He turns toward me, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, spiced and strong—I love it.
“What do they suspect is going on?”
I swallow and look away from his mouth. I hadn’t even realized that was where I was staring.
“Usual boy-girl stuff.”
“Elaborate.”
I clear my throat and narrow my gaze on the sidewalk. “Just that maybe you’re interested or making a move or something.” I hate that my cheeks flush as I hurry to add, “It’s silly. They’re just trying to annoy me. But this feels inappropriate.”
“Giving you a ride home is inappropriate?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s…”
My thoughts—they’re the inappropriate thing. The fact that I find Cristiano so freaking attractive I have a hard time looking him in the eye—that’sinappropriate. The ride is fine. The ride is over.
I reach for my door handle.
“Tell them whatever you want. Say we’re friends.”
I smirk. “Friends?”
His dark eyes hold mine captive until my smirk drops and I nod, suddenly very aware of the privacy we have in here. Clearly I need to get out more. I need to date. I need a man who will take my mind off Cristiano. Maybe it was a mistake to not let that rude DJ cart me off to parts unknown.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say quickly before I dash out of his car and slam the door behind me.And thank you for saving me.
Chapter Ten
Isabel
It’s Monday and my first day off from Aura since I started working there. I have a lot of ground to cover with Winnie’s list, so even though sleep calls, when my alarm goes off at nineAM, I throw my blanket off and get up.
The apartment I share with Simone is extremely modest. There’s a kitchen and small living space, one bedroom, and one bathroom. Furniture is bare necessities only, but the space is clean and the water pressure in the shower makes up for the lumpy mattress. I dress carefully and quietly so I don’t wake Simone. Once I’m wearing my bikini and a sundress, I grab a granola bar on my way out the door.
In general, Ibiza isn’t known for its swells, but there are several beaches around the island that are considered decent surfing spots. Playa Jondal is the beach Thalia recommended to me yesterday when we were bonding over our mutual love of surfing.
It’s a short taxi ride from my apartment, and once we park,the driver points me in the direction of a surf stand set up right on the beach. I make sure to tip the driver well, relieved that I’ve lucked out concerning my cash problem on the island. Aura’s given me my first paycheck (minus my room and board), but I haven’t deposited it; I pretend that money doesn’t exist. I’ve found it completely possible to live off the cash tip-outs I earn at the end of every shift. Tips far outweigh my paycheck anyway, and I don’t need much to live well on Ibiza. It’s slightly overkill to still avoid using my credit cards at all while I’m here. I’m not convinced my parents would ever have our security team check that sort of thing, but I’d rather not chance it.
A young, tanned Spanish guy is behind the counter at the stand, his shaggy brown hair brushing his shoulders. Behind him, there are rows of surfboards available to rent. My lack of Spanish poses no problem. He knows enough English from dealing with tourists like me to get me set up.
I hoist my rented longboard up over my head and trek across the beach, down to where the biggest waves have drawn a handful of surfers. I’m sweating by the time I strip out of my dress and sandals and take a seat. It’s sandy here, but down closer to the water, the beach is covered with gray pebbles.
I apply sunscreen while I study the few surfers out there already doing the most they can with the small swells. I’m lucky the beach isn’t overly crowded; as I make my way into the water, only two surfers remain. I climb up onto my board and paddle out to join them. They’re two guys, about my age, and they nod in my direction but otherwise don’t pay me much attention. I take my time reading the waves, anticipation building as I wait for the perfect one.
There.
Now.
Paddling is instinctive, standing is second nature, but even with all my previous practice, I still wipe out on my first try. It’s disorienting to go down hard into the sea, tasting seawater before I come up and catch my breath.
I know I shouldn’t want to impress the two random strangers, but there’s a certain amount of ego involved in surfing, and everyone watching your attempts makes it hard to avoid the urge to show off a little. I fall hard on my first two waves, but on the third swell, I stand and glide, finally carving a turn. I ride the wave all the way in, pressing off the board at the last second and diving into the water. I come up laughing and hear the guys whistling and cheering behind me.
I spend all morning out there, feeling close to Winnie. Even when my muscles scream and my lungs burn, the adrenaline keeps me going, and between waves, I enjoy the deep sense of calm and focus. For a short time, it’s just me and my memories, floating on the water.
Hunger eventually lures me back to the shore, and once I turn in my board, promising to be back another day, I follow the rich smell of spices to a chiringuito, a beach restaurant where they’re grilling fish over charcoal. I order the sea bass with vegetables splashed with lemon. It’s so good I order more, and the owner gives me zumo de piña, freshly squeezed pineapple juice, on the house.
I “cheers” to Winnie before I take my first sip, twisting her ring around my finger as I do it. I’ve crossed two things off her bucket list now: surfing and swimming at Bora Bora Beach. By the time I get back to the apartment, I decide I’m going to complete a third.
