Page 13 of Crashing Into You

ChapterSeven

Bryce

Iget to the beach early, despite the late night. Late nights and early mornings are kind of my thing, at least if I want to catch some decent waves.

But despite the bite of the cold water, the crash of the waves stripping the last of my hangover away, I can’t seem to shake the thought of Claire.

It doesn’t help that my phone is blowing up with notifications. Turns out someone captured most of what happened on video, including the kiss. And the bit where I said I was Claire’s boyfriend. It seems we’ve gone viral, something I feel the need to apologise to her for. Jeff has already called me, too.

“What the fuck, Bryce? I’ve just read on RideWorld that you have a girlfriend now? I know I mentioned about you getting one, but it’s a bit of a quick slide from a threesome to a girlfriend in twenty-four hours, even for you.”

“So should I ditch her, then?” I enjoy screwing with Jeff at the best of times, but something about how he’s laughing about the Claire situation is rubbing me the wrong way.

“No fucking way, mate,” he snaps. “Sponsors are still making noises about dropping you, so if you bounce this girl for someone else, especially after the week you’ve already had, you’ll be fucked. What you should do is bring her to Torquay next week and we’ll get some staged pap shots. Better still, take her out somewhere you’ll both be seen. A proper girlfriend roll-out.”

“What if she doesn’t want to come with me? What if I’m just helping out a friend?”

“Mate, I don’t care what’s happening, as long as it looks good. You’re the one who said you were her boyfriend. Besides, I’m sure you can talk her into it.”

I hang up the phone. Shit. This is not good. I couldn’t help myself when I saw Claire being hassled by that asshole and I’m not sorry I stepped in. But now an idea is forming in my mind.

I dismiss it as madness. But it keeps coming back to me, even as I catch a few waves, riding the curling blue water into shore.

Then I spot her. Claire. She’s sitting cross-legged on the sand, long tanned legs bare to the morning breeze, a light blue dress blowing against her curves, wind whipping her long dark hair. I leave my board with the rest of my stuff, leaning it on one side in the sand. I can keep an eye on it from the water, and besides, any dickhead who wants to take it won’t get far with it. The board is custom and has my name on it. So, I wander over to her.

She has her eyes closed, her soft pink lips parted. My groin stirs at the sight of her, so utterly fucking kissable. Christ. I need to rein this in.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

Her big blue eyes open, and she stares up at me. I offer my hand, pulling her to her feet, resisting the urge to take her in my arms.

Then she takes off the dress she’s wearing.

Holy fuck.

Her body is stunning. Small waist, lush curving hips and long thighs, and those amazing tits, all barely contained within a tiny white string bikini. Her nipples are hard against the flimsy fabric. My cock stirs in response. I’m staring and she knows it, lifting her chin and hitting me with that defiance again, like a fucking match to my flame.

“What?”

I have to give her a rash top. I’m not kidding about her being naked in just a few minutes, whether it’s me or the ocean that does it. Not that I’m the kind of guy who would pull a move like that.

Once we’re in the water the cold takes some of my arousal away, but it comes back again when she emerges with my damp rash top clinging to her curves, her long dark hair slicked back, like some sort of water goddess. I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and I’m about to kiss her again, when a wave hits us both.

I take her out deeper, before I can do anything rash. But then she wraps herself around me like seaweed and it’s all I can do to hold back. Her tits are pressed against me, her legs around my waist. Thank fuck I’m wearing a wetsuit and not just boardshorts– my dick is as hard as a rock.

But she’s obviously scared, and the need to make her feel safe overcomes my baser desires. I wrap my arms around her.

“I won’t let you go.”

I mean it, too. Something about her being close to me feels so natural, as though she’s a missing piece of me. So, I float with her and point out a few things of interest on the coast. Gradually she relaxes, but she doesn’t let go. I’m okay with that.

“How about that place?” I point to one of the houses sitting on the cliff, below the curving line of road. “I love to look at the houses along here. Imagine what it would be like to live in that one.”

She’s quiet, those ocean-blue eyes deeper than I’ve seen them, looking past me to where I’m pointing. It’s a timber house, long and low and shaded by gum trees at the back, huge windows and a deck along the front offering what I’m sure are stupendous views.

“I don’t need to imagine,” she says after a moment. “It’s my house.”

So the girl I saw the other day, when I was out here– the one with the long dark hair–washer.