Page 7 of Britta & the Beach Boy
To be honest, I was more interested in flirting with Dex than actually watching him surf. I’m not really therah-rah-sit-on-the-beach-and-cheer-for-a-guykind of girl. Plus, hockey is my sport, not surfing. Not much surfing in Idaho, unless wakeboarding counts.
But Archie not wanting me at the competition, has me curious. Is it a private VIP event that will be hard to get me into? Maybe Dex really does make money surfing, and it’s not just a hobby. Maybe I’ve just been invited to an event that only Hollywood stars who care about surfing can get into. Like…Keanu Reeves—I think he was in a surfing movie back in the day. He’s old, but still hot.
I let my eyes roll over Dex. “I think I’d enjoy watching you at work. Seems only fair after you spent so much time heckling me about my coffee.”
Dex’s whole face cracks into a wide grin, but at a look from Archie, he smooths it away. “Get Stella and come with us to the beach today. That’d be less trouble than going to the competition, and you’ll be more entertained watching me surf for fun. We can hang out.” Dex says casually, but there’s a dare in the way he traces his tongue along his bottom lip. Like he’s throwing me a crumb to see if I’ll go for the whole sandwich.
I do love a good sandwich.
“Watching you surf for fun sounds a little like you watching me make instant coffee at home.” I match Dex’s casual tone, but the return of his grin sets off a chain reaction that starts with blips inmy pulse and ends with a tingle skipping along each vertebra of my spine. “I think I’d rather watch you at your competition.”
Dex meets my gaze. “It’s a fair drive to the competition. All the way in San Clemente, and it starts early. The traffic and parking will be chock-a-block and it’s a ridiculous hike to the beach.”
If he’s trying to talk me out of going, his rich, coffee-brown eyes aren’t doing him any favors by inviting me in for a sip.
“I’m on vacation.” I shrug. “I’ve got all the time in the world. I want to see as much of LA as possible, including San Clemente.”
Archie laughs, and Dex’s smile grows. “San Clemente is halfway to San Diego, in Orange County. Hours away, but not that different from South Bay. All multi-million-dollar beach shacks and girls in bikinis.” His gaze drifts all the way to my toes and back. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in…”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for Dex to finish his sentence.
“…The audience.” He pulls in his lips, and I narrow my eyes, sure that’s not what he was going to say.
“Sounds lovely.” I sip my coffee, keeping my gaze on Dex. “What day and time?”
Archie crosses his arms like he’s Dex’s bodyguard. “You’ll be a distraction.”
“A distraction from what?” I look around like the answer might appear. “Hanging out at the beach, catching a few waves?”
Dex steps in front of Archie, who is visibly annoyed now. “Waiting period starts tomorrow. We’re headed down later this arvo, so we’re ready when the wave is.”
I blink. “Sooo, you’ll surf tomorrow?”
Archie’s shoulders sag, and Dex laughs. “If the wave is good. But the swell reports say it’ll likely be another day or two. Maybe even a week. The event is set for any day between September tenth and eighteenth.”
“You just wait around to surf? There’s no schedule?” Which, I guess, tracks for a surf competition if every stereotype of surfersbeing flakey and laid back is true. But I keep that opinion to myself.
Dex runs his tongue over the grin playing at his bottom lip, firing up memories of him kissing me in my shop that day. Man, that had been a nice kiss.
“The only place to schedule good waves is Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch,” Dex says. “Mother Nature doesn’t care about surfers or a schedule, so we have to wait on her. First thing surfers learn is to let go of any ideas about humans having control over anything.”
I shift my gaze to Archie, who lifts a shoulder. “You want to go; you wait for the wave, same as the rest of us.”
I think I understand the waiting thing, but now I’m caught on this surf ranch thing. I suspect it’s some kind of Australian humor. “So, someone has a ranch, like, in the ocean? Where the waves are always good?”
Archie rubs his brow. “Not that kind of ranch.”
At the same time, Dex says. “You’ve never heard of Kelly Slater?”
I shake my head, forcing myself to keep my gaze on his eyes—not his lips—but those are equally distracting.
Archie and Dex look at each other, then back to me, both their faces indignant. Archie is the first to speak. “He’s literally the best surfer who’s ever lived. He’s in his fifties, still competing and stillwinning.”
They stare at me as if I should be impressed, and I look back and forth between them, wondering why.
“And that’s unusual?” I ask.
An awkward silence follows, so I lean against the sofa behind me and sip my coffee. It’s lukewarm and not good, but I need to do something. Judging by their disappointed looks and sagging shoulders, I’ve offended them. The least I can do is pretend to enjoy my watered-down coffee.
