Spring Tide Page 20

  _______

  In January, Jericho was out at the docks more. Ever since he’d come back from Ireland, I’d catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye and it irritated the hell out of me. I’d stop whatever I was doing and stare at him, my eyes big and wide. Although he was working more, I was never alone. One of the three of them was always around. I didn’t mind being with Julia all day. She’d do her thing, I’d do mine, and we’d complain about some aspect of Jericho or Donovan every few hours.

  Moving out was a long shot. The Black’s cottage had been one disaster after another since before Thanksgiving: major crack in the slab, broken sewer line which led to plumbing issues, and electrical problems. The place was cursed.

  In the meantime, I had concocted over forty recipes and kitchen tested about twenty. Some were genius, some meh, and some vile, but it wasn’t enough to keep me occupied. I went back to my old job at Crazy Jim’s. It was good to be out of the house, working with Freddy again, and Jericho was all for it.

  He was standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom, the only place I could go to be alone. I thought I’d heard him take off in his truck a half-hour prior. There was no way to hide the mass of blue that covered my lap. He was trying hard not to smile, but amusement was in his eyes.

  “This is why I hate living here. I never get any privacy and now you know.” I gathered up my shame.

  “I wasn’t gonna say anything.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

  “I don’t want any jokes or two words about this, ever.”

  “It looks big.” His smile broke through. “What is it?”

  “I should say none of your business, but it’s a blanket for your bed because the one you have now is scratchy. It’s a cashmere blend—feel it.”

  He sat next to me and touched it. “Nice.”

  “Stop smiling.”

  “You are a very interesting animal, Kris Edwards.”

  The needles were out of the basket. I liked to knit. It was relaxing and kept my brain and fingers busy, yet I’d never been more embarrassed. He watched me weave the yarn around and through, around and through, and then held a printout in front of my face. It was an airline confirmation for a flight to Oahu.

  I read the tiny print. “Aloha. I’m glad you’re going. You’ve been all kinds of squirrely.”

  “That’s your ticket. I’m covered by the sponsor.”

  “You bought me a ticket without talking to me about it first?”

  “I want you to come out with me. I’m stepping in to do commentary for the broadcast of the men’s comp, but—”

  “There’s commentary?”

  “Yeah, and I’m good for it ’cause I’m bilingual—I speak English and surfer. They say I have visual appeal too.”

  “You bet you do.”

  “Just think, you could observe a whole bunch of surfers for four days.” He tapped his noggin. “You could begin to get inside my head.”

  Did I want to get inside his head? “You and I have had this talk before. First it’s a funboard, then a wet suit, then Hawaii, and before I know it I’m living like a kept woman. Oh wait, I am, right here in this house.” I set the printout aside. “I can’t believe you didn’t ask me first.”

  “Why are you mad? It’s Hawaii. Let’s go, have fun, do stuff, be tan. Call Sarah and invite her. I bet she’ll wanna go, will start happy clapping immediately.”

  I stomped out the back door, screamed out three or four of my best swears, and walked back in.

  “That was impressive, Kris. Your mom know you talk like that?”

  I thrust my fists to my hips. “Mom knows. Mom also knows I’m not going.”

  “You know you wanna go.”

  “Do not.”

  The next morning, I called Sarah to discuss the matter and swear some more. She wanted to go and wanted me to go, arguing that I was being pigheaded and ridiculous. Pride counted for nothing when Hawaii was in the cards. And I did want to go.

  I messed up his hair. “Fine, I’ll go.”

  “Love you, hon. Knew you would.”

  “Shut up. Love you too. Sarah and her boyfriend du jour are gonna join.”

  “Awesome.” He pulled me onto the couch with him. “You’re okay flying by yourself?”

  “Yes. Are you okay with me flying by myself?”

  “You know I have to go early—”

  “Because of the waiting period. At least it’s a non-mobile event. Anyway, it’s possible that it’ll be all said and done by the time I get there. Four full days, right?”

