Wait, what?
“What?” Charlie asks, obviously as taken aback as I am. “You’re going to teach her?” Charlie glances uneasily at me and I give him a pleading look that says help me, Jesus.
“That’s right,” Logan says smoothly, folding his arms across his chest. “By the time you come back, she’ll be a bloody Gidget.”
I’m not even sure who—or what—a bloody Gidget is, but I have a feeling it involves me learning how to surf in a short amount of time.
“Seriously Shephard?” Charlie asks.
Logan jerks his head back to the hotel. “Bosses orders, mate. Get going.”
I half expect Charlie to stand his ground, but he folds quickly, grumbling as he marches off to the hotel like a petulant child.
“You don’t have to teach me,” I quickly tell Logan, trying to gather up my board. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Oh, I’m teaching you,” he says gruffly. “The kid doesn’t know shit; he’s from Colorado. You need an Aussie to show you how things are really done on the water.”
Then he takes a step back from me and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it on the beach behind him.
Oh.
My.
God.
And Christ on a cracker.
Logan Shephard has his shirt off.
And Logan Shephard is absolutely ripped, a beast of epic proportions.
I mean, I knew he was tall and burly and his chest and shoulders were always hard to overlook under the tee shirts he’s been wearing, but I guess I was doing my best these last two weeks to ignore all that because now that he’s bare-chested in front of me, I feel all words and thoughts drain out of my brain.
All that is left is acute amazement and a coil of heat building in my core. And maybe a bit of drool coming out of the corner of my mouth. From the sharp Vs of his torso and the thin treasure-trail of hair leading from his stomach and disappearing beneath the band of his board shorts, to the six-pack abs and wide, firm chest speckled with chest hair, he has the kind of upper body some mythical hero would have (or Jason Momoa). Logan is all man and then some.
And he’s staring at me with the cockiest smirk on his lips, dark brows raised. “Never seen a real man before?” he asks.
I glare at him. “You think pretty highly of yourself if you’re calling yourself a man.”
“Oh yeah? And what would you call me?”
“Something that belongs in a museum, next to the woolly mammoth exhibit.”
To my surprise he laughs. It sounds strange coming from him, and yet causes my stomach to flip. “Fair enough, Freckles.”
“Freckles?”
He nods at my nose where I know my freckles have sprouted up after the weeks in the sun. “I can call you something else.”
“How about Ronnie?”
“All right. Let’s go, Freckles. Forget everything Charlie taught you.”
“That shouldn’t be that hard,” I mumble under my breath as Logan effortlessly takes the board from me and props it up over his head, carrying it into the surf.
“Hurry up,” he says. “I don’t have all day.”
I run into the water after him, rolling my eyes, which keeps them from staring at his ass as the waves crash around him. I mean, just look at his back…it’s a giant wall of rippled muscle, something you’d see Tom Cruise hanging off of by his fingertips.
Keep it together, I scold myself. Remember who this is.
And I do remember. No matter how juvenile my hormones are acting, he’s still the man who belonged to my sister before he threw it all away.
I’m not sure if it’s because having Logan out here with me is throwing my world upside down, but it seems like the waves have somehow gotten bigger in the last five minutes. I dive under the break, my head bursting through the surface.
“You’re learning,” he notes as the water streams off my face, the salt water burning my skin. He brings the board around. “Here, get on.”
Oh boy. This is going to be a lot more awkward with him than it was with Charlie. With Charlie, I didn’t mind the fact that he was face to face with my ass when I was climbing on and getting into position. Charlie and I have been pretty flirty, but I know it’s not going anywhere. If anything, he’s like a brother to me and whatever innuendo he throws my way, I’m quick to crush it.
Logan’s staring at me with a mix of amusement and impatience as he keeps the board steady, the muscles on his arms taught. It’s hard to believe the man is pushing forty with the way his damn body looks.
“Freckles,” he warns, jerking his chin at the board.
I make a noise of disgust under my breath and quickly get on the board as gracefully as I can.
I fail at it. I’m half on, trying to pull myself over and my fucking bikini bottoms are sliding half off my ass by the time I manage to hook my leg over the edge. I let out a string of grunts and expletives before I’m on and I know my cheeks are going red because I can feel his gaze on my half-covered ass, lingering there.
“Need some help there, Beach Bum?” He sounds way too amused.
I practically growl while I reach back and yank the bottoms up. I’m throwing this goddamn bikini away after this.
“All right, let’s get you into the line here,” he says, moving me and the board forward until he stops, scanning the horizon behind him.
“Aren’t you going to let go?” I ask.
He looks back at me, frowning. His eyes look extra luminous with the water reflecting against them. “I’m not letting go until you’re ready.”
So far this is already wildly different than the way Charlie was teaching me. He was more trial by error. Logan seems to want to take his time, which surprises me. I thought I would be the first person he would willingly chuck into the deep end.
“Okay,” I manage to say, completely aware of his arm across the back of my legs as he holds the board.
“What’s your favorite song?”
I frown, the water rising beneath me as another wave passes. “What?”
