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You may, however, take lots of pictures.
Love, Luke.
Rolling her eyes, Andy pulled out her phone. For the next half hour, she did take lots of pictures, marveling at her boyfriend’s deft command of a surfboard.
Zooming in, she watched him drop into a crouch at the top of a wave and spin his board around 360 degrees just as the lip of the wave started peeling over. Then he zipped back down it, beating the rush of whitewater and making her silly, love-swept heart pitter-patter.
Damn, surfers were hot.
And this surfer was hers.
She snapped another series of stills as Luke neared the end of the wave. As though sensing her going all paparazzi again, his gaze cut straight to her. Smiling all smug and sexy-like for the camera, he threw both hands up in shakas before sticking out his tongue.
Then he wiped out.
Spectacularly.
And, from Andy’s vantage point, way too close to the pier.
Andy shot to her feet as she spotted his board tumbling about in the water near the pilings. Her stomach already in knots, she counted the seconds that ticked by — all agonizing five of them — before she saw a tattoo-covered arm breach the surface.
Andy’s breath hissed out, relief flooding her as she realized that long limb appeared to be as intact as the rest of the man now shooting her a thumbs-up.
Ugh. Surfers were stupid.
Stupid, showboat-y, and reckless.
With a growl, she pivoted in the sand just as another one of their ilk came striding her way.
One-arming his board, Dylan tipped his chin. “’Sup, sis?”
“Nothing,” she said sourly. “Can you please tell my stupid, showboat-y boyfriend that I had to leave because I’m so not prepared to watch him die?"
Dylan snorted and kept on walking. “Will do.”
“Why are you late by the way?”
He slowed to peer back at her with his usual amount of resting bitch face. “My bad. Woke up at half past nunyabusiness.”
Ignoring the man’s snark, she cocked her head. “Kyle’s not here either. Where is he?”
Dylan shrugged. “Hell if I know. Maybe he had a late night banging some chick at the club.”
Andy’s brain flashed back to the sex booth with its stupid spinning table. Dylan was probably onto something. She narrowed her eyes, no longer intimidated by this man in the slightest. No, she was just really irritated with him now. Kyle and Luke too.
Wasn’t her surf instructor always barking at her about basic surfing safety and how one should never go out without a partner?
Sure, there were plenty of other riders zipping about at this hour, but she always felt better when Luke had his wingmen.
“Fine,” she called out. “Just make sure my boyfriend doesn’t drown out there, okay?”
Dylan stopped and walked back to her. “What’s wrong with you? You need to take a dump or something?”
“No!”Yes.
“Ah,” he said with an irritating bob of his man-bun. “Surfing the crimson wave?”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Kahele.”
