Page 101 of PR Stunt

I type back a quick thumbs-up emoji before setting my phone down. A steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter in the living room, and I gulp it down—probably not the best idea, considering my nerves are already shot about surfing. My fingers tap against the ceramic as I drain the last sip. I can feel the caffeine settling in, making me a little jittery, but it doesn’t matter. I’m excited. Giddy, even. I grab my things and head out.

The walk to the beach is warm. I pass locals setting up shop. Handwoven blankets, colorful pottery, stacks of mangoes and limes under bright umbrellas. I reach the beach, and it’s not too crowded, just a scattering of beach blankets, families, couples, and surfers. Out on the water, a handful of surfers ride the waves, their silhouettes cutting against the bright horizon. I lay out my towel, kicking off my sandals and tucking them under one corner before stripping off my shorts. My gaze drifts back to the ocean, the rhythmic crash of waves sending a shiver of anticipation through me.

Then I spot Grayson. His unmistakable build is perched on his surfboard just past the break, sunlight glinting off his wet skin as he runs a hand through his hair. He’s talking to another surfer nearby, relaxed, grinning.

And then he moves.

He turns toward an incoming wave, and in one smooth motion, he pops up on the board. It’s swift, controlled, like muscle memory. He carves across the face of the wave, his body fluid and balanced, shifting with the water like they’re in sync. Damn. The speed, the precision, the quiet confidence… It’s a lot to take in. His back flexes as he adjusts his stance, and then he cuts back at the crest, low and powerful.

For a moment, the spray kicks up around him like mist, golden in the morning sun.

All I know is that Grayson Cole is good at surfing.

And looks hot doing it.

Way too hot.

The wave carries him closer to shore, and as it loses momentum, he steps off smoothly, sinking into the shallows before grabbing his board. Then he jogs out of the water, adjusting his shorts with one hand, water dripping down his toned torso, his hair a tousled mess of sun and salt.

I bite my lip, my gaze raking down his body. Oh, come on. I press my lips together, willing my face to stay neutral as he approaches. Because if I don’t, there’s a good chance I’ll give myself away. Grayson stops in front of me, shaking out his damp hair before setting his board down with an easy thud. He drops beside me, legs stretched out, arms resting loosely over his knees. A real smile lingers on his face.

I tilt my head, pretending to scrutinize. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. You can somewhat surf.”

Grayson lets out a low laugh, gaze flicking to me. “Yeah, twenty years of it will do that.”

Twenty years. That means he’s been surfing since he was, what, eight? The thought of him as a kid, little and sunburned, wobbling on a too-big board, makes something strange and unwelcome squeeze in my chest.

He exhales, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “It’s been my way of…” He trails off, like he’s debating what to say next. Then, after a beat, he finishes, “Blowing off steam.”

Then, casually, he adds, “And it’s a good cardio session.”

“What? Don’t get enough of that at the gym?”

His lips quirk, just slightly. “No. The cardio I want isn’t mine yet.”

I purse my lips, pretending to consider. “Huh. I didn’t realize you were so…cardio deprived.”

Grayson tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “I wouldn’t say deprived. Just…waiting on the right workout partner.”

“So picky. If you’re still waiting, maybe the problem isn’t the partners. Maybe it’s the participant.”

His brows shoot up before he grins, eyes dark. This is fun. Really fun, actually—this new common ground.

“Bold words you’re casually throwing out, Miss Grace.”

Grayson’s grin doesn’t waver as he pushes to his feet, brushing sand off his hands. “Come on. Let’s get you wet.”

I shake my head at him, exasperated, but my lips twitch. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Before I can think too hard about it, I reach for his outstretched hand. The second his fingers wrap around mine, he pulls me up with zero effort.

He grabs his board. “This way.” He nods toward the shoreline, and I fall into step beside him.

As we walk, he starts explaining the basics, his voice easy and confident. “The biggest thing is balance. You want to keep your weight centered, knees slightly bent when you’re up. But before we get there, we start small.”

I nod, listening as he continues.

“Paddling is key. You want strong, sure strokes, but I’ll help and push you into the wave.”