“Tell me what your favorite song is.”
“What’s your favorite song?” I can’t help but fire back.
“‘Purple Rain,’” he says without hesitation.
“Prince?”
“Do you know anyone else with the song ‘Purple Rain?’”
“No,” I admit. I guess I never pegged him as a Prince fan. “Must have been a tough year for you.”
“Well I’m a Bowie fan too, so yeah. Bloody awful.” He pauses and I feel him adjust the board, his arm brushing higher against the back of my legs. “Was a fan of your sister too, so the last couple of years have been pretty shitty when it comes to people I love dying.”
Holy fuck. That was pretty much the last thing I expected him to say.
“So what’s your favorite song,” he goes on, like nothing has happened.
I lick my lips, trying to think. They taste like salt. “Uh. Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir.’”
It was the first thing that popped into my head. My brain is still trying to reel over what he said about Juliet. He loved her. How could I even take that as truth?
Logan eyes me with a hint of approval. “Really? All right. Fine. Good choice. Now, start singing it.”
“Excuse me?” I have the worst singing voice in the world. I don’t even sing in the shower, since all it does is just amplify my horribleness.
“Start singing ‘Kashmir.’ Not in your head. Out loud.”
“You are so fucking with me,” I say, glaring at him over my shoulder. His face gives me nothing. “It’s an eight-minute song! How long is this wave?”
“I promise it will help you surf.”
“How? I’ll be trying to remember the lyrics.”
“If it’s your favorite song, it will come automatically. And when it comes automatically, your mind is free to latch onto something else. Surfing. You’ll relax, you’ll stop overthinking. Not to mention there’s a natu
ral rhythm to the ocean and I promise you it will match up with the song.”
That all sounds like complete bullshit.
“Are you ready?”
“What? No.” I look behind me again to see the swells approaching.
“You’re catching this next one,” he says calmly. “I’m going to push you forward to give you momentum. Start paddling and start signing. Now!”
“At the intro of the song or—?”
“Oh let the sun beat down upon my face,” Logan starts singing loudly and hell, can this man sing. His impression of Robert Plant is eerily accurate. “Your turn!” he yells and I feel him start to push me through the water.
“Um, um,” I say, paddling before I find the strength in my chest and croak out, “Stars will fill my dreams.”
“Feel the song, keep singing,” he yells and let’s go of the board. “Get to your feet when you’re keeping time with the wave.”
“I am a travel of both time and space,” I sing, horribly, and the board starts picking up more and more speed. “Be where I have been.”
By the time I get to elders of a gentle race, I can feel it’s time to ride. I’m not sure if it’s the song or instinct but I can just tell. I push up off my hands and toes, get to my knees.
Here’s the scary part. I’m slicing through the water, riding this fucking wave and feeling I’m on top of the world. I could just ride the whole wave to shore on my knees and it would be fun and thrilling all on its own.
It’s that next step that scares me. It’s the risk of standing up. Of giving up what’s easy and trying something hard. It’s where I’ve failed every time before.
“Don’t be comfortable!” Logan’s voice is small, disappearing behind me. “You’re doing this!”
I’ve lost my place in the song. It doesn’t matter. “Ooooh, I’ve been flying, ain’t no denying,” I sing, “no denying.”
And I don’t deny. I fly.
I get up onto my feet, inch by inch, but I make it.
My legs are shaking, I can feel the ocean rushing beneath my feet.
And just like that, I’m surfing. I really am a traveler of both time and space.
I’m powerful, unstoppable.
Free.
It’s just me and the ocean, an ever-deepening connection to some part of nature, some part of me, that I’ve never felt before.
And then, it’s over.
The wave gently places me on the shore, like I’m being carried in the ocean’s hand.
The board skids along the sand for a few feet and then stops. I hop off.
I did it!
A let out a little yelp, throwing my hands into the air and doing a little dance. My smile is so wide, it’s hurting my cheeks and the pain is absolutely beautiful.
“Look at you,” Logan calls out to me, as he walks out of the surf. I feel so high, my adrenaline firing through my veins, that it doesn’t even bother me that I’m ogling his body once more. If you saw his hulking mass of muscles walk out of the ocean, dripping wet, his hair slicked back, you would do the same.
“I did it!” I cry out. “Yay me!”
He walks right over to me and stops a couple feet away. Close enough for me to see the tick of his pulse along his throat, the drops of water caught in his scruffy beard. Close enough for my already fired-up body to start overreacting, my heart picking up the pace even more.
“You did good,” he says, peering down at me with an intensity I feel burning in my gut. His voice is rough and low, like he’s telling me a secret. “I knew you would.”
I smile up at him, my lips feeling stiff now. I’m happy, so happy, that I finally was able to catch a wave. But it was because of Logan. I owe him now and I’m not sure I like that.
And there’s too much of his manly masculinity standing in close proximity to me.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to hear me sing,” I say quietly, looking away.
“Are you kidding me?” he says. “That was the best part. I had no idea you were that horrible at it. Suspected, but never knew.”
