On the Rocks (Last Call #1)(39)

I’m surprised by her changing the subject. “The one where I sliced my head open?”

“Yeah, I remember… rather than quit, you had your dad run you up to the urgent care clinic and stitch your head up. You made it back in time for your next heat.”

It’s my turn to chuckle now. “Thirty-two stitches. Dad thought I was nuts, and Mom was beside herself.”

“Yeah… but I thought it was the most amazing thing ever. Your dedication. You loved surfing and the competition so much, and you did whatever it took to get back out there.”

I’m silent for a moment, digesting what she’s saying. “So you think I should do it?”

“I think if you still have that love for the sport, you have to go back. And I think if you do have that love for the sport, you’ll do whatever it takes to go back.”

“I don’t know what I feel for it. That’s the problem.”

“Well, how often do you think about it? Does it plague your thoughts?”

I don’t answer, because I’m not sure Gabby is ready to hear the answer to those questions. Yes, I do think about it. Quite a bit. But it doesn’t plague my thoughts. No, Gabby plagues my thoughts, but surfing doesn’t.

When I don’t give her an answer, she presses on. “Look, there’s no reason why you can’t go back. Brody can run Last Call. I know you think he needs you, but he can manage without you. There’s not a damn thing holding you here.”

There’s you, I think to myself, but I would never voice that aloud. Gabby doesn’t want to hear that, and frankly, that’s what I’m feeling right now. But will I feel that way next week? Next month? Next year when the Tour starts back up?

I give Gabby a last squeeze. “I’m going to hit the surf. Think you can manage to get your shorts back on without me?”

“I think I can suffer through it,” she says drily.

After a quick kiss on the temple, I jump up from the blanket. Thank God my hard-on has subsided.

I stand in front of her, pulling up the top half of my wetsuit while she shimmies slightly under the blanket to get her clothes back on.

“So, you’ll stay the rest of the day with me? I don’t have to go into the bar at all today.”

“Sure. I’m going to stay out here and watch you a bit though.”

I reflect upon her lovely face for a moment. The sun is still casting orange and pink, and it makes her hazel eyes sparkle. She’s looking at me, her eyes wide and her head tilted slightly at an angle.

I wonder what she feels for me. Is she still carrying around deep feelings, or did I crush them completely five years ago?

Is this just sex to her, or does she want something more? By the mere fact that she doesn’t want anyone to know about us, I’m thinking this is just sex.

I’m a dude though, and that should be perfectly fine by me, right?

Right?

Hmmm. I wish I knew for sure.





“So… have you given any more thought to telling Casey about you and Hunter?” Alyssa asks as we watch Casey get us another round of drinks at the bar.

Casey stands in all of her full vixen glory, wearing a pair of designer jeans, a baby doll camisole, and peep-toe pumps. She has her hair up in a high ponytail with large hoop earrings glistening from the backlighting behind the bar. Every guy in the place, regardless of whether they are single or sitting with their significant other, is checking her out in some way.

And she’s not oblivious to it all. No, Casey is very much aware of the affect she has on the male persuasion, as evidenced by the way she stands on the railing at the bottom of the bar, her elbows resting on the glossy wood and her ass sticking out.

She says something to Brody as he makes our drinks, and he actually gives her a half smile. I can see him warming up more and more each day.

Turning my attention back to Alyssa, I shake my head. “No… but I will. I’m just trying to figure out how.”

“Usually, opening your mouth and letting words come out works pretty well.”

I give her a ferocious glare. “Smart-ass.”

My eyes slide over to Hunter as he stands at the end of the bar, watching the crowd. He rarely works if he comes here at night, preferring to just be present and keep an eye on things. Brody has been managing the bar and the staff just fine, and it’s been a calculated move on Hunter’s part to give him that responsibility. It makes me wonder if he’s already started the grooming process on Brody, so he can make his escape back to the Tour.

It’s crowded for a late-April, Monday night, which is great. Normally the heavy tourist season won’t start until after Memorial Day, but I expect Last Call is quite the novelty now that Hunter has taken it over and done a basic refurbish. He had to fire most of Salty’s old staff because they were lazy or skimming money, but his new staff is friendly—with the exception of Brody—and efficient. He replaced all the old booths because the leather was dried and cracked, and the Formica top tables went as well, replaced with heavy wood pieces.

The last thing he did before reopening under the name Last Call was to redo the decor by taking down all of Salty’s lame-ass fish netting that he used to conceal cracks in the wall, repair the damage, and decorate with a surfing motif. Large photo prints of surfers riding Superbank in Australia, The Bubble in the Canary Islands, or Cloud Nine off Siargao Island hang on the walls, along with surfboards, surf shop prints, and plaques that said things like “If It Swells, Ride It,” and “No Waves, No Glory.” A huge, life-size print of Hunter taken from inside a wave as it curled over him hung on the west wall, and I found myself staring at that just as often as I stared at him.