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He’s attached a link to a playlist he’s titled “Romy and Michelle’s Road Trip Adventure,” which makes me laugh so hard I almost have tears.
The playlist is full of songs from classic movies of the past few decades and completely settles any nerves I had. Logan knows me. In such a short time, and with so few interactions, he knows me. And I’m so confused by it, but happy at the same time.
I’m about to hit play on the first song when a second message comes through.
Logan: I call dibs on being Romy
I laugh so hard that I snort and look around to make sure no one’s nearby to witness it. It takes me a full minute to calm myself down enough to even drive without watery eyes. I don’t think I’ve laughed that long in…actually, I have and it was once again with Logan.
Thanks to him, my journey is spent singing along to songs I haven’t heard in years, but ones that instantly penetrate my heart and mind. It feels like I’ve barely been in the car when I’m pulling into the parking lot, coming to a stop beside Logan’s Jeep.
With the top down, I can see him clearly in the driver's seat, his hair pulled back off his face, sunglasses in place, even though the sun has only just started to rise. He looks relaxed and lost in thought, so much so that I almost don’t want to bother him, but I’m sure he’s dying to hit the early morning waves.
As soon as I step out of the car, he cuts his engine and jumps out to meet me, obviously paying more attention than I thought.
“Michelle. Good to see you,” he says, and I burst out laughing again, thankfully sans snort this time, stopping myself short of pulling him into a hug.
“You did good, Romy. I’m impressed.”
“Always nice to get some positive feedback first thing in the morning.” He winks before stretching up to lift two long surfboards out of his Jeep. Or I guess they'd be called longboards. His tee rises, giving me my first glimpse of his body for the day. First of many, I hope.A girl can look no matter how confused she is.
Logan interrupts my drooling by throwing a rubbery item at my face, making me squeal and drop it so fast that I wince at my freak-out.
We both stare down at the wetsuit on the ground, with Logan just as shocked as I am by my reaction. He’s the first to recover, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he chuckles.
“Did I startle you?”
“I just wasn’t expecting you to throw it at me.”
“I gave you fair warning. I think my words were ‘Michelle, stop staring at my abs and grab this wetsuit for me.’”
My nose scrunches as I turn and burrow my face into his chest, my body warming with embarrassment.
Logan pulls me close, as he lightly chuckles again. “I loved it, if that makes you feel better.”
I groan and shake my head, never wanting to come out of my Logan-wrapped hold. But he doesn’t give me a choice, dropping his arm and taking a step back.
“Come on. It’s time to hit the waves.”
I sit on the beach and watch Logan catch a few small waves on his longboard, showing me how it’s done. I’m sure it’s boring for him, yet he’s always smiling.
When he’s done with his demonstration, he joins me on the sand, and that’s when the nerves kick in.
As I roll the skintight wetsuit up my body, I catch Logan’s eyes on me, and it doesn’t seem to faze him when he’s caught staring. Instead, he winks and looks me over once more, really taking his time. Drinking me in.
I should be offended at the way he’s ogling me, but how can I possibly feel that way, when just one look from him has my nerve endings on alert and my body coated in goose bumps, nervous anticipation taking over me.But anticipation for what?
When I’m suited up, we run through a few dry lessons before Logan even lets me step foot into the water. And by the time we’re done, I’m already exhausted. Apparently, surfing uses muscles I didn’t know I had.
After finally getting the nod to give real surfing a try, I run toward the ocean, throwing myself straight into it, diving under the first wave, exactly how Logan explained it.
“Well done,” he says as we both break the surface again. “It’s good to see you’ve got step one figured out. Are you ready to catch a wave?”
With a quick nod, I turn my head to search for a break and line myself up ready to go, paddling when Logan tells me to do so.
The water smashes into my board from behind, propelling me forward, much faster than I anticipated, so instead of trying to stand, I bodysurf back to the shore with a huge smile on my face, wondering how I’ve lived so close to the beach and never once given this a go.
My next few attempts are much the same, with my body never lifting from the board. And when I finally do manage to stand, I tip the board over with every go, until on my fifth try, I hit my stride and rise to my feet in triumphant glory. “I’m doing it. I’m…shit!”