I snap my head back to him and playfully hit him across the chest. “Hey!” I admonish him, trying to ignore how hard his chest had felt under my hand. “Why don’t you get on the damn board and sing me some ‘Purple Rain?’”
“Maybe some other time, Freckles,” he says. We stare at each other for a few moments. It’s like he’s actually trying to count the freckles on my nose. I’m not even sure I’m breathing, I’m kind of lost in the space between us.
Then he clears his throat. Loudly. “I’ll see you,” he says. His voice is stiff, as if he’s been caught thinking about something he shouldn’t.
“Okay,” I manage to say as he walks away toward the hotel, clouds of sand kicking up behind him, beads of water still snaking their way down his back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“And that’s all you have to tell me?” my mother’s voice crackles over the phone.
“Pretty much,” I tell her.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
I sigh and take my cell out onto the balcony hoping to get better reception, though to be honest I was done with this phone call ten minutes ago and a dropped call would be a great way to get out of it.
“I’m saying yes,” I tell her, not even bothering to hide the exasperation in my voice. “That’s all there is to report on.”
The line goes silent for a moment and I think maybe I did lose her after all but she sighs. “I’m just checking up on you. If you don’t want to tell me anything, that’s fine. It’s not like I’ve talked to you more than once over the last three weeks.”
Here comes the passive aggressiveness. “Look, I like it here. People are nice. I like my job. I’m busy, and that’s a good thing. There’s nothing much else to talk about.”
“And Logan?” she asks. “You’ve barely mentioned him.”
“I have too,” I tell her. “He’s fine. He’s been a fair boss. He’s very busy too. It’s not easy to run this place by himself.”
She scoffs. “That’s because poor Juliet was doing all of it for him. My poor baby.” She sighs. “My biggest regret in life was letting her marry that, that…beast.”
Beast? That’s a new one. Caveman? Yes. I’m not sure what to say to that except, “You couldn’t have stopped her mom, she fell in love.”
“Bullshit,” she says. “He tricked her.”
“Tricked her?” I repeat.
“He came when she was most vulnerable. After she broke up with William, when she was getting tired of the politics. Your father and I knew we should have done more to get her back on her feet, back in the scene. And then this schmuck shows up with his irritating accent and promises of a hotel in the tropics. He duped her into thinking that was the life she wanted. He stole her from us, Veronica, don’t you forget that.”
“Uh huh,” I say. “And so if that’s how you feel, how come you have no problem with me being here?”
She sighs again, louder this time. “You couldn’t live at home with us. The fact that you’re my daughter and couldn’t get another job was rather telling, don’t you think?”
“Telling of what?”
“You’re twenty-seven years old, Veronica. What does that say about me, about my role in Chicago, my role in the government, among the people, that my adult daughter is a complete failure?”
Stunned. I’m stunned. I’m used to low blows delivered by my mother but this one takes the cake. And the fact that she’s saying it in her politician voice, cold and factual, just adds to the injury.
“Mom,” I say, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.
“Oh, toughen up honey,” she goes on. “You know what I mean.”
“You just called me a failure!”
“I’m not saying you’re a failure, I’m saying that’s what it looks like. People will think there’s something wrong if you can’t get a job, and I wasn’t about to have you moping around at home and coasting your way through life. You’re my daughter, Rose Locke??
?s daughter, and you’re the only one I have left. I don’t have Juliet anymore and neither do you, so I’m sorry if you can’t be the black sheep anymore. There’s no room for it. You have a reputation to uphold here.”
My heart is thudding in my brain so hard I can barely hear her. “I wasn’t the black sheep,” I say even though I know it’s true. I was always lesser compared to Juliet, and now my mother hates me for it.
“All I wanted was for both my daughters to follow in my footsteps. Juliet would have made an excellent politician, she was caring, kind, beautiful, smart. She could charm anyone into doing anything. She could have carried on the legacy of strong women in male-dominated roles.”
“I’m a fucking cook, mom!” I’m nearly yelling. The couple on the nearest balcony are looking at me curiously. I lower my voice, “I fought to be in the position I’m in right now, I’ve been fighting my whole life in a male-dominated work force.”
“And see what good that did you.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what you did at your last job, but I know you got fired, Veronica, and I know you screwed up.”
My lips clamp shut. How could she know?
“And it doesn’t matter,” she goes on. “We all make mistakes and you’re there fixing yours. Stay a year, get some new experience you can put on your resume, and then get out and come home.”
Home? I know I haven’t been here long, but this already starting to feel like home. And it’s one place where I don’t have to deal with the likes of my mother except for the occasional phone call. She may have wanted me to come out here in an effort to hide me but I’m not so eager to go back anytime soon.
“Maybe I’ll stay here forever,” I tell her. “It’s not a bad life.”
“Suit yourself,” she says, “if you want to be on a sinking ship.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t forget that your father and I own that hotel as much as Logan does. The thing isn’t making money, not like it was with Juliet. The moment it looks like it’s going under, we’re pulling out.”
Good lord. My parents really do hate him that much.