Page 51 of Britta & the Beach Boy
We slow to a stop again and turn toward each other. His eyes drop to my lips and my heart picks up speed. Even though we’ve kissed before, this moment feels different. With those other kisses, there were people around. We were the center of attention. Lightning flashed between us, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
But right now there’s only us. A few people pass by, but they either don’t recognize Dex or they don’t care, which allows an intimacy Dex and I haven’t had before. A slow, pulsing energy flows between us, drawing us closer together with a force neither of us can resist. Maybe we don’t want to. Or maybe it’s stronger than either of us. Whichever reason doesn’t matter, because we’re pressed too close together to care.
Dex leans in, and I rise to the balls of my feet, eyes closing in anticipation of tasting his salt-stained lips again.
Instead, I’m met with the shrill sound of a bike bell and someone crying, “On your left!”
With impressive reflexes, Dex grabs me by the waist and pulls me out of the way of the beach cruiser speeding towards us.
“Idiot,” he mutters, then moves his hands to my hips and looks down at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I nod, breathless in a way that has nothing to do with nearly being run over. My chest rises and falls before either of us says anything.
“This is the place.” Dex points behind me to a packed restaurant with outdoor seating lit with strings of big-bulbed lights. People laugh over the sounds of clinking glasses and a mixture of languages I don’t recognize.
And while I’d rather be standing on the beach kissing Dex than eating raw fish, I let him lead me around the tables, through the back door to the host station at the front of the restaurant. People sit shoulder to shoulder on leather sofas in the small lobby and more line up out the door.
“Looks pretty busy,” I say to Dex, maybe a little hopeful I won’t have to try sushi tonight.
“No worries,” he says with the confidence of a man who knows he’s getting a plate full of octopus and eel, and whatever else sushi is made from.
The man at the station has his back to us and a stack of menus tucked under his arm. He turns to lead a group of people to a table and breaks into a wide smile as soon as he sees Dex.
“Dex! We’ve been waiting for you to come celebrate! What took so long?” He points to two empty seats at an otherwise full counter. “We thought when Archie called, he’d be with you, not a beautiful woman.”
He gives me a slight bow, and I smile.
“Got tired of looking at his ugly mug. Thanks, Kenzo.” Dex leads me to the counter where, as soon as the chef patting rice and fish together sees him, he lets out a loud yelp.
“World Surf Champion!” he cheers in a thick Japanese accent, and everyone at the counter—maybe in the whole restaurant—follows the chef’s lead and lifts their glasses.
Dex’s mouth pulls into a shy smile and, even in the dim light, I can see pink the color of the sunset rising in his cheeks. The chef hands him a small glass of something clear and Dex lifts it to the crowd. I expect him to down the whole thing in one swallow, but he only takes a sip, then sets it down.
“So, I guess they know you here?” I say as he pulls out the chair for me.
“Yeah, but if Kanoa Igarashi were here, these seats would be his.”
“Who’s that?”
“Another surfer. He’s Japanese but grew up around here. Won silver for Japan at the Tokyo Olympics.” Dex takes the seat beside me and opens his menu.
“Have you surfed against him?”
Dex nods.
“Did you win?”
He faces me with a smile. “Sometimes. But let’s talk about you. What made you decide to stay longer?” He takes the menu I’m about to open from me. “You talk, I’ll order. Chef always makes me something special.”
“How will I know what fish I’m eating?” I reluctantly let go of my menu.
“You won’t. That’s the point. Then you’re not afraid to try it because you’re not picturing what it looks like alive.” He lays the menu out of my reach, then waves the chef over. “Give us my usual and whatever you think we’ll like tonight. Britta’s never tried sushi.”
The chef gives a small smile and a bow, then pulls fish off the ice in the glass case in front of us. He skins and cuts it with a quick efficiency I can’t take my eyes off.
“You haven’t answered my question. Why’d you decide to stay?” Dex leans close, his chin in his hand, and suddenly, I’m less interested in how my dinner is being made.
That doesn’t mean I tell Dex that he was one reason I stayed. He’s surprisingly humble about being the world champion surfer, but I get the sense if he knew I’d stayed to spend time with him, it would go straight to his head. So, I tell him about volunteering atAnnie’s,then without having planned to, I tell him all the problems withBritta’sand my realization—thanks to Stella—that my being there won’t solve the issues.
