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“Could you have picked a smaller bikini?” It covers less than half of my ass. I twist at the hips and check. Less than less than half. I meet Mylo’s eyes in the mirror and arch my eyebrow as I twist my hair up into a knot with the hair tie around my wrist.
“First one I came to.” His teeth flash and he takes a long, appreciative look at the part of me in question. “But I’m not complaining. You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
He nods, scratches his jaw, not even trying to hide his grin as he turns towards the main part of the Surf Shack.
I follow him out to where he’s pulling a board from the rack. Take it awkwardly when he hands it to me, struggling to find the carry handle in the center of the board.
He picks his up easily along with both our paddles. “How do you end up living on an island and never getting on a board?”
“Rae’s scared of sharks, and Rosa was always more interested in painting the waves than riding them.”
“Sharks? There are no sharks here.” His eyebrows tilt up in the middle.
“You try telling her that,” I roll my eyes with a laugh and head out of the shack. “Let’s do this, teach. We’ve got waves to paddle.”
We stop where the sand changes from hot and fluffy to hard and damp, the surf receding, then flowing back in over our toes. The water’s mellow today. The waves, placid. There’s not much wind. People scatter the beach. There are more people than a few years ago. More than just a month ago. The tourists are coming.
I pull in coconut-sunscreen scented air and dip a toe in the sudsy edge of a wave when it gets close again. “Where are we going?”
“Not far. Just out past the breakers over to that spit of land.” He points toward a smattering of big leaf and palmettos in a wild section of the island about half a mile to the west.
“What’s out there?”
He grins. “You don’t know?”
“Nope.”
He widens his eyes. “Something about Clua that Mackenzie Rivas doesn’t know?”
I lift my hand to shade my eyes and stare over in the direction he pointed to, try to picture what would be there, and come up empty. “I see nothing but jungle.”
He scrubs his hands over his mouth, hiding a sexy but smug grin. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” We attach our ankle straps, lift the boards, then wade out into the bath-warm water, setting them down when we hit waist height—my waist height, not his. On Mylo it’s only mid-thigh height. I don’t wait for him to get on his board before I climb onto mine, settle onto my knees, then hold my hand out for the paddle Mylo still has on his own board.
“You’ve done this before.” He plants his hands on his hips, his board bobbing in the water by his side.
“Well,” I laugh. “Maybe once or twice.” I grimace. “I didn’t want to burst your bubble.”
“Burst my bubble,” he deadpans, his rough chuckle, creasing the skin around his eyes as he shakes his head. “Show me what you got, Mac.”
We stay on our knees through the small waves, pushing ourselves forward until we’re past the break line where there’s nothing but calm waters, warm and so clear I can see the sand a few feet below and a school of silvery-blue fish dancing between the rocks.
Paddle in hand, I find my balance and lift onto my feet, my thigh muscles pulled tight, until I find my center and straighten. The board wobbles, but I manage to steady it before I fall.
“Set your feet wider,” Mylo calls from behind me, already up and pushing himself easily towards me.
I grin over my shoulder and wait for him to take me over. “When I said once or twice, I really meant twice.” I laugh and sink my paddle into the water, one hand on the top the other gripping the middle of the pole to propel my board after him.
We head towards a pristine cove with perfect white sand beaches. Jungle, totally wild and untouched by people, sprawls along the edges of the water, in some places so close the green touches right down into the blue. It’s a magical place. A secret place. A place I had no idea existed.
“How’d you know to come here?”
“I’ve paddled around the whole island. The spit blocks the waves so surfers leave it alone, and the jungle in there is rough enough I’m not even sure hikers can get through.” He drops down so he’s sitting astride his board.
I do the same. “It won’t stay that way though. The tourists will find it.”
