In the morning, Fox sneaks out early as we both agree to keep our “benefits” between us. Jonah and Rae emerge from the brief hibernation not long after I do, though I am the only one who thinks to start some coffee. As good as it is to get out there early for some of the best swells, I struggle with anything “morning person-y.” I need assistance.
Fox comes out and I immediately think back to earlier when his face was between my breasts and his hips were in the vice of my thighs. I came superfast being on top that time, but it was not the last—or the first orgasm of the wee hours. A quick pinch on my ass brings me back to the present. I whip my head around and catch Fox’s wink. I shake my head and smile into my coffee cup. Rae works part time for a coffee company so she brought some premium stock with her. It smells wonderful and provides a nice mental space for all the thoughts and reasons for my lack of sleep.
“Man, who did that?” Jonah asks, his eyes running over Fox’s back. “You got some scratches.”
I freeze, thinking back. Did I scratch his back? That’s so cliché, isn’t it? Luckily, he has an excuse. “Flower nailed me when we were messing around yesterday,” he says casually. Nice.
My eyes fly to his as I say, “What a bitch.”
His eyes darken and I grin. There is some snickering and a comment from Jonah or maybe Rae, but nothing that penetrates the haze between Fox and me. I shake my head to cut the connection. We’re going surfing, for crying out loud.
“Come on, kids,” Jonah calls as he walks toward the sliding doors. “I got the boards on the deck and I am ready to get in the pocket today!”
He doesn’t wait for us, but we’re right behind him, slurping the dregs of our coffees and juice. I look out over the water and notice the swells look decent, nice for the first time back in the water in a while. Tomorrow we’ll head over to Rivermouth although Fox is keen to hit Willow Creek. It’s supposed to be rocky with lots of point breaks there, but I don’t think it will be as relaxing as I’d like.
Fox closes the door behind us and we pick up our boards one by one and walk single file down the boardwalk path to the sand. Once we’re close, we each stab the sand with our boards and drop our towels over the chairs next to the walk. I pull my long-sleeve rash guard over my head. The water’s supposed to be warm enough that a wetsuit isn’t necessary, which makes me happy. I want to feel the water on my skin.
Jonah drops a backpack on one of the chairs and digs out some surf wax quick humps bars. He throws them around to each of us and we all get busy prepping our boards.
Fox sidles up to me, close enough to feel his body heat. “Nervous?” He knows it’s been awhile since I’ve picked up a wave.
“No,” I say, still considering. “Maybe a bit. I wiped out pretty hard last time so I guess that’s in the back of my mind.”
He presses his chest against my shoulder, wraps his arm around me, and curls his hand around my bicep. His fingers, slightly sticky with Sex Wax, catch the fabric of my rash guard. “You’re a confident surfer, Lollipop. You’ll be fine.”
I look at him and raise an eyebrow. “Am I now?”
He grins and I know what’s coming. “You know how to handle a stiff board.”
“Sick pig,” I mutter, elbowing him away.
“Well, you do,” he says under his breath.
I turn and whisper, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
His wax bar drops into the sand in unison with his jaw.
I smirk and walk away, yanking my board out of the sand on my way to the water. It’s a little chillier than I hoped, but I’ll get used to it quickly.
Finally, I’m surrounded by cool, moving water and I am reminded of how much I love this. I regret waiting so long. I slip onto the board on my belly and start paddling out. My stomach flips a little when the first swell rolls under and behind me. Not from nerves, though. It’s excitement.
Fox catches up to me after a few waves. “I see a good set coming,” he says, pointing out toward the horizon and left. “Race you?”
I tilt my head to throw some side-eye his way. “Kicking your ass at Mortal Kombat last week wasn’t enough for you?”
His smile discounts the scoffing noise he makes as we paddle like hell toward our waves. We laugh and taunt as we get closer to position. When I pop up on my board first, Fox curses. I nearly lose my footing because the victory turns into a bit of a flail, but I recover. I holler like a moron as I hold the wave as long as I can. When it pushes ahead of me, I sink spectacularly into the water. And by spectacularly, I mean belly flop.
When I surface, I pull back up on my board and see that Fox caught the very next wave. Instead of chasing him, I wait to see how far he’ll go while I sit up and just float. I look around, checking for Jonah and Rae, but I get caught in the absolute beauty of this coastline. While I love Southern California, I have a feeling I’d be happily content if I moved north.
Fox breaks into my daydream with a splash. Literally. In my face.
“Ahh!” I scream, growling to myself as I rub my eyes. The sting from the saltwater is sharp. “You’re a dick, did you know?”
His responding laughter is more than I need.
“I think you just lost your benefits,” I tease, knowing it’s pure bullshit.
“Oh really?” He knows it, too. “I guess you won’t be getting three orgasms tonight, then.”
But I have a secret weapon. Or two. I hold up my right hand and extend two fingers. “I think I can manage at least one or two by myself.”
His eyes lock on me, surprise and lust swirling around his irises, and a flash of heat corrupts my skin. That fire rolls over every inch of me like the water and sweat all over my body were gasoline. His expression darkens, hungry and feral. It’s like we’ve made some discovery akin to the fountain of youth, and we can’t stop going back. I guess it’s true that good sex makes you feel immortal, if only for a moment.
“Is that so, Lollipop?” His voice is low, his board drifting closer. He also pops the p at the end of Lollipop. Because of course he does.
“Absolute fact, my friend,” I say, ready to lower the boom. “And speaking of lollipops.” My voice either sounds sexy right now, or like I’m getting laryngitis. Let’s hope for the former. “I was thinking about treating you like one later.”
There’s all sorts of catcalling, hooting, and hollering in the audience right now. Jesus, they’re alcoholics. They shouldn’t allow drinking in there.
And that is when the tip of his board bumps into mine. “You lie,” he hisses, simultaneously hopeful and desperate.
“Why would I lie to you, baby?” I ask with a tilt of my head and what I hope is the most flirtatious smile I’ve ever performed. And I do mean perform because I do not typically like to flirt. It feels disingenuous and pretty goddamn unnatural, at least the stereotypical bat-your-lashes kind of flirting. When I have partaken in the act, I feel like I’m kind of scary looking or mentally deficient, truth be told.
His Adam’s apple bobs and his tongue flick over his lips. “No, I guess you wouldn’t, would you?”
I smirk but don’t answer before flattening out on my board and swimming for the next set. With each dip of my arms in the water and each stroke pushing me forward, I increasingly wonder what the ever-loving fuck I am doing.