Page 40 of Keeping Mr. Right Now
“Zane. Thanks for seeing my girl back.”
“My pleasure.”
“She have a good night?”
Zane stood taller, puffed out his chest. “I think she did.”
“She’s standing right here, you know.” Sophie crossed her arms and lifted her chin, trying really hard not to split the biggest grin ever. No one talked about her like this, and a thrill trekked down her back.
Both men looked at her.
“Hi, Tango, I had a lovely time at the concert. Thank you for asking. Zane, thank you for walking me back. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then, because heck, she wanted to, she lifted on tiptoes and gave each man a kiss on the cheek before striding toward the elevator.
She liked this independent, bolder Sophie. She liked her a lot.
…
Zane couldn’t have been more in the present. The huge waves pounding the beach had called to him early this morning and, along with most of the other pros in White Strand, he’d taken the plunge. He stood on his board, feeling the air and sprays of water around him, as the power of an eight- to ten-foot wave pushed his surfboard harder, faster. Any loss of focus and he’d bite it.
Thanks to storms thousands of miles away off the coasts of Antarctica and New Zealand, a chain of cosmic waves had made their way to California. According to the forecast, a rare summer rainstorm was due to hit the West Coast sometime in the next few hours as well, creating conditions surfers only dreamed about.
He rode out the wave and then caught another.
And another.
He paddled hard and ripped it up every single time. In the zone, that weightless, nothing-can-touch-me surreal existence where all the negative crap in his head left his body and he was only left with the feel-good stuff.
Sophie stuff.
Whatever was happening upstairs—in his brain, in his psyche—had Sophie written all over it, and with every swell, he wanted to suspend time and enjoy the sensations.
All his rides had been for her. And he took one more fast-as-hell, long, bumpy drop. He rode it all the way to shore and hit the sand to applause and cheers.
“Zane!”
“Dude! That was sweet!”
“Zane! Couple of questions?”
He ran a hand through his sopping hair. With his other hand, he hung on to his board. “Sure.” The crowd of spectators had grown since he’d been in the water. A few press guys stood out, lanyards around their necks, notepads in their hands.
“Is this a dream day or what?” one reporter asked.
“No doubt,” Zane said. “And fun as hell.” He glanced over his shoulder at the crushing waves, the guys still out there in line. A young boy, seven, maybe eight, came up beside him and slid the Velcro wristband from his boogie board in place on his arm.
“But,” he added, ruffling the kid’s hair, “surf like this brings dangerous riptides, and everyone except the professionals needs to stay on the sand.” The boy’s mom quickly undid the band.
“Being an intrepid leader in the sport, what’s it like out there just for fun?” another reporter asked.
“It’s awesome. When I’m on a wave, time ceases to exist, and I’m in this intense state of euphoria, peace, and excitement.” He took a deep breath. “And when I don’t have to worry about scores, I can mess around with my technique and put toes on the nose if I feel like it.”
“Looked like every ride was near perfect today.” This from Chris.
“Yeah. Luck was a factor for sure with those amazon swells. I knew I didn’t want to be too deep at the back door, and I had to grab air a few times, but it felt great out there.” Zane glanced at the sky. Dark clouds were moving in.
He scanned the crowd next, hoping to find a certain redhead. After the sweet kiss she’d placed on his cheek last night, he couldn’t stop thinking about where else he wanted her mouth.
And after she’d called him “evasive,” he’d wondered for the first time what it might be like to trust a woman. He didn’t want to lie to Sophie. But he didn’t want to tell her the truth, either.
