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According to him, ever since I broke it off with Raleigh Reynolds, I’ve been down a cylinder or two. Whatever that means.
I check the time on my chunky Michael Kors watch and glance over my shoulder. Nobody. Frankly, the place seems to have gone from hopping to deserted in no time flat.
I look out at the ocean and scan the surface of the water for anything of interest.
I don’t expect to see much, but with a hand over my eyes to shade out the light from the rising sun and a squint, I can just make out a human-looking figure in the ocean right before it disappears under a crushing blow from a huge wave.
Holy shit! That doesn’t look good!
Panic grips me, and I jump up to my feet in the kind of swift motion I didn’t even know I was capable of anymore in my thirties. I search the surface of the water for signs of the person as quickly as I can. Briefly, so briefly I almost miss it, his head pops up from the hollow in between the waves, arms stretched up, and then disappears again.
Shit! That definitely isn’t good! Isn’t that, like, the international sign for distress in the water or something? I feel like I’ve read it in a book before.
I run forward toward the edge of the waterline, dropping my purse in the sand in the process. I watch avidly for the man to reappear, but all I’m able to make out is a rogue arm through the wall of yet another wave.
I think that guy is going to drown!
Fear for the stranger’s life grips me, and I jump into action without thinking, sprinting into the water up to my thighs. My clothes are getting more drenched by the second, and the instant a wave breaks right in front of me, I freeze in my spot.
How in the hell am I going to help him? I’m not Michael Phelps, for fuck’s sake!
I search the water manically, hoping to lock on to a body part—a fleck of hope for this soul—when the back of a head bobs in the water before disappearing yet again.
Jesus, I can’t just leave him. I could never live with myself!
Shit. I’m really going to have to do this. I’m going to have to try to help him.
I time my jump into the body of the next wave just before it breaks, hoping to avoid getting caught up in the inertia of it. I’m an average swimmer at best, but I’ve seen the movie Blue Crush at least a dozen times. Surely, I can use all that research to my advantage.
Surprisingly enough, my film-grade technique works out okay, getting me to the other side of the wave without incident, but it’s in the results of my move where I find the problem.
No longer able to touch bottom, I fight to keep up my doggie-paddling as I search the water for the missing man. Another wave approaches, and without any footing to push off with, I don’t know how I’m going to force myself under the barrel of this one.
I glance back to the shoreline quickly, but it’s much farther away than anticipated. The current of the ocean has sucked me out well past where I’d ever choose to venture on my own.
And I’m getting dangerously tired. I would have sworn I’d be able to keep my legs churning for longer than sixty seconds, but maybe I’m not as buoyant as I used to be. Does age make you sink faster? Do carbs?
Okay, this isn’t good.
I scan the surface of the water again, hoping to find either the man who brought me into the stupid fucking ocean or a conveniently located platform to stand on, but I see neither.
Big and bold and overbearing, the wave makes it to me, crashing over my head as I take a huge last gulp of air. I immediately start fighting for the surface, but I can’t find it. I touch sand on what must be the ocean floor and flip my body so I can push off with both feet.
I fight and kick and claw my way to the top because there is no way I can look people in the eye in heaven if I know how absolutely stupid of a reason—trying to meet up with a guy I’ve dubbed Bachelor Anonymous for a freaking newspaper promotion—I died.
I’m not going down for useless pop culture!
I break through the top of the water and suck air into my lungs savagely, but it isn’t long before another wave crashes over my head.
Why would anyone swim in this ocean? Why? It’s a goddamn death sentence!
Salt water goes up my nose as I struggle for the surface again and burns a path straight to my brain where realization officially sets in.
