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“Yes! Yesterday! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. I got a callback!”
Suddenly, as sometimes happened, the waves picked up. Shouts were heard. The burst of adrenalin was an expected rush.
“Getting it! Go for it!”
“Yeah, me too.”
Eitan rowed a little to the side, giving him space, smiling at him with exuberance, and he answered with the same wide grin. They watched the surfs form. The waves in Israel were tiny, the ride short, but preparing to catch even the flattest wave–it was the best feeling in the world. There was the slight rise he’d been waiting for, and he paddled rapidly with his arms, the surge carrying him, and then his core muscles carried his feet seamlessly and he crouched on his board, balancing, riding. Right before the wave died out, he performed a cutback, pointing his board away from the beach and rowed out to catch the next wave. How did he let himself live without surfing? He was half a man, not doing this. He’d never let himself reach such a skewed work-life balance again. But as he was thinking it, he knew that the new job he was striving for would take him away from the sea.
He rode twice more, his upper body deliciously tired. The sea was the best workout. One more last ride for the day, or he would get caught in the inbound traffic to Tel Aviv. He leaned forward and made the well-practiced hop onto the board. He balanced on his feet, squatting, and looked towards the beach to estimate when he would need to jump off.
And then he saw her. The person he most wanted to see, and least expected to. Dafna. She wore a peach-colored sundress. The rising sun shone behind her, through the light skirt, delineating the shape of her waist, hips, and legs.
For the first time in many years, Erez lost his footing, wobbled wildly, and was wiped out and crushed, swallowed by the puny waves.
Chapter 22
A Commercial For Beach Showers
She squinted, trying to discern Erez amongst the distant figures floating and surfing on the sea, but there were too many, and they were too far. Israel’s western border was the Mediterranean, and from north to south, there were beaches, so she should have expected that surfing would be popular. She took off her sandals and walked, the sand grating her feet. Barefoot on the beach, the early morning sun warming her nape, she felt young again, almost careless, a feeling she hadn’t had in years.
“Hey.” He had materialized right next to her. Her pulse picked up. His short black hair glistened with drops of water. He unzipped and peeled the upper top of the swimsuit down to his waist, and the blue waves on his shoulder rippled, emulating the sea. He was breathing hard, his reddish nipples showing through a smattering of dark hair.
He threw his board down on the sand.
“What are you doing here?” He sounded so hostile. Fear twisted her insides at how vulnerable she would get if she opened up. Safe was good. Safe was safe. She managed years without a companion, living safely.
“I came to see you,” she said and paused.
She could still play it safe. Tell him she was here checking paddleboarding for Kisharti as an activity.
“Listen, I need to wash.” He pointed at the beach showers and turned.
“Wait!”
The sea breeze ruffled her skirt, and she inhaled its salty tang, gaining clarity. She would let this play out however it would. Her fears wouldn’t control her.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong to push you away. I apologize for my behavior,” she blurted.
He stood with his hands at his side, still breathing rather fast, and just stared at her.
“You came here to apologize?”
“Yes.”
She never had a thing for a man’s nipples before, but boy did she want to lick them now. She couldn’t stop staring at the wet drops that were running down his chest, along his navel, disappearing down the bulgy front of his wetsuit. He bent and picked up his board and walked away. She followed, uneasy that he didn’t say a word to her, but committed to her course. He laid the board next to a duffel bag and peeled off the wetsuit, revealing tight black swimming trunks out of which his thick thighs bulged. His continued silence was unnerving. He took a towel and a bottle of soap out of the bag.
“I need to shower.”
He strode towards the beach showers, the trunks clinging to his buns, and she couldn’t stop staring. Taking her courage in her hands, she trailed him.
Erez turned on the water and washed his face. His triceps rippled as he scraped his head with vigorous motions, throwing his head back under the running water and running his fingers through his short hair. This was like a commercial for hair shampoo. Or beach showers. Or swimming trunks. Rivulets of water washed along the blue waves, wetting the manta ray, washing down, down, down along the pronounced triangle of his abdomen.
“Close your mouth, Dafna.” His green eyes were amused.
She snapped it shut and put her hand on it. He smiled widely, and the tight fist that held her heart loosened. They were okay. Stepping away, he grabbed his towel and dried himself throwing on a simple white T-shirt. Then he was standing quite close to her, looking down with furrowed brows.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, sending warm flutters from her heart to her belly.
