Spring Tide (27 page)

After I put on the blue bikini and cutoffs that he’d actually folded and put at the foot of the bed, he combed my hair and pulled it back while I brushed my teeth.

He looked over my shoulder at the sea glass.

“It’s right where you like it, baby.” I spit in the sink.

“I do like. You wear it every day?”

“I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me.”

We left for `Ehukai Beach. Upon arriving, it was easy to understand why the break was referred to as Pipeline; the waves drove hard, curling into tubes of deliverance. I imagined the agonizing death I would suffer by even touching the water’s edge, shuddered, and then looked around.

I was truly in the land of surfer. I knew because it was stupid early and the thin stretch of beach was packed with people staking a claim on their spot for the day, cars parked up and down the road for miles.

“You surf?” a guy to my right asked, his brown eyes canvassing my rear.

“Nothin’ like this. I’m here ’cause I just can’t get enough.” I winked at the adorable stranger.

“Cool. Do you?”

I shook my head up and down and then left and right.

“My name’s Ky. That’s K-Y.” He smiled big.

“Dude …” I was nearly speechless. “You can’t be introducing yourself like that.”

Jericho elbowed me. “Smooth.”

“Oh he’s greasin’ me, all right.” I glanced at Ky. He was still smiling.

Jericho picked up his board and started toward aqueous hell.

I considered the proper term for sending him off—
enjoy
or
break a leg
or
don’t drown as you get severely cut up on the reef
but decided to keep it simple. “Love you, baby.”

He turned back to me. “You’re about to love me more.”

Once past the breakers he waited, then paddled into the takeoff zone and disappeared inside a wave. Suddenly he came shooting out of the tube. Reversing his direction, he cut back, turned again, and in a breath was in the air spinning with the board. Weaving the face he did several more tricks and rode the wave to its end. His performance was a combination of beauty, grace, and power, surreal in the light of the rising sun. It was probably my own exhilaration, but in those few moments, I would have sworn our connection was sending me the euphoria he felt from doing what he loved.

After the session ended he went to do his thing.

I immediately pulled out my phone. Sarah didn’t pick up.

I mercilessly hit redial until I heard a high-pitched whinny on the other end and what might’ve been the sound of curls being slammed onto a pillow. “Sarah, get pretty and get over here stat … Shut up and listen, you’re gonna be catastrophically blown away by all the hard bodies on this beach: Americans, Hawaiians, Australians, South Americans, some European guys, most with bodies to die for and flirty little accents.” I heard a noise of approval on the other end so I gave her directions and asked her to bring a few things.

Twenty minutes later, she shoved two hotel memo pads and two pens against my chest. She looked around the beach, a swear of gratitude uttered under her breath. “My oh my, oh me oh my … there’re so many to choose from. It’s a meat market, the one at the corner of Please and Thank You in heaven.”

“These boys are begging to be ranked.” I offered a pen and a seat on my towel. “The usual?”

She rubbed her hands together and sat. “We haven’t done this in sooo long. Okay, let’s go with face, chest and arms, legs, and ‘special features’ to make a final score for overall hotness.”

We settled in, pens ready. A couple of girls came over and asked what we were doing, our whispering and hushed giggles giving away that we weren’t on the up and up. After another fifteen minutes, three more joined us and our party was in full swing. With delays between heats, each competitor that crossed us was provided thoughtful discussion and a whole lot of innuendo.

I held up my pad. “Ladies, close your eyes and count to wonderful ’cause here he comes.”

He was tall with thick, honey-blond hair cropped at his ears, a fantastic smile, and his muscles were such that the shadows they cast on his skin made him a roadmap to paradise. The girl seated behind me said his name was Tyler. The nodding and licking of lips suggested we had our front man, but there were still more to see. Sarah, me, and another girl were having a lovely chuckle over Tyler’s special features when Jericho knelt beside me.

“Whatcha doin’?” He regarded my posse.

Don’t look at Sarah.
“Stuff.”

“Uh huh. You’re up to no good. I can see it in your eyes.”

The girl on my right touched my knee. “Is that Jericho, like
the
Jericho?”

