Page 22 of Britta & the Beach Boy
Or,possibly, concerned that I’m stalking him.
“No worries. I’ve got a million of them. You can keep that one.”
“Well, thank you… Liam.” I take a step back to put an appropriate amount of non-stalkerish space between us and step on bare toes.
I jump and glance over my shoulder to see another surfer. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says in an accent close to Dex’s, but slightly different. Definitely Australian, but maybe from a different part of the country.
“My fault. Sorry.” I back up away from him and Dex until I hit something that digs into the space between my shoulder blades. I turn to see what it is, but somehow knock loose a surfboard from the open-frame storage thing I’ve backed into.
The board slips out of its spot, diving for the ground. I grab for it, but it slides out of my fingers and falls to the wood flooring with a hard smack.
I raise my eyes to meet a look of horror in Dex’s. “Oops,” I mumble. “Sorry.”
The other surfer looks even more horrified than Dex, which tells me exactly how big my oops is.
Big.
But Dex recovers quickly and turns to the other surfer. “I’ll take care of it, mate. I’ll get the shaper to check it.”
With one irritated glance at me, the other guy grabs a duffle bag and walks out.
“Is a shaper bad? Did I break it? Was it that guy’s board?” I resist the urge to help Dex set the board upright. Clearly, I’m not to be trusted around surfboards.
“Nah. Shapers sand down the boards… shape ‘em into what the surfer wants. Jack and I use the same guy. If there’re any nicks, he’ll sand them out. No worries. Everything will be fine.” Dex gently puts the board back into place. “These boards are used to getting knocked about more than you just did. Jack’s just cranky because he was on track to beat me before that shark showed up.”
I nod and let out my breath. “So, the shark did you a favor?”
Dex lets out a laugh that already is becoming familiar to me. It’s a low, gruff sound that comes from the back of his throat but loses steam before it makes any actual noise. Like he wants to keep what he’s laughing at between the two of us.
“I’ll give that one a thank you if I see him again. Because of him, I get a chance to do better than I did this morning. Jack, though, had a great start that might not count anymore. Judges are still deciding.” He faces me with a smile, like everything is fine. “But I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing.”
“Me too. I’m bummed I won’t get to watch you.”
He gives me a playful look. “Sure. You’re just trying to make me feel better because I don’t have an actual job.”
“I’m serious.” I’ve teased him a lot about surfing, but that’s because I didn’t understand it.
So, I take a breath and come clean. “I watched a lot of videos yesterday of you surfing and they’re…” I don’t think there’s a word big enough to describe it, but I land on “incredible. You’ve spent your whole life learning to do what you do, haven’t you? I’m sorry I put it down.” I put my hands up to stop his pleased grin. “Don’t let that go to your head.”
I gather my thoughts, then go on, even though I suspect his grin will only grow bigger. But something’s shifted in my thinking about Dex. We’re not as different as I thought.
“This isn’t a perfect comparison, but the look on your face when you ride a wave reminds me how I felt when I played ice hockey.” I don’t talk about playing hockey very often. It’s a dream that didn’t materialize, and it’s painful to rehash. But it’s also why I understand Dex.
Except the question on his face makes it clear he doesn’t understand where I’m going, so I scramble to explain.
“The two things I did growing up were dance classes and hockey. Hockey I’ve just always loved. Dance I did because that’s what was available for girls, and I figured out pretty quick that the coordination it took translated to the ice.”
Another surfer comes into the locker room, and Dex guides me outside—away from the surfboards—where we have a little more privacy.
“So, you’re saying you love hockey the way I love surfing? I didn’t know that about you.” He’s pleased with that bit of information, but I shake my head.
“There’s more to it than that. Paradise didn’t have a girls’ team, but I loved playing. And I was good enough that sometimes I’d play with my brothers and their teams.” I swallow back years of disappointment in order to get to the hard part. “I’m not trying to brag, but I had more than one coach say Icould play college-level if I had more time on the ice. I don’t know… maybe now that there are women’s pro teams, I could have even made it to the big leagues.”
“I’m really sorry, Britta.” Dex’s apology is sincere, even though he’s not the one to blame.
I shrug, because there’s nothing to be done now. “The point is, in those videos, it’s obvious how much you love not just surfing, but competing. That resonates with me. The work and sacrifice you’ve put in to get where you are…it’s impressive, that’s all.”
“Thanks.” Dex smiles in his self-deprecating way, brushing off the compliment. “Usually only other surfers understand the passion. I never thought a hockey player would get it.”
