I rock back and forth gently at first, and he takes my cue to hold his tongue steady. The orgasm builds slowly at first, until he begins to moan as he gets close to coming. The sound vibrates on my clit and I have to focus to maintain my grip on his erection. Sweat drips down my scalp, rolling over my neck as the muscles in my abdomen tighten and the babies start kicking.
“Oh, God,” I cry out as the orgasm rocks me, my thighs weakening, my grip loosening just as he shoots his load.
He continues licking me and I keep pumping my fist until we’ve both finished. Then I dismount him and we lie next to each other, sweaty and spent and trembling with adrenaline.
“Fuck. If I can’t win after that, I don’t deserve to win,” he mutters.
“You’ll still be the King of Dad Jokes,” I reply. “That has to count for something.”
He lazily rolls onto his side and lays a soft kiss on my belly. “It counts for everything.”
Ten
“Take your shoes off.”
I cock an eyebrow at Lena. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Take your shoes off. We’re gonna do some yoga before we head to the beach. Then we’re going for a run on the sand. You need to strengthen that hip and the lower half of your legs if you want to keep landing those aerials.”
I wave off her suggestion. “We don’t have to do that. Edie’s coming over later tonight to do the PT exercises. Besides, the hip isn’t even bothering me today.”
She crosses her arms across her chest. “You think I didn’t see you trying not to limp when you came out of the water yesterday?” She purses her lips, daring me to lie to her.
I sigh as I slide my feet out of my flip-flops. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
“Come on. Let’s go in the backyard where your giant legs can stretch out without knocking over my furniture.”
I follow her through the living room and toward the kitchen where the back door leads out to the yard. “Just because Yuri’s a midget doesn’t make me a giant,” I reply, noting that the oak kitchen table is covered in mail.
“Good thing he’s not here to hear you say that, or he’d bite your ankle so hard. You should see him do it. It’s so cute.”
I laugh when I see she already has two yoga mats laid out on the grass in the backyard. “I don’t need a yoga mat. I’m a man. I don’t mind getting a little grassy.”
She rolls her eyes as she snatches up the mats and tosses them onto the concrete patio. “Whatever you say, big man.”
“Dude, why do you keep calling me big? You’re gonna give me a complex.”
She shakes her head and takes us straight into a sun-salutation pose. “Inhale deeply through your nose… And exhale through your mouth… That’s it.”
“I forgot to tell you yesterday that you and Yuri almost got me in trouble when I got home from Trestles. Lindsay smelled the smoke on my clothes and thought I was toking again. Luckily, I spent my entire first day back laying on the perfect-husband routine pretty thick. Saved myself a ton of grief and ended up getting a BJ instead. So everything turned out better than expected.”
She bends over to touch the ground, spreading her arms and feet to form a pyramid with her body. “Downward-facing dog,” she says, not bothering to acknowledge my attempt at conversation.
She was also pretty quiet yesterday when I tried to ask how Yuri was doing after being around all the action at Trestles. I tried asking Yuri, but he gave me the typical response, assuring me that he was okay, but I know it had to be difficult on him to be back among the action.
“Is Yuri coming to Portugal or is he staying behind to man the shop?” I ask, because Yuri and Lena can’t keep pretending that everything is okay.
I know I should just let it go and focus on my own goals and problems, but I need Lena to be at her best. Plus, worrying about my best friends is not how I should be spending the weeks leading up to Pipeline.
“No, he’s staying behind. He… He…”
I stand up so I can have this conversation without my ass sticking up in the air, but Lena stays bent over. “He what?” I ask.
She sighs as she stands up, brushing the grass off the front of her yoga pants. “He put on a good show for you, but he hated being at Trestles. He’s just… really not taking it well.”
“Not taking what well?”
She looks up at me, her brown eyes widening, as if I should know what she’s getting at. “This. You and I working together while you’re on the fast track to a championship. He thinks it means something.”
“What? What does he think it means?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I think he thinks I work better with you than with him. Or that you’re doing better because he’s not around to drag you down. He’s just being weird. And then…”
I wait for her to continue, but she shrugs off the thought and bends over to get back into position. “Then what, Lena? Are you guys having problems? What the fuck’s going on?”
She sits down cross-legged on the warm grass and I take a seat next to her. “He wants to travel around Asia for a year after the tour is over in December.”
I try not to let my disappointment show on my face. I’ve gotten used to having Lena as a trainer this year. I don’t know if her training style is what pushed me over the edge into top-seed territory, but I know I like hanging out with her more than my old trainer, Remy. She’s cool as fuck and much easier on the eyes.
“Look, if you’re thinking of staying here for me, you don’t have to do that,” I say, imbuing my words with as much honesty as I can, considering it feels like a load of bullshit. “I mean, yeah, I’ll miss having you around, but I can find another trainer before January. Shit, after all my wins this season, I’ll have trainers lining up to work with me. Don’t stay here for me.”
She looks me in the eye for a moment, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here and train you until…” She drops her gaze to her hands, which rest in her lap. “I want to start a family.”
