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She probably shouldn’t stare. Maybe Shay wasn’t really asleep. It was hard to tell with those ridiculous glasses. Did famous people really think they were fooling anyone with those things?
Trudging past the woman, Andy was none too careful about the sand she kicked up. Yeah, it was juvenile, but she was feeling bitter about the towel thing.
Deciding she’d better acquire one of her own, Andy slogged over to a beach vendor nearby. “I need a towel please,” she said to a visored man setting up his wares.
“Twenty bucks. Take your pick.” He nodded towards his table of merchandise, then went back to dumping a bag of ice into a cooler of canned drinks.
Andy pulled out her wallet, paid the man, and grabbed the first one from the stack.
Deciding it might be prudent to claim a spot near the steps — in case her sudden bout of bravery disappeared faster than all the cash in her wallet — Andy returned the way she’d come. Maybe fifteen feet behind Shay, she found a smooth expanse of sand and unfolded her towel. Then she sighed.
The damn thing had a giant Tweety Bird on it. Big yellow head. Tiny little body. Bright purple background. It definitely wasn’t as cool as her Henry’s wave-patterned Billabong towel. But at least it was something to sit on. Spreading the towel out carefully, Andy sat down on the edge of it with her knees bent and the heels of her Doc Martens resting in the sand.
Scooping up a small handful of the stuff, Andy smiled. She’d always liked playing with sand in the sensory table her parents had bought her when she was a kid. The feel of it sifting through her fingers had been nice. The sun-kissed warmth of it here was even nicer.
Maybe sheshouldtake off her boots. Or at least her jacket. She probably looked a little odd all covered up the way she was. Removing her shades, Andy slipped them into the breast pocket of her windbreaker before loosening her hood the rest of the way. Just as she was about to lower it, she remembered she hadn’t washed her hair that morning.
Her mother was always nagging her about washing her hair.
Three times a week, Andygram, or it will get greasy.
Andy wasn’t sure when she’d washed it last. Wednesday maybe?
Whatever. The hood was staying on.
She couldn’t let her Henry see her with greasy hair.
Pulling the binoculars back out, Andy returned her attention to the action in the water. Which seemed to be dying down. The waves weren’t nearly as big as when she’d arrived, and most of the surfers were sitting upright on their boards now.
Andy zoomed in on her Henry. He was talking to his dark-haired friend, his body turned Andy’s way. Beads of water dripped from his inky-brown bangs to his smooth, hairless chest, which was a perfect golden tan. His mouth suddenly dropped open in a big belly laugh at whatever his friend was telling him.
Andy was a little shocked the Hawaiian dude could say anything so funny, but she was entirely grateful to him because, damn, did her Henry look breathtakingly beautiful right now.
So beautiful that Andy was struck with the sudden urge to capture the moment. To record it so she could play it back over and over. Returning her binoculars to her right pants pocket, Andy pulled her cellphone from her left.
Then she turned her camera phone on, zoomed in on her smiling, joyful Henry, and began recording. One video clip after another. One picture after the next. Shot after shot, she greedily snapped like a photographer going to town on some famous fashion model. And truthfully, her Henry really could be a model. He was just that gorgeous.
Andy sighed dreamily, completely oblivious to everything going on around her.
That is until a shadow fell into the frame of her shot.
She frowned.
What the hell?
A voice accompanied the shadow. A scary, angry voice. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to hand over the phone.”
Andy’s entire body tensed as a hand came down hard on her shoulder.
Chapter four
Lukestraddledhisboardjust outside the line-up with his boys, content to let the younger crowd have their way with the rest of the set.
Pacific Beach was known for being one of the friendlier surfing destinations in the city, without the localism of some of the other beaches in the area. But even still, the college crowd that so often flocked to PB during the summer usually deferred to the more seasoned surfers. Surfers like Luke and his boys. This was partly because they were older — all three of them twenty-seven — but mostly because they could do the best tricks.
“Dude, that kickflip was gnarly!” Kyle said to Dylan, who sat between them, the nose of his board pointed towards the horizon while theirs was aimed at the shore.
“Yeah, rad move, D.” Luke extended his hand.