“Yeah, but he’s not competing anymore. But since he has in the past, hells bells, let’s score him anyway.” I gave him the face of innocence. “Humor me for a minute? Shirt off, we need front and back.” We didn’t really need the shirt off, but why not?

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious. We’ve gathered here today to do some very important scientific research on the correlation between raw hotness and surfing ability. So far the results are staggering.”

Three girls told him to take it off.

He rubbed his tongue against his back teeth. “You’re scoring guys out here like cattle at a 4-H fair?”

“Of course not!” Sarah slapped his shoulder. “What we’re doing is way more sophisticated.”

He halfheartedly obliged us and I thanked him for his participation. We finished out the last few boys in the morning group and Sarah went back to the hotel to check on Eric, who’d overdone it at the luau the night before.

Having been out in the water on top of a board a few times, I was awed by how those guys directed the ocean’s energy to do what they wanted, the difficulty of their stunts inconceivable to me. Between the force of the ocean and the force of their maneuvers, boards were being broken at a steady rate. And although I’d been behaving badly, I’d gotten a lot out of the day from watching them surf. They were the best of the best, every successful ride individual and genuinely remarkable, specifically Tyler. And I had to admit, the wipeouts were quality.

Jericho confiscated our scorecards for use in the broadcast. In announcing the contests, dialogue could get pretty dry in the interims and our science project would spice things up. I wrote down my theory on the relationship between attraction and ability. The crazy thing was that it actually held true for the top five in exact order against their point scores (Jericho excluded).

Comp over. Party time.

I threw on a black denim mini and a black tank that had slim silver chains for straps and hung low in the front and very low in the back—a bit formal, but still cool. With studded flops on my feet, I went to Sarah’s room to hang while Jericho showered.

“I love that top.” She straightened one of the chains. “Holy moly! You’re not wearing a bra.” She looked at her own set. “You show off that B-cup splendor.”

“You shopped me this in August, ding dong. And yeah, I’m way outta control.”

Jericho came to their room ten minutes later in a white Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and suede flip flops. Sarah went to prod Eric, who was fussing with his hair. Jericho stepped me back against the wall fast, his hand holding both of mine over my head, the blue of his eyes darkening as he came into a shadow. Goose bumps crept up my legs.

“I like you in black,” he said in my ear, the tone of his voice erotic as he bit my neck.

He whispered what he wanted to do to me and my lips parted. It was his voice, but the compression waves showed a distinct change tone that was strange. I started to tremble, a familiar but unfamiliar feeling on the edge of my subconscious. His mouth traveled slowly from my shoulder to my mouth and I was helpless. Wind rushed through the open balcony door, blowing the thin drapes.

He suddenly jerked away from me, a look of concentration on his face. “I uh … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that.”

“Wha?” I stood there, my brain fuzzy.

“You look really good, everything he, I mean I could ever want. I’m not sure what came over me. Ready?” He placed his hand in mine, took a step, and turned back to me. “Kris?” He said my name again.

I rubbed my arms. “I’m okay.”

We collected Sarah and Eric, both of whom were restyling their hair.

A thatched roof smothered in white lights was held by wide posts, the bar packed with seventy or more people. Jericho and Eric went to the bar. Sarah and I went to the perimeter to observe the masses and discuss the excessive turnout of women dressed like sluts. I was snickering over unkind words she’d said about a redhead when Tyler came through the crowd, causing Sarah and I to simultaneously take in an “ahhh.” Tyler was truly the desert sun at high noon, burning us with his sovereign hotness. His jeans were form fitting and his shirt was tight, but not too tight—the right tight. Jericho returned, handed me a pink-colored drink and moved to my side before grabbing hands with the circle of brahs to our left.

I took a sip. “What’s this?”

“What you’ve been asking for,” he flashed an evil smile, “sex on the beach.”

I clinked his glass and set his little joke down on a table behind the railing, the liquor too sweet. A few minutes later, Jericho was called away to talk to another of his brethren. I was babbling with one of the members of my ranking brigade when two hands came from behind me and planted themselves against the railing, trapping me in the smell of weed and bad tequila.

