexing and his abs are tightening as he reaches down to pull the wetsuit off completely. He straightens, standing in front of me in only his blue board shorts.

Fuck me. His shoulders are so muscled and broad.

I want to reach out and dig my fingernails into them.

I won’t, obviously.

‘I… um…’Stop thinking about his shoulders, Iris; focus on the job. ‘I am excited to start work on this feature; of course I waited.’ I clear my throat, ignoring the way the corner of his lips twitch as though he knows why I’m stumbling over my words. ‘Look, if you forgot about our meeting this morning or if you’re a bit nervous, that’s fine. We can take this at a pace that’s comfortable for you. How about we go for a coffee now you’re done surfing?’

He throws his wetsuit in the back of his truck. ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t work for me. I’m busy. I have to go home and take a shower before work.’

He opens the driver’s door and jumps in, slamming it shut behind him. The window is wound down so I make a bid to continue our conversation as he starts the engine.

‘If you’re worried about the feature, that’s normal,’ I assure him quickly. ‘It’s daunting to let someone in, but you can trust me. All I want to do is tell your story.’

He puts on his sunglasses, resting one hand on the wheel. ‘No offence, Iris, but you’re a journalist. I know you.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You don’t want to tell stories; you want to sell copies by whatever means possible.’

‘That’s not—’

‘Plus, I don’t want anyone to tell my story. All I want to do is surf.’ He puts the truck into gear before turning to look at me through the window. ‘And how come you didn’t learn your lesson from last night?’

I frown, confused. ‘What?’

‘Next time, don’t wear heels to the beach.’

With that, he reverses out and drives off up the road, leaving me staring after him.

5

‘Yes, Mr Silva may have been… uh… a little reluctant to come on board with the piece at first,’ admitsStudio’s editorial assistant Samantha over the phone as I tap my nails impatiently on the railing of my balcony.

I close my eyes in despair. ‘How reluctant?’

‘Uh.’ She pauses. ‘I think the general feeling was that he’d rather not do it.’

‘Sam, please can you ask Toni why I am here in Portugal to interview someone whorefuses to be interviewed?’ I ask through gritted teeth.

‘As I said, she’s in a meeting right now,’ Sam insists, although it’s difficult to believe. ‘But she did mention that this issue might crop up and she said to assure you that Mr Silva did eventually agree to the interview at the request of his mother. She said to tell you that he may need a bit of persuading to spend so much time on it. You know, maybe he thought it would only take, like, a day.’

‘He didn’t seem open to giving me a one-sentence quote just now, let alone an interview,let alonea full-blown profile set up,’ I huff, running my fingers through my hair. ‘I’m meant to be shadowing this guy for two weeks!’

‘If it helps,’ Sam says, her voice going higher and squeakier as my exasperation grows, ‘Toni did say that if anyone could get him to open up, it would be you.’

‘Flattery, huh. Nice try, Sam, but that shit won’t work on me.’

‘She really did say that! Promise.’

‘This is a disaster.’

‘But you’ve turned disasters round before, right? Look at Kieran O’Sullivan! He never spoke to the press before you came along.’

I sigh, leaning forward on the balcony and looking out at the water, trying to be calmed by the therapeutic view. I think about the sports feature director job. No wonder Toni implied that if I landed this story, I’d be in the running for that role. I have to get an athlete who hates journalists to trust me, a journalist.

---