  He put a pillow behind his back. “It all comes down to conditions. How’d you know about the waiting period?”

  “Research. If I’m going I might as well have some clue about how the competitions are run.”

  “Good luck with that—the association changes the rules every five years and no one knows what’s going on, not even the guys in the race. You are such a spaz.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  Donovan took me to the airport before the sun was up. I stepped out of the terminal in Honolulu and into warm sunshine and the fragrance of Eden: gardenias, orchids, love. I didn’t know what time it was and didn’t much care. A taxi took me to the hotel and in the room I found a note on the bathroom mirror saying that Jericho’d be back around five.

  Sarah and Eric, her new beau, had arrived earlier in the day so I called her to get the long-lost girlfriend ritual out of the way: the hugging, jumping, giggling thing. It was dumb, but as a chick was mandatory. Looking at Eric, I understood Sarah’s attraction. He wasn’t as pretty as Nick but was fashionably dressed and matched her outfit.

  I went down to the beach with them and my senses absorbed every aspect of the North Shore. Turquoise toppled over deep blue that mirrored the sky, the scent of flowers and saltwater slowly filling my nose. The feel of warm sand beneath my feet and the sound of the water quieted my mind and put my body at rest. I reclined into a chair and let the breeze wash over me.

  “Hey, beautiful. Found you.” Jericho slid his arm under my back, sat me up, and put himself behind me. “Trip go okay?”

  “Yeah.” I relaxed into him.

  “Where’s your book of the week?”

  “Dunno.”

  He rolled the string of my bikini between his fingers. “Did ya take a walk? Swim? Explore native foods and customs?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’re you doin’ then?”

  “Nothin’.”

  He ran his palms up and down my arms for a few minutes before putting his cheek next to mine. “I’ve never seen you this mellow.”

  “I’m mellow all the time.”

  Sarah laughed quietly.

  He tugged my braid. “You can’t sit still for ten minutes at home.”

  “And?”

  “It’s nice to see you be normal.”

  “I don’t think normal is a word you can be throwin’ around so casually.”

  He got up. With a grin, he walked into the water and vanished under shining blue. A second later, he came up so far from shore that his blond hair was a dot. I’m partnered with Aquaman. What a pair—Poseidon with his hand of blue fire and Gourmet Girl with her food processor of ultimate power, vanquishing lameness by way of frontside air reverses and spicy fruit chutneys. Yeah. Cool.

  At a little past six, he took my hand and I reluctantly went back to the room to shower and dress for dinner.

  When we got back from eating the most fantastic wahoo ever, I unbuttoned his shirt, expecting protest. Instead he let it slide from his shoulders. Without hesitation he brought me down onto the bed with him, his eyes glinting with pale blue light. When my shirt came over my head, sex didn’t dominate my thoughts. I knew it wasn’t the right time. All I cared about was that feeling of him. And as long as his mouth kept moving up my legs and over my stomach, everything was just fine.

  Over the previous few weeks, the physical side effects he caused had significantly reduced. We were getting closer to being in balance.
I wasn’t sure if the move toward equilibrium was a product of time and exposure to him (or him to me), or if it might have to do with the tides, but my gut said it had to do with our connection. The more our connection flourished, the longer I stayed at the surface. I realized then that he was as attracted and responsive to me as I was to him, and that what we had was extraordinary.

  He got up at five-thirty the next morning.

  “No dawn patrol in Oahu.” I yanked the sheet over my head.

  “Sorry, I was trying to be quiet.”

  “That’s quiet? Why are you up? Are you commenting on the sunrise?”

  “Gonna get wet, catch a few before things get underway. Wanna come? I have coffee.”

  After I put on the blue bikini and cutoffs that he’d actually folded and put at the foot of the bed, he combed my hair and pulled it back while I brushed my teeth.

  He looked over my shoulder at the sea glass.

  “It’s right where you like it, baby.” I spit in the sink.

  “I do like. You wear it every day?”

  “I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me.”

