Page 44 of Britta & the Beach Boy
Smog hangs over the city, trapped by the unseasonably hot day, and the setting sun creates a gloomy haze. Exhaust pours from the cars around us, making the atmosphere moremiserable. I’ve been so stoked since the Finals—even going into them—that I had to come down sometime. Thinking about my Olympic dreams being just out of reach and about Britta leaving soon brings my euphoria to a screeching halt.
I’ve reached the goal I’ve been chasing since going pro. I’m in an exclusive club of thirty-one men, if you count the winners of competitions held by predecessors to the World Surf League. Now I want entry into a more exclusive club. I want to be an Olympian.
I can’t let a bunch of paperwork get in the way of my dream, but the marriage idea is straight-up crazy. The last thing I need is a wife. I’m gone for months at a time. What woman wants to follow her husband around the world to sit around waiting for him to surf? Sometimes in remote, bug-infested camps without Wi-Fi or even hot water.
Britta and I have a connection. There’s no denying that. I felt it the first time I saw her. I think she’s felt it too. That or she’s expert at faking it in her kisses.
But it would take more than attraction to be married to someone like me. Even if it was a fake marriage.
Which, again, is straight up insane.
I turn down the stereo and mumble, “Sorry, Arch. Lots of head rubbish going on right now, but it will all get sorted. One day at a time, right?”
Then Archie and I find something else to talk about besides the Olympics. There’s not another Championship Tour event until January when the first one will be at Pipeline on the North Shore. I’ll spend the next four months training for that wave, mentally and physically. Between surfing and promotional things for Rip Tide and other companies, Archie and I have plenty to plan for.
Our fifteen-minute drive takes half an hour, but that’s LA. It’s dusk when we pull into our apartment complex. Archie parks,and I gather my bag and my trophy. Our arms are full as we lug our stuff to the walkway leading to our unit.
Ahead of me, Archie says, “Lights are on at Georgia’s.”
I crane my neck around my trophy to follow the direction of his finger. Sure enough, the lights are on, and a shadow figure crosses in front of the window. I wonder if it’s Britta. I also wonder about Archie’s sudden interest in electricity and who’s using it.
“Cracker observation, mate.”
Archie smirks over his shoulder. “Just pointing it out in case you want to drop by and say hello.”
“Maybe propose?”
Archie lifts his shoulders. “If it comes up.” Then he slows to fall in step with me. “Joking aside, we’ll figure out a way to get you to the Olympics.”
His confidence gives my own a jolt. If Archie says he’ll figure out how to get me to my next goal, he’ll do it. “You work on the legal stuff. I’ll work on staying in top form.”
“Right. Olympics, here we come.”
I smile, then allow myself one last glance at Britta’s apartment.
Chapter seventeen
Britta
I’m kicking back on the couch watching90 Day Fiancéwith Stella while thinking about Annie’s offer to sell me her coffee shop. I’ve given myself a million reasons I’d never be able to do it, but I can’t shake the feeling of excitement at the idea of owning a coffee shop on the outskirts of LA, a couple blocks from the Pacific Ocean.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it from the pocket of Dex’s Rip Tide hoodie that I forgot to give back to him and have made daily use of since “forgetting.”
“It’s Zach.” I swing my feet off the ottoman and stand. “Pause it until I get back, please.”
Stella’s shoulders fold in disappointment. “Hurry! I need to know if Rob cheated on Sophie.”
“No oneneedsto know that.” I step over Stella’s legs, which she doesn’t move from the ottoman, before taking the call.
“Hey, Zach!” I walk into the kitchen and sit on a barstool while Stella flips impatiently through the TV channels.
“Hey, Sis. How’s it going?” My brother’s cheerful voice is more muted than usual.
“All good.” We make small talk for a few minutes—it’s cooling down in Paradise; people had on puffy jackets here today, even though it was sixty degrees most of the day—while I wait for him to tell me why he’s called.
“Listen, I’ve got some news I wanted to share with you first,” he says finally. “The city contacted me about buying the landBritta’sis on. Since it’s right next to the new community center, they’ve decided it would be a good idea to own it so they can add on to the center in the next few years.”
“Sooo, what would happen toBritta’s?” I have an idea, but I’m not sure how to feel yet, other than stunned.
