Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
We sit side by side on our surfboards bobbing in the water, waiting for our turns.
“Last time I surfed, I was in Hawaii. The waves were massive.”
He arcs his hand up over his head to emphasize his point, and I laugh.
“Sounds awesome. Were you there for work?”
“Yeah, I covered the Kapalua Wine & Food Festival for The Times.”
I’m immediately envious. “So how does freelancing work for you? Do you choose your destinations or do publications post assignments?”
He shimmies his hand from side to side. “Both. This trip was last minute. I’m filling in for a friend. I was in Bolivia last week.”
My jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”
He smiles and shakes his head.
“I can’t imagine. I’m not even close to getting there. This assignment is a first for me. I’m usually behind a desk at Bon Voyage.”
“You’ll get there,” he reassures me with a sympathetic smile.
Yeah, hopefully sooner rather than later.
“So do you travel alone mostly?”
He doesn’t understand my intent when he replies, “Yes. No assistants.”
“Right, but what about a girlfriend? Or are you married?”
He looks at me anew, like he’s trying to feel me out. I nod my head toward the beach, trying to help him catch on. “Sienna was wondering . . .”
Realization dawns, and excitement sparks in his dark-brown eyes. “Ah. No girlfriend. No wife.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on,” I say with a cheeky smile before our instructor calls my name to let me know I’m up next.
“Oh gosh. Here goes nothing . . .”
It’s my last turn before our surf lessons end, and I’m hopeful I’ll finally succeed. Even Avery somehow managed to accomplish something resembling surfing in her last attempt. Antsy to catch a wave, I paddle through the water as fast as I can. The instructor shouts, “Now!” And I shoot to my feet and squeal with glee when I find my balance. Adrenaline spikes my blood. My heart hammers, and my smile is impossibly wide as I become one with the water—Moana has nothing on me—then it’s over in the blink of an eye. I lose my footing, and with a sound something akin to whooaohshit, I go crashing into the surf in a tangle of limbs. I doubt I was standing up on the surfboard for more than a few measly seconds—worse than Avery—but when I swim up and break through the surface, I still hear loud cheering.
I whip my hair back and look toward the shore to see Sienna whistling loudly. “Well done, Casey! Look at you! You’re a pro!”
I laugh and grab for my board so I can drag it behind me as I start walking the last few yards to shore. Now, one entire pineapple cocktail in, she continues making me blush with comments about my Baywatch body.
“Is that Pam Anderson?”
Never mind that I look nothing like Pamela Anderson save for my chest area (which I know damn well is awesome). Sienna is being funny, but she’s starting to draw attention. I’m about to slice my hand across my throat and tell her to knock it off when I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a sharp sting on my left calf. My step falters as I wince in pain. I hiss and start leaping as fast as I can through the water, wanting out of it immediately. The pain only intensifies as I make it up to the sand, barely keeping ahold of the surfboard. The moment I can, I drop the board with a loud thunk and look down.
I clench my teeth, expecting a huge gash or gnarly wound given the intensity of the pain, but there’s only a mild red rash starting to bloom, stretching a few inches along my calf. A jellyfish sting, most likely.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
I stiffen in surprise. I would have expected Sienna to be the first to reach me. She was nearest to me a moment ago, but there’s no mistaking that voice.
I didn’t realize Phillip had even joined us for the beach picnic, and now I’m wincing for an entirely different reason—mainly over what a fool I made of myself over the last hour. He probably loved watching me tumble off my surfboard time and time again. Get this man a bag of popcorn and an ice-cold Coke. He could have sat and watched me fail for hours on end, I’m sure.
I mostly manage to wipe the surprise off my face before I look up and meet his gaze.
I’m expecting cool indifference, silly considering he went through the trouble of coming all the way over here to check on me. It wouldn’t make sense for him to rush down here just to rub it in my face. We might not see eye to eye, exactly, but I don’t get the sense that Phillip is downright cruel or anything. Just . . . difficult. Difficult in an annoying way that somehow intrigues me and infuriates me all at once. Try and tell that to a shrink.