  We left for `Ehukai Beach. Upon arriving, it was easy to understand why the break was referred to as Pipeline; the waves drove hard, curling into tubes of deliverance. I imagined the agonizing death I would suffer by even touching the water’s edge, shuddered, and then looked around.

  I was truly in the land of surfer. I knew because it was stupid early and the thin stretch of beach was packed with people staking a claim on their spot for the day, cars parked up and down the road for miles.

  “You surf?” a guy to my right asked, his brown eyes canvassing my rear.

  “Nothin’ like this. I’m here ’cause I just can’t get enough.” I winked at the adorable stranger.

  “Cool. Do you?”

  I shook my head up and down and then left and right.

  “My name’s Ky. That’s K-Y.” He smiled big.

  “Dude …” I was nearly speechless. “You can’t be introducing yourself like that.”

  Jericho elbowed me. “Smooth.”

  “Oh he’s greasin’ me, all right.” I glanced at Ky. He was still smiling.

  Jericho picked up his board and started toward aqueous hell.

  I considered the proper term for sending him off—enjoy or break a leg or don’t drown as you get severely cut up on the reef but decided to keep it simple. “Love you, baby.”

  He turned back to me. “You’re about to love me more.”

  Once past the breakers he waited, then paddled into the takeoff zone and disappeared inside a wave. Suddenly he came shooting out of the tube. Reversing his direction, he cut back, turned again, and in a breath was in the air spinning with the board. Weaving the face he did several more tricks and rode the wave to its end. His performance was a combination of beauty, grace, and power, surreal in the light of the rising sun. It was probably my own exhilaration, but in those few moments, I would have sworn our connection was sending me the euphoria he felt from doing what he loved.

  After the session ended he went to do his thing.

  I immediately pulled out my phone. Sarah didn’t pick up.

  I mercilessly hit redial until I heard a high-pitched whinny on the other end and what might’ve been the sound of curls being slammed onto a pillow. “Sarah, get pretty and get over here stat … Shut up and listen, you’re gonna be catastrophically blown away by all the hard bodies on this beach: Americans, Hawaiians, Australians, South Americans, some European guys, most with bodies to die for and flirty little accents.” I heard a noise of approval on the other end so I gave her directions and asked her to bring a few things.

  Twenty minutes later, she shoved two hotel memo pads and two pens against my chest. She looked around the beach, a swear of gratitude uttered under her breath. “My oh my, oh me oh my … there’re so many to choose from. It’s a meat market, the one at the corner of Please and Thank You in heaven.”

  “These boys are begging to be ranked.” I offered a pen and a seat on my towel. “The usual?”

  She rubbed her hands together and sat. “We haven’t done this in sooo long. Okay, let’s go with face, chest and arms, legs, and ‘special features’ to make a final score for overall hotness.”

  We settled in, pens ready. A couple of girls came over and asked what we were doing, our whispering and hushed giggles giving away that we weren’t on the up and up. After another fifteen minutes, three more joined us and our party was in full swing. With delays between heats, each competitor that crossed us was provided thoughtful discussion and a whole lot of innuendo.

  I held up my pad. “Ladies, close your eyes and count to wonderful ’cause here he comes.”

  He was tall with thick, honey-blond hair cropped at his ears, a fantastic smile, and his muscles were such that the shadows they cast on his skin made him a roadmap to paradise. The girl seated behind me said his name was Tyler. The nodding and licking of lips suggested we had our front man, but there were still more to see. Sarah, me, and another girl were having a lovely chuckle over Tyler’s special features when Jericho knelt beside me.

  “Whatcha doin’?” He regarded my posse.

  Don’t look at Sarah. “Stuff.”

  “Uh huh. You’re up to no good. I can see it in your eyes.”

  The girl on my right touched my knee. “Is that Jericho, like the Jericho?”

  “Yeah, but he’s not competing anymore. But since he has in the past, hells bells, let’s score him anyway.” I gave him the face of innocence. “Humor me for a minute? Shirt off, we need front and back.” We didn’t really need the shirt off, but why not?

