She giggles and my stomach tightens in response. I really like that sound. Being around her is easy. Too easy. My brain is screaming warnings at me:We don’t do this, man.
She’s just a friend, my heart argues back.
“Running keeps me sane,” I admit softly. There’s a pause as she eats her salad, and I say casually, “Maybe we could run together sometime. You know...as friends.”
The word “friends” sits between us, comfortable yet charged.
But “friends” is supposed to be safe, dammit.Why doesn’t it feel safe at all?
She smiles and looks down. “I’d love a running partner. You sure you can keep up? I’m pretty competitive, Cal.”
“Oh, really? Like super-fast or what?” I tease.
“The fastest,” she says, a taunting glint in her eyes. “I’m just kidding. I run like a normal person. Running for me has been a way to think. To get my anxiety and frustrations out. Now...I’ve been doing yoga, and that’s been a change of pace.”
Again, with the yoga and imagining her contorting her lithe body into a million different positions.
I look out at the water, and it clears the filthy images from my mind. “What about surfing?”
“Whataboutit?”
“Ever been?”
She laughs. “No, but I’ve seenyousurfing, hot surfer.”
Oh, fuck me. What happened to friends? She’s playing adangerous game, and my brain isn’t strong enough to resist, no matter how much of an inner pep talk I give myself.
I face her fully, unable to keep from playing with her. “Have you now? Well, I may or may not have happened to notice you doing yoga.” I shrug and shoot her a wink.
This isn’t keeping your distance, Cal. This is you stupidly trying to charm her pants off.
“Oh, really? Are you flirting with me, Cal?” she says.
My lips curve before I can stop them, “Nah, friends don’t flirt. Would you like to go surfing with me sometime?”
She laughs. “Sure. I have no idea how to surf, but I’d be down to try.”
“Can you swim?”
She nods. “I swam competitively in college. I told you. I like to win.”
Relief hits me because I don’t love that my brain jumps to worst case scenarios. I just want her to be safe in the water.
“There’s no need to be competitive in surfing,” I say as I glance out at the ocean, sun catching on the surface, making it glitter. “Just ride the wave. Let yourself have fun. Relax.”
Her gaze remains fixated on the ocean as if she’s visualizing herself out there right now.
“How about tomorrow?” I ask, suddenly feeling nervous. It’s dumb to get the jitters because I love surfing. It calms me. Never makes me anxious.
Maybe it’s just her. A change in the routine.
I don’t go surfing with anyone aside from a few friends I’ve had since high school. I have fun at the bar when I work, but I don’t date, and I don’t flirt with tourists.
But she’s been here over a month now. Hell, she’s starting to feel like a local.
She drums her fingertips on her thigh as if she’s taking this in and considering it.
“Okay,” she finally says.