I sigh as I realize my suspicions about Lena were true. “You have to tell Yuri,” I say, shaking my head as I lean back on my hands. “You can’t hold something like that inside. Secrets like that are like poison. Trust me.”
She plucks a few blades of grass and rolls them between her fingers. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
She glances at me a couple of times as she seems to be working up the nerve to ask. “Do you ever regret having kids?”
“Wow. That’s a heavy question.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to answer. I was just wondering… I was just thinking that maybe this desire to have kids is part of the whole biological clock thing, and maybe I’ll find out I don’t really want them. And it would really suck to find that out later rather than sooner, you know?”
I draw in a long breath and let it out slowly, trying to stall for time. “I don’t know. My situation might be different than yours. Then again, it might be the same. I don’t know if I feel comfortable influencing such an important and personal decision.”
She nods and flashes me a tight smile. “I understand.”
I sigh as I realize I should be ashamed of myself for giving such a weak response. “Lena, there are some days I wish I didn’t have kids, especially lately. And I realize how awful that sounds, but I’d be lying if I said the thought never crosses my mind.” I sit up straight, rubbing my hands together to brush off the grass stuck to my palms. “But I’d also be lying if I didn’t add that nothing brings me more joy, makes me feel more purposeful, than being a father to those two little brats.”
She laughs at this, but she doesn’t say anything, so I continue.
“Listen, Lena. If you want to have kids now, there’s nothing wrong with that.” I tap her arm to get her attention. “Hey, look at me. I mean it. Even if Yuri flies off the handle or accuses you of going back on your word or your pact—or whatever the fuck kind of deal you tw
o made—you’re allowed to change your mind. You’re human. And wanting to be a parent is natural. And from experience, I can tell you it’s pretty fucking beautiful.” I wait a moment while she wipes away some tears, then I add the necessary caveat. “But you have to be prepared to hear that Yuri’s not on the same page as you. You have to be ready to either come up with a compromise or settle for not getting what you want.”
She heaves a deep sigh and nods as she gets to her feet. “Let’s get back to work. Enough of my shitty relationship problems.”
I laugh as I get up with her. “Yeah, and whatever you do, don’t tell Yuri I gave you that shitty relationship advice.”
“You want me to lie to my boyfriend?”
We stare at each other for a moment, and a long, pregnant pause later, I reply, “Yes.”
Eleven
Coming in second to Carlos Ferreira—the Prodigy from Portugal, as the press likes to refer to him—at a single event on his home turf was something I kind of expected when I came to Portugal. And by the semifinal heat, Carlos pretty much had the victory locked in. But falling to number-two seed in the overall CT rankings was a painful blow to my ego. I spent more than six months riding the crest of that wave. I didn’t realize how much I liked it up there until Carlos came along and knocked me off.
It’s all good, I assure myself as Lena and I shove our way through the crowd. I still have one more chance to see my name engraved on that championship trophy at the World Surfing Awards in February. And the next event will be in Pipeline. I’m not specifically from Hawaii, but I’ll have the American home-field advantage with the crowd.
I may not be wearing the yellow champion’s jersey at Pipeline, but coming in as a champion isn’t everything. Last year’s world champ, Brad Wilson, is currently sitting at number nine in the CT rankings after skipping two events to go to an Olympic training camp. Two years ago was the first year surfing became an official event in the Olympics and that bastard took the gold. Last year he took the world championship. But as it stands, even if Brad wins first place at Pipeline, he still won’t have enough points to overtake either me or Carlos in the CT rankings.
We’re almost at the truck where my Rip Curl rep is waiting to whisk us away back to our hotel, when Enzo Hisakawa, editor of The Inertia—one of the largest online surfing communities—and one of my most vocal critics, comes out of nowhere with a photographer and a microphone attached to a digital voice recorder.
“Adam, what do you think about that interference call? Do you agree with the judges?” Enzo calls out to me.
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, and the judges while he’s at it, but I don’t want to get fined for violating the Code of Conduct. Instead, I keep walking to force him to try to keep up with Lena and me. As soon as we’re by the truck, I hand my Rip Curl rep, Andy, my board. He looks at Enzo and back at me, shooting me a look, a warning that I need to watch what I say.
I turn back to Enzo and look him in the eye. “The waves were pretty peaky out there today, splitting in both directions. I don’t know if the judges made the right decision. I still think I had priority until he cut in on me, but it’s not my call. That’s for the judges to decide and they called it for Carlos. That’s the breaks, man.”
Enzo follows me as I head to the passenger side of the truck. “What do you want to say to all the people who say your rise from #12 last year to #1 this year was all a fluke?”
“I say, ‘Fuck you. This is still mine to lose.’”
Andy opens the passenger door for me and shoves me inside to stop me from saying anything else. He glares at me as he slams the door and I roll my eyes as I turn to look at Lena in the backseat.
She shakes her head as she tries to suppress a smile. “You’re gonna pay for that,” she says. “I don’t think even Hank can get you out of that one.”
I shrug as Andy slides into the driver’s seat. “Fuck it. I don’t mind paying a fine for the privilege of telling that little fucker off.”
