Claire
With Foo Fighters, ‘Monkey Wrench’blasting in my ears, I ran down the beach watching the sun rise over the water. At least that was the politically correct line. The truth was, I was watching the surfers bounce around on the waves like shark bait.
Pushing the hair from my face, I reached back and tightened my ponytail as I focused on my breathing.
There was one surfer, at least he was trying to be a surfer drifting away from the others that caught my eye. Maybe it was the fact he was alone out there. Or maybe it was because, unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing the standard black wetsuit and instead wore lime green board shorts hanging low on his narrow hips. More than likely though, it was the way he wobbled about on his board, unstable and off-balance – obviously a beginner.
The song ended, and I picked up my pace. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ was pumping, and I pushed myself harder. I needed to get to the end of the beach, turn around, and back to the car in the next half hour and I was already pushing it for time. I couldn’t afford to be late again today. My boss, the hard-arse bitch, hadn’t been too happy last time I’d been late, I wasn’t about to risk it again. I don’t know what her problem was, it wasn’t like people needed their hair done at eight on a Wednesday morning, but since I was just the apprentice, what the hell would I know.
Looking up, I saw a wave rolling in and watched as the crowd of surfers turned and started paddling. It fascinated me. One minute they were sitting there calm and serene then next thing, as the set rolled in, they were lying down and preparing to take on the wave. Green shorts surfer boy saw what they were doing and copied. When the wave picked him up and started to carry him to the shore, he leapt to his feet, arms spread wide, trying to hold his balance. My steps faltered, as I watched him my steps came to a grinding halt.
Seven seconds.
I counted.
Seven seconds he’d managed to stay on his feet before he wobbled again and the whitewash of the breaker swallowed him.
With my hands on my knees, I sucked in a deep breath and held it, praying his head would pop up. It’s why I didn’t surf, much to my brother’s disgust. Isaac was probably one of the idiots out there right now showing off. He was most mornings.
When Surfer Boy popped up, he shook his hair like a dog before tucking his board under his arm and headed back out again. It wasn’t until he was knee-deep that I felt like I could breathe again.
Reaching the end of the beach, I spun around and stretched out the tightness in my shoulders, adjusted the sports bra that was creeping up under my tank top, and plucked my wedgie out of my butt, hoping no one had seen.
Resetting my playlist, I waited until the beat started and headed for home. If I moved my arse, I’d have time to stop at the coffee shop on my way and grab breakfast before I headed to the salon.
I’d been running for two minutes when Surfer Boy caught a wave that I knew, even as a non-surfer, was way too intense for a novice to be attempting. Especially on this beach. While looking stunning, this beach was notorious for rip tides that dragged swimmers towards the jagged rocks that wrapped around the headland.
I watched him stand up.
I watched him wipe out.
I didn’t watch him bounce back up.
Tugging the earbuds out of my ears, I bent down resting my hands on my knees, and started sucking in the deep breaths. My eyes didn’t leave his board that was being tossed and turned in the waves as they rolled through, but still he didn’t surface.
“He hasn’t come back up,” someone stated obviously beside me.
Turning, I saw another woman, probably double my age standing there looking like she’d just stepped off the set of a photoshoot. She had bright pink lipstick stained on her lips and her teeth, her hair was curled and pulled back in a wide-toothed silver clip, and she wore the shortest shorts I’d ever seen, with a top that had less material than a napkin.
Yanking my phone from my pocket, I toed off my shoes and dropped them to the sand. There was still no sight of Surfer Boy, and I wasn’t going anywhere until he reappeared. Leaving my stuff where I was, I jogged towards the water, wading in until I was up to my knees.
Spotting him bobbing on the waves, I pushed further into the water, my eyes unblinking. Why wasn’t he standing up? When his board was flung back and knocked against him, but he didn’t flinch, I realised just how much trouble he was in. He wasn’t moving and that wasn’t a good sign. Actually, it was a really fucking bad sign.
Turning back to the shore, I yelled at Beach Barbie to call for help as I duck-dived under the breakers determined to get to him. The water wasn’t warm. Sure, it might’ve been February in Sydney, but it wasn’t exactly warm out there. With adrenaline pumping in my veins, I swam as hard as I could towards where he was floating.
When he was close enough to reach, I was relieved to find he was at least floating on his back, but he was out cold. When his board bounced and smacked me in the elbow, sending shooting pain through my arm, I ignored it and pressed on. Nothing was going to stop me from helping him right now. Reaching out, I went to grab his arm but a wave crashed over us, causing him to drift away from me.
“Come on.” I fought against the current this time, managing to grab hold of him.
He’d been cute from where I’d been ogling him from the beach, but he was even better up close. His jaw was covered in stubble, which could’ve been the beginnings of a beard that he didn’t look old enough to grow. His chocolate brown hair was too long and covered his eyes. His arms, the one I had hold of had some of the best arm porn I’d ever seen. But now wasn’t the time to be drooling over the poor guy. He was knocked out cold, floating on the Pacific Ocean about to get dumped by the set of waves rolling in.
Using his board, I draped him over it, wrapped my arm around his waist ignoring the electricity that crackled between us, and tried to guide us towards the shore.
It wasn’t easy. And I was definitely not a lifeguard, but by the time a couple of guys caught up, I’d managed to drag him out of danger and into the shallows. While they picked him up, slinging his arms over their shoulders, I quickly untied the rope keeping him anchored to his board and carried it in.
Following them up the beach, I could hear sirens in the distance and Beach Barbie gossiping on her phone. Ignoring everything, I moved to where they’d laid him on the wet sand and were giving him mouth to mouth. He had to be okay, he just had to.
“Come on, mate,” one of the guys said as he pushed his hands into the centre of his chest.
