Page 29 of Britta & the Beach Boy
After a second’s hesitation, I dump the clothes into his arms. I put in a half-hearted effort to rifle through a stack of colorful T-shirts folded on a table.
“To be honest, I haven’t shopped for clothes in a long time. Unless going to the same website once or twice a year to orderthe exact style of jeans and shirts I always wear, but in different colors, counts as shopping.”
Dex shakes his head. “I reckon it doesn’t.”
I laugh, then add a shirt I might actually like to the stack in his arms. “Mom and I used to take shopping trips to Salt Lake City when we had the chance. I enjoyed shopping back then.”
“Let’s make it fun now. How about a little competition? You’ve got fifteen minutes to grow your pile higher than Stella’s. The only rule is, you have to at least like what you pick.” His eyes dance with a challenge I can’t say no to.
So, I load Dex up with more clothes until Emily has to bring us a giant bag for them or he’s going to tip over. I genuinely like what I pick, but I stop short when Dex points out the most gorgeous, long, flowy dress I’ve ever seen.
“That would be gorg on you,” he says.
I think he might be right. Its straps criss-cross in the back and it’s my favorite shade of bright green. I rub the silky fabric between my fingertips, which is even softer than I’d imagined. But then I see the price tag.
“It’s way too expensive, and I’ll never wear it,” I tell him, but, ignoring me, he rearranges the clothes in his arms. Before I can stop him, he grabs the dress and shoves it into the bag. I reach inside the bag, but he clamps it close to his side, forcing me to pull my hand from between his rock-solid arm and side without the dress.
“Liam.” I use my sternest voice. “You’ll just end up bringing it back. I’ve, literally, got nowhere to wear it.”
“Reckon you’ll have to find somewhere to wear it then, because it’s perfect for you.” He raises his eyebrows just enough to convey he’s ready and willing to go to battle over this.
“Fine.” Then I realize exactly what event it will be perfect for. “I’ll wear it when I take you to dinner to celebrate you being the World Champion of Surfing.”
Archie comes up behind Dex as I emphasize the last words so they ring through the giant room like I’ve announced them over a microphone.
Archie breaks into a reluctant grin and follows my words with a rousing cry of “Liam Dexter!” And then Stella, who never misses any kind of celebration, big or small, breaks into a cheer of her own.
And underneath all the cheering, I swear I hear Dex mutter, “I’ll win just to see you in that dress.”
Chapter eleven
Dex
The Rip Tide house is in San Clemente, near Lower Trestles, and right on the sand. It’s not as big as the mansion Archie grew up in, but it’s still a mansion. Stella and Britta both gasp when we walk in. From the street, it doesn’t look big, but once inside, the whole place opens up with a view of the ocean that stretches north to Dana Point.
We eat in for dinner, watching the sunset from the back deck. Britta and Stella live next to a giant, cobalt blue lake surrounded by mountains which provides an impressive setting for sunsets that took my breath away when I was in Paradise.
Britta seems to have a similar experience as we watch the sky go through an entire spectrum of oranges, reds, and pinks. Herface glows in the fading light, and I hope she’s experiencing the same contentment I did in Paradise, watching the sun go down.
I get the sense life’s knocked Britta down harder than she lets on. I know the feeling. It’s no different from being held under water by a wave, running out of air, fighting to resurface. But the beauty of a sunset can make you forget all of that, even if it’s only for twenty minutes. And I’m keen for Britta to leave her troubles behind.
I go to bed satisfied that she enjoyed herself today and felt some peace—even if it’s short-lived. But I hope it will be something that stays with her. That hope lulls me to sleep and I rest better than I can ever remember the night before a competition.
The next morning, I insist Britta and Stella ride down to the beach with us. Archie doesn’t love it, but we have VIP parking, and I don’t want them parking a mile away again. Surfing and beer go hand in hand, and the fans will have eskies full of grog. I don’t want any drunks hassling the girls—women.
“Once we’re down there, you’ve got to give Dex space. He needs to focus,” Archie lectures them as we climb into the sprinter.
“Yes, sir,” Britta says, and I pull in a smile when she salutes.
She’s wearing shorts I picked out for her that show off her very long legs, but also the Rip Tide jumper I loaned her. And while I stay focused—taking the front seat today instead of the one next to her—I am picturing her in that green dress.
I’m keen to see her in it.
That’s as far as I’ll let my mind wander away from the wave. I’ve got to surf both fearless and smart.
Before we park, I turn to Britta and Stella in the backseat. “Once we’re parked, I’ve got a routine to stick to, so Archie will help you get settled. When I stop talking, it’s not meant to be rude. It’s what I do to get focused and then stay focused.”
Archie gives me an approving nod, and once we park, true to my word, I pop on my headphones and turn on the music that helps me tune out everything but the wave and how I’m going to surf it. I don’t see where the girls and Archie go, but he’ll take care of them while I head to the locker room. I barely acknowledge the other surfers. The smallest of nods is all we offer each other.