Andy shakes his head. “It’s not just the fine, Adam. You know the commissioner isn’t going to like that comment. And whether you like it or not, the judges take into account the surfer favored by the commissioner. Do you really want to get on Wembley’s bad side?”
I lean back and stare out at the clay tile roofs on the small houses lining the road near the beach in Peniche, Portugal. “I hate the fucking politics of surfing. The only thing that should matter is skill. It shouldn’t matter if one surfer is better at bullshitting the media.”
“Well, that’s the world we live in, so suck it up,” Andy replies. “Carlos has been the favorite since he won Pipeline two years ago and still came away without the world title. You gotta watch your step.”
After a long shower, and a two a.m. phone call to Lindsay, I toss and turn in my hotel bed as I think of all the things that went wrong today. From the shitty waves, to the even shittier call from the judges, and the crowd cheering their asses off for Carlos, I was destined to lose this one. I can’t let this loss screw me up mentally. But it’s pretty fucking hard not to, when Carlos has beaten me twice now, both times on calls made by the judges. Is the commissioner trying to force me out?
I shake my head as I turn over onto my other side. I can’t allow myself to get caught up in the paranoia or the politics. If Lee Wembley, the World Surf League commissioner, wants Carlos to win, he can probably pull it off. Carlos is a good enough surfer that no one will question it. Which is why I have to come out stronger than ever at Pipeline. I have to make sure that there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind who’s the better surfer.
There’s no way around it. I have to destroy Carlos Ferreira.
* * *
In the morning, Lena and I meet in the hotel lobby to check out and head to the airport. I grit my teeth as Carlos and his father get in line behind us at the reservation desk. Lena glances over her shoulder at Carlos as the woman at the desk calls us forward.
I place my hand on the small of her back to lead her to the desk. “Come on,” I mutter, not wanting to engage Carlos in a conversation when I’m feeling as bitter and energized as I am right now.
We step up to the counter and Lena puts her arms up on the glossy white surface. The woman behind the desk takes the room keys I slide across to her. As we wait for her to print out the final bill for the room, I glance over my shoulder and catch Carlos staring at Lena’s ass. That’s when I realize the back of her shirt is riding up, exposing her G-string. I reach over and pull the back of her shirt down.
She chuckles as she lightly smacks my arm. “What are you doing? Are you trying to touch my butt?”
“Your shirt’s riding up,” I reply, my voice taut with tension.
She reaches over, her hand hovering over my ass. “Ooh, look at me. I’m gonna touch the butt.”
I shake my head, my tension melting into a reluctant grin at her Finding Nemo reference. “I’m the one who’s supposed to make stupid kids’ movies references, not you.” The moment the words come out of my mouth I realize how insensitive I sound, considering she recently confided her desire to start a family. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
She flashes me a tight smile as she puts her arms back up on the counter, once again revealing her G-string to Carlos. “It’s fine,” she replies. “I didn’t really want to touch your butt anyway.”
I chuckle at this as the girl behind the desk hands me the hotel bill. As we turn around, I catch Carlos staring at her ass again. I grab Lena’s arm to move her to my other side, and he smiles.
“That’s a nice butt,” he says when we’re a few feet away. “Not as fine as Lindsay’s, though.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m charging at him. My shoulder collides with his chest with the force of a ten-ton wave crashing down on him. He gets the first punch in, his fist slamming into the side of my head and dazing me for about two seconds. I throw the next punch, which lands with a resounding thwack on his temple. After that, it’s all a blur of blows and a tangle
of arms pulling us apart.
Three security guards drag me outside and basically throw me into a cab with Lena. This is a blessing, because two hours later, news of the scuffle is already hitting the surf blogosphere. My phone is blowing up with emails and texts asking for my side of the story. I give them the honest truth: Carlos insulted my wife and my trainer, so I rushed him. But it’s the text message I get from Lindsay as I’m boarding the plane that makes me sick to my stomach.
Lena and I take our seats on the plane. When the flight attendant asks if we’d like anything to drink before takeoff, I order a bourbon. “Make it a double,” I say as she walks away.
Lena cocks an eyebrow. “A double? I know my butt may not be as fine as Lindsay’s, but it can’t be that bad.”
I laugh, silently thanking her for lightening the mood. “Your butt is fine. It’s better than fine.”
She secures her seat belt and tilts her head as she looks at me. “Then what’s the problem? It looks like everyone believes your side of the story.”
I sigh as I think of the text message from Lindsay, then I look her in the eye. “Lindsay just got a call from Wembley’s assistant. They’re thinking of kicking me off the tour.”
Twelve
As our plane touches down at Wilmington International Airport, my phone regains a signal and lights up with a text message from Brad Wilson, the reigning WSL world champ.
Brad: You did what the rest of us have wanted to do for ages. If they kick you off for that shit, I’ll back you up, mate.
In my head, I read the words in his Aussie accent, then I shoot off a text to thank him before turning off my phone. Even the words of encouragement are too much. I need to focus on one thing only right now, and that’s getting home so I can come clean to Lindsay. She needs to know that even if I do get suspended for the rest of the tour, I’m coming back next year even stronger. It’s time to tell her the truth, that I have no intention of retiring.