I take in a deep breath and steady myself.
“Now!” Charlie yells. “Paddle, paddle, paddle!”
I stick my hands in the water and start moving them as fast as I can, which isn’t very fast. I can beat an egg a mile a minute, but this is a total body workout, my shoulders and triceps working overtime as I try and keep up with the wave.
“Up, up up!” Charlie’s now yelling.
I’m not sure I agree. I’m ahead of the wave now but it doesn’t feel right. Still, what the hell do I know? Unsteadily, I push myself up onto my knees, trying to keep my balance and do that final, terrifying step to my feet.
“Focus on the tree!”
My head snaps up but instead of seeing the tree like I should, I see Logan, walking along the beach and staring at us with a disapproving expression.
Great.
That’s all it takes for me to completely lose my balance.
I tilt to the left and hit the water just as the wave crashes on top of me. I’m swirling, the water rushing past my ears, the sand sweeping over my face. The board goes in another direction, still dragged by the surf, the band tugging hard at my ankle until I’m sure it’s going to snap.
I swim for the surface and burst through as the bottom scrapes against my knees and I’m swept up on the shore.
I quickly wipe my eyes with one hand as I stagger to my knees, the next wave crashing behind me, and pull out the giant wedgie from my butt with my other.
“Ron!” Charlie is yelling from behind me and I can hear him splashing to shore. “Are you okay?”
But I don’t turn around. My eyes are glued to Logan’s. He’s standing right in front of me, the ocean licking the tops of his bare feet as they sink into the sand, staring down at me with an expression I can’t read.
Then he sticks his hand out. “Here,” he says and I hesitantly put my hand in his. He hauls me up to my feet, his hand gripping my elbow. “You better free your ankle before the next wave yanks you back.”
I nod, my head dizzy, my sinuses full of salt water, and he steadies me while I lift up my ankle and quickly undo the Velcro strap. I wrap it a few times around my hand and pull the board in to me.
His hand on my elbow still remains, his grip warm and firm against my wet skin. This is the closest I’ve been to Logan in the last two weeks. Even though I’ve been working steadily, he’s only come into the restaurant three times to check on how things are going. And by “check on,” I mean look around and make a grunting sound. I can’t tell if he’s been impressed with my performance so far or the exact opposite. My caveman deciphering skills only go so far.
Other than that, we’ve both managed to avoid each other. Sometimes I’ll catch him at the bar after work, but that’s when I just head straight back to my room. Once or twice I’ve run into him on the grounds and he’ll usually nod me his greeting. While I’ve managed to slip into a nice, gentle routine with my days here, and have gotten to know the staff pretty well at this point thanks to Moonwater’s camp-like vibes, Logan and I haven’t grown any closer.
That’s probably a good thing, I remind myself, eyeing his hand until it drops away.
“That was quite the wipeout,” Charlie says with a laugh as he comes up toward me, dragging the rest of my board on the beach. “You need to work on your reflexes a bit more.”
I open my mouth to say something but Logan is beating me to it.
“Don’t blame all that on her reflexes,” Logan says, raising his chin as he peers down at Charlie. “She’s not the problem. You’re the problem.”
Charlie’s scoffs, annoyed, and runs his hand through his hair. “Me? Dude, no offense, but you know I’m one of the best on the north shore.”
“Sure you are, kid,” Logan says. “Why don’t you run along. I’ve got a shuttle bus full of people who want to head to Princeville in the next ten minutes. I’ll take over from here.”
Wait, what?
“What?” Charlie asks, obviously as taken aback as I am. “You’re going to teach her?” Charlie glances uneasily at me and I give him a pleading look that says help me, Jesus.
“That’s right,” Logan says smoothly, folding his arms across his chest. “By the time you come back, she’ll be a bloody Gidget.”
I’m not even sure who—or what—a bloody Gidget is, but I have a feeling it involves me learning how to surf in a short amount of time.
“Seriously Shephard?” Charlie asks.
Logan jerks his head back to the hotel. “Bosses orders, mate. Get going.”
I half expect Charlie to stand his ground, but he folds quickly, grumbling as he marches off to the hotel like a petulant child.
“You don’t have to teach me,” I quickly tell Logan, trying to gather up my board. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Oh, I’m teaching you,” he says gruffly. “The kid doesn’t know shit; he’s from Colorado. You need an Aussie to show you how things are really done on the water.”
Then he takes a step back from me and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it on the beach behind him.
Oh.
My.
God.
And Christ on a cracker.
Logan Shephard has his shirt off.
And Logan Shephard is absolutely ripped, a beast of epic proportions.
I mean, I knew he was tall and burly and his chest and shoulders were always hard to overlook under the tee shirts he’s been wearing, but I guess I was doing my best these last two weeks to ignore all that because now that he’s bare-chested in front of me, I feel all words and thoughts drain out of my brain.