I turned and was blinded by neon green board shorts. My captor was six foot and skinny with dark, greasy hair as long as mine.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nickel. “If I flip a coin, what are my chances of getting head?” He glanced at his unit.

Oh dear Lord.
I waved to a too-pretty blond girl a few feet away and said the first thing that came to mind. “My lover says your chances are zip.”

He checked her out and smiled. “For real? No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Good for you. But hey, the best things come in threes.”

“Like blind mice, wise men, celebrity deaths …”

His brows came together and he looked to the side. “Kittens with mittens eating pie, legs on a milking stool, but that’s not what I’m thinking about.”

Jericho put one hand on the guy’s shoulder. Greasy turned and busted out a string of curse words very happily delivered as they shook hands.
That’s right.
This was the horny guy Jericho had pointed out the day we’d crossed paths at the bluff.

“Jericho, slave to the wave. I can’t believe you left the circuit!” He clapped Jericho on the back.

“Kris, Preston, Preston, Kris.” Jericho took my hand.

Hardcore surfer speak ensued for ten full minutes before Jericho gave me an apologetic look and then took Preston to talk shop with Ky.

I glanced back at the blond girl I’d singled out earlier. It was Rachel Winslow, the model that Jericho had dated when he was eighteen. She was ninety thousand times more beautiful in person than in print. I was working through a moment of insecurity when a brown bottle appeared in front of me.

“I couldn’t help but notice you don’t like sex on the beach. No one does anymore.” Tyler handed me a beer. “I’m Tyler—”

“Hendrix, I know. Pleasure to meet you. Kris Edwards.” I followed him to a table in the sand. “I thought you deserved way better than an eight-five in the semis. You were phenomenal, and congratulations on your crown.”

“Thanks. I had a couple good days, a good couple waves.”

“You got a lot more than that.” I sat to his right. “You know, I appreciate the sport a lot more now than I did six months ago. I used to equate surfing with slackers and stoners, but you can’t be either to surf Pipe.”

“Slackers and stoners?”

“It has a lot to do with the language. How can I take someone seriously when seventy percent of what comes out of his mouth is slang even when he’s not talking about surfing?”

“You don’t surf then?” He took a swig.

“By your standards, no and hell no. I was fascinated by how the tubes formed, though. The sets were so consistent.”

“Pipe’s special because the reef is cavernous. It releases big pockets of air that rise up in front of the wave.”

“No kidding? I thought waves were formed by the tides, swells, wind—”

“Yeah, but it depends on the break and the slope of the sea floor too.” He illustrated with his hands. “A steeper slope makes the waves bunch up on each other—”

“Creating larger wave heights, makes sense.” I gave Jericho a smile because he was looking at me funny.

“You know Jericho?” Tyler asked me.

“Real well.”

“I see he hasn’t lost his touch.” His mouth turned up in a delightfully sexy way. “His surfing, I mean. He was—still is, in my opinion—the one to watch, quasi-retired or not. Studied footage of him over and over, trying to figure out his moves. He’s a revolutionary, really captures the spirit of what we do.”

“I think he’d probably like to hear that.”

“He knows.” He held up his empty. “Can I get you another?”

“I’m good, thanks.” I got up to go to the bar with him.

Since Tyler wasn’t like Ky and spoke like a person, I was more taken with him than before. As was my unfortunate habit, I was unconsciously grooving while we waited for the bartender, Tyler following my lead. It wasn’t as punishingly thrilling as moving with Jericho, but the boy absolutely had it goin’ on. I thanked him for the drinks and conversation.

He bent down and tapped his cheek. “Just a little one.”

I gave him a peck which he returned.
Best night of my life!

Jericho returned to me a few minutes later and stuck with me for the rest of the evening. He introduced me to the guys and translated when I had no idea what they were talking about. He kept his arm around me and kissed me from time to time, assurance he wouldn’t sneak off with the buxom brunette who was watching him from across the bar and had been all night. It was almost three when I decided it was bedtime.

We were halfway back to the hotel when Jericho shook our clasped hands.

“Did you drink tonight?”