I smirk. “No. I suppose we can’t. You’ll just have to hang it in your room.”
“What?” His brows shoot up. “Why don’t you hang it inyourroom?”
“What if my parents see it?” I ask. “Wes, there is a perfect imprint of your balls.”
His eyes widen, zeroing in on the very spot I’m referencing. A delicious blush creeps up his cheek as he clears his throat. “Why don’t we just put it in the bedroom for now? I’ll find a good place for it—away from prying eyes.”
I laugh, wrapping my arms around his waist as he throws one over my shoulder, tucking me in close. Looking at it close up, the painting is objectively and without a doubt the ugliest pieceof art I’ve ever created. Yet, it’s the most beautiful, because it’s raw proof that I am capable of being cherished in every way I’d always dreamed I could be.
Weston’s pocket begins vibrating against my hip, and when he pulls his phone from his sweats, his brow furrows as he reads the name flashing across the screen. “It’s Livia.”
“Were you supposed to practice with her today?” I ask.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he murmurs as he answers the call and presses his phone to his ear. “Liv?”
His gaze goes unfocused as he listens to whatever she’s saying on the other end of the line, before he pulls his phone from his face and places it on speaker.
“I have to make an appearance at the Sunrise Open tomorrow, and a spot just opened up. I’m going to register you.”
“Why?” he asks.
She scoffs. “Because I spent a lot of time on you this summer,estupido, and I’m not in the habit of wasting my time. We’re making you a goddamn surfer.”
Wes’s mouth pulls into a smile, though he sighs. “Leo said he doesn’t want me competing anymore this season.”
“Leo isn’t the authority on surfing, Weston.” She’s quiet for a moment before adding, “Don’t fuck up again, and he’ll have nothing to complain about. Plus, it’s local competition and doesn’t count toward the Championship Tour. But, there will be sponsors there. Trainers and WSL reps. You needgoodexposure after that shit show you had a few weeks ago.”
Though it’s not a qualifying competition—Wes’s participation won’t earn him any points needed to qualify for the WSL Championship Tour, which is the ultimate path to the Olympics—it’s still a perfect opportunity to get his name out there with sponsors, and reclaim his place in the league after his wipe out a few weeks ago.
Wes’s gaze flickers to me, uncertainty written in his eyes. “He’ll drop me if I go against his guidance.”
“Not if you’re capable of proving you can learn from your mistakes. Not if you’re better than you were before,” Liv says. “Not if you win.”
Wes’s throat works with a swallow. “I mean... I’m already dating his daughter, and he explicitly asked me not to do that either. Should I really be rocking the boat?”
“You decided Willow was a boat worth rocking. I guess now you need to determine if your future as a surfer is too.” A long sigh echoes through the phone. “I need to know by noon if you want me to register you for the qualifier. If you decide to come, Lucille and I will pick you up this afternoon around two and you can ride with us. We’re in San Diego right now.”
“Can I come too?” I ask.
“As long as Weston is capable of not making an ass of himself in an attempt to impress you,” she snickers, hanging up before either of us can answer.
Wes chews his lip, eyes cast down to his feet.
“You need to do it,” I say. “She’s right. We’ll only be away for one night, so we won’t tell my dad. You win yourself a championship, and when we bring it back to him, he won’t even be able to be angry.” I smile. “He’ll be too proud.” I grab his hand and squeeze, adding, “Like you said, you’re only training with my dad for the summer anyway, and the summer is almost over. Maybe there will be a trainer at the competition who will want to work with you, or a sponsor for the Championship Tour next summer who’ll be interested. You can’t pass up this opportunity, Wes. Peopleneedto see you surf.”
He lifts his gaze, stormy eyes swirling with doubt. “What if I fuck up again?”
“Then I’ll hold your hand through it, but this is worth the risk.”
Wes texts Livia to tell her he’s on board, and we both scramble to get our bags packed. Livia is incredibly impatient and lives her entire life with an intense sense of urgency. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of her overt eagerness.
I start in the bathroom, throwing our toothbrushes into my toiletry bag—both of which I keep in the guesthouse damn-near permanently now—when Wes calls from the bedroom, “Can you pack my meds too, Wills?”
“Yeah!” I open the cabinet behind the mirror, find the small prescription pill bottle, and place it with our toothbrushes and my skincare.
When I return to the bedroom, I hand the bag to him, and he tosses me a closed-lip smile as he tucks it into the carry-on suitcase he grabbed for us to share. “Thanks,” he murmurs. “I might not need them, but I’d rather be safe.”
“You don’t have to justify it. I’m happy you have something that helps you when you’re struggling. Whether you need to use them or not, I’ve got you.”