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not serious.”

  “Dead serious. We’ve gathered here today to do some very important scientific research on the correlation between raw hotness and surfing ability. So far the results are staggering.”

  Three girls told him to take it off.

  He rubbed his tongue against his back teeth. “You’re scoring guys out here like cattle at a 4-H fair?”

  “Of course not!” Sarah slapped his shoulder. “What we’re doing is way more sophisticated.”

  He halfheartedly obliged us and I thanked him for his participation. We finished out the last few boys in the morning group and Sarah went back to the hotel to check on Eric, who’d overdone it at the luau the night before.

  Having been out in the water on top of a board a few times, I was awed by how those guys directed the ocean’s energy to do what they wanted, the difficulty of their stunts inconceivable to me. Between the force of the ocean and the force of their maneuvers, boards were being broken at a steady rate. And although I’d been behaving badly, I’d gotten a lot out of the day from watching them surf. They were the best of the best, every successful ride individual and genuinely remarkable, specifically Tyler. And I had to admit, the wipeouts were quality.

  Jericho confiscated our scorecards for use in the broadcast. In announcing the contests, dialogue could get pretty dry in the interims and our science project would spice things up. I wrote down my theory on the relationship between attraction and ability. The crazy thing was that it actually held true for the top five in exact order against their point scores (Jericho excluded).

  Comp over. Party time.

  I threw on a black denim mini and a black tank that had slim silver chains for straps and hung low in the front and very low in the back—a bit formal, but still cool. With studded flops on my feet, I went to Sarah’s room to hang while Jericho showered.

  “I love that top.” She straightened one of the chains. “Holy moly! You’re not wearing a bra.” She looked at her own set. “You show off that B-cup splendor.”

  “You shopped me this in August, ding dong. And yeah, I’m way outta control.”

  Jericho came to their room ten minutes later in a white Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and suede flip flops. Sarah went to prod Eric, who was fussing with his hair. Jericho stepped me back against the wall fast, h
is hand holding both of mine over my head, the blue of his eyes darkening as he came into a shadow. Goose bumps crept up my legs.

  “I like you in black,” he said in my ear, the tone of his voice erotic as he bit my neck.

  He whispered what he wanted to do to me and my lips parted. It was his voice, but the compression waves showed a distinct change tone that was strange. I started to tremble, a familiar but unfamiliar feeling on the edge of my subconscious. His mouth traveled slowly from my shoulder to my mouth and I was helpless. Wind rushed through the open balcony door, blowing the thin drapes.

  He suddenly jerked away from me, a look of concentration on his face. “I uh … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that.”

  “Wha?” I stood there, my brain fuzzy.

  “You look really good, everything he, I mean I could ever want. I’m not sure what came over me. Ready?” He placed his hand in mine, took a step, and turned back to me. “Kris?” He said my name again.

  I rubbed my arms. “I’m okay.”

  We collected Sarah and Eric, both of whom were restyling their hair.

  A thatched roof smothered in white lights was held by wide posts, the bar packed with seventy or more people. Jericho and Eric went to the bar. Sarah and I went to the perimeter to observe the masses and discuss the excessive turnout of women dressed like sluts. I was snickering over unkind words she’d said about a redhead when Tyler came through the crowd, causing Sarah and I to simultaneously take in an “ahhh.” Tyler was truly the desert sun at high noon, burning us with his sovereign hotness. His jeans were form fitting and his shirt was tight, but not too tight—the right tight. Jericho returned, handed me a pink-colored drink and moved to my side before grabbing hands with the circle of brahs to our left.

  I took a sip. “What’s this?”

  “What you’ve been asking for,” he flashed an evil smile, “sex on the beach.”

  I clinked his glass and set his little joke down on a table behind the railing, the liquor too sweet. A few minutes later, Jericho was called away to talk to another of his brethren. I was babbling with one of the members of my ranking brigade when two hands came from behind me and planted themselves against the railing, trapping me in the smell of weed and bad tequila.