“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that,” he says.
We work on getting him balanced on his stomach on the board. He slides around a little, complaining good-naturedly, and we talk more about spotting a wave. I quiz him on which direction they’ll break. I teach him how to duck-dive and punch through the smaller waves on his way out, and though he never actually looks any less tense, he listens and does everything I ask.
“As the wave comes, you want to push the nose of the board down, sinking it. Arms straight, hands on the rails, deep breath before the wave breaks over you—”
“Why do I need to take a deep breath?” he asks, eyes wide and panicked.
“Because you’re going to be underwater.”
“Under?”
“You’ll be fine,” I tell him.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Luke.”
He has goose bumps up and down his skin and I’m a pervert for even noticing this right now, but I can’t look away from his chest, at the drops of water that cling to it and the way his nipples are pert and hard. I want to flick them with my tongue. God, he has great nipples.
“Will you hold my hand on Goliath?” he asks, and I have to blink back to what he’s saying.
“What?”
“I think you heard me, Logan.” He ducks his head, adding, “My eyes are up here, by the way.”
I snap my attention to his face, biting back an embarrassed laugh. “Fine. Yes, I’ll hold your hand on Goliath.”
“Okay, good. I can do this,” he says, and takes one last look into the water. “Show me this duck bill thing.”
“Duck-dive.”
“Whatever. All I care about is surviving. I’m listening.”
I shake my head and reach for the nose of his board. “So your board is under, you take a deep breath, and the wave goes over. You’ll pop right back up and be ready to keep paddling. It takes some time to get but it won’t take long to feel when you get it right. And you don’t have to go deep. Just enough to get under the wave. Deeper isn’t always better.”
He snorts. “If that’s true then you wouldn’t have—”
I slide my hand over his mouth to get him to stop talking, and we both look up at the same time, our attention snagged by something to our right.
A huge set comes up, and we watch another surfer paddling out. “See how he’s going right through those?” I point to the smaller swells. “When you paddle out you want full steam because that wave is stronger than you and if you’re not working to move through it it’ll knock you on your ass. Watch how he pops, look at his stance . . .”
As we watch the other surfer, Luke eventually lets out a “Man, he’s good,” clearly impressed.
“You could be that good,” I tell him. “You’re definitely strong enough and a great swimmer. It’s all technique and practice. You’ll have the small waves down in no time.”
“And the big waves?”
“I don’t think you’re ready for a big wave yet, Blue Crush.”
“Very funny.”
“Okay, I’ll do it and then it’s your turn. Deal?” I ask.
He nods and I paddle out, watching the wave. Three more strokes and I tilt my board under, letting it roll over me. I pop back up and do it a few more times before I catch the edge of a larger one.
It’s short, and I barely have enough time to pop up and ride before the wave falls apart under me. When I break the surface again, I climb back up on my board and paddle over to him.
“See?” I say, squeezing the water from my hair. “You can totally do that.”
“Your confidence in me is impressive,” he says, looking out over the water.
“I know you can do this, Luke. Come on, up you go.”
He looks terrified but lies down and starts paddling out. He looks back at me a few times but keeps moving forward. I stay as close as I can, watching as the smaller waves rush over him, one of them knocking him off his board. Protectiveness surges tight in my chest. He pops back up—looking a bit shaken—but doesn’t let it stop him and tries over and over again.
A wave forms off in the distance and I see him size it up before paddling toward it. Butterflies form in my stomach as I watch him, already cheering him on. “Keep going . . . Nose down, hips forward, deep breath! Yes!” I shout, even though there’s no way he can hear it.
He disappears momentarily under the water. Then, head turning frantically side to side, he breaks the surface again.
When he spots me, he breaks into a huge smile. “Holy shit. I think I did it!”
“You totally did it!” I say, laughing at how excited he is. “Think you can try it again?”
He nods and climbs back on his board, pushing his hair back from his face before looking out at the water.
Watching Luke as he paddles forward, warm from the sun and wet, twitching with exertion . . . I’m sure I’ll never forget this sight. He spots a wave in the distance and aims his board forward. I hold my breath as he dives through the smaller waves and breaks the surface again, before finally popping up to his feet on the last one. He doesn’t stay up for long before he’s knocked off and it certainly wasn’t pretty, but he did it, and I feel wildly, fiercely proud. I try not to stare as he comes back over to me, because I know my adoration would show all over my face.
* * *
“I TOLD YOU,” I tell him for the tenth time as we paddle back to the shore something like an hour later.
Luke is exhausted but he hasn’t stopped smiling. “Now I know why you’re in such amazing shape,” he says, looking appreciatively at my body. “That kicked my ass.”
“But you still did it,” I say.
We reach the shore and Luke collapses in the sand, chest heaving. “I did.” He closes his eyes and stays there, trying to catch his breath. “My dad’s going to flip when he hears about this. He tried to get me out there with him when I was little, but I’d never go. My sister will never believe it.”
“Want me to call her? I can text if that’s easier—”
“No. You’re not getting her number, ever,” he says, tilting his head to look at me. “The two of you together are dangerous.”
“I like your sister.”
“And she loves you,” he tells me, still catching his breath. “The idea of you two hanging out on a regular basis scares the hell out of me.”
He squeezes his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and I wonder if he’s recovered yet from a recent roll that got salt water up his nose.
“You okay?” I ask him, reaching out to brush some sand from his back.
He stills before turning his head to look at me. “Yeah. Just stings a little still.”
“I hate it, too. It’s why I could never imagine snorting anything on purpose.”
He laughs. “God, I tried coke exactly one time, in some blur of parties sophomore year. I knew immediately I would want more, so I never—” He does a double take, noticing my shocked expression. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say. “But that’s gross.”
Luke laughs. “Why did you bring up snorting things if you were going to be all weird about it?”
I shrug. I realize it’s odd in some ways that I’m a bartender and so uptight about harder drugs, but I am. I’ve seen too many people turn into complete messes when they play around with cocaine. “It just seems like really bad judgment for an athlete.”