“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what it is,” Zander adds. “I bet there is absolutely no chance he had his dick played with this morning.”
“I’m in earshot,” my mother snaps from across the tent.
“Who raised these feral people?” Dahlia asks, sidling up beside her at the breakfast table my dad catered.
“They’ve got you written all over them, Wildflower.” Everett laughs, wrapping his arms around her waist as she pours a cup of coffee.
“You look awfully post-orgasm glowy this morning,” Allie whispers in my ear, leaning into me from her seat. “And I don’t mean the kind you give yourself. Which is strange, considering you’ve told me nothing is happening between you and the hot surfer next door.”
I snort. “You’ve been gone.”
“For a week!” she exclaims, drawing the attention of those around us. “Don’t tell me you went zero to a hundred in just seven days.”
I tug her arm, pulling our heads together as I hiss, “We haven’t gone to a hundred. We only kissed for the first time earlier this week.”
“And...” She tilts her face toward me, slowly raising a brow. “What happened this morning?”
“We had... meals,” I say, blushing at my own innuendo.
“Oh?” she drawls. “And how was yourmeal?”
At least she’s going along with it. Honestly, Allie has the filthiest mouth I’ve ever encountered, with zero qualms about who’s listening.
“Best I'veeverhad,” I rasp, biting back a squeal of excitement.
I’m still mind-blown, hours later, at the way Weston devoured me. The way he praised me—fucking cherished me. I know it’s all instinctual to him. He’s not practiced, he hasn't learned the right things to say or do when he’s with a woman. He moved entirely off his desires and my response, and it led to the best orgasm of my life.
Allie looks at me unconvinced, with quirked lips and a raised brow. “Really?”
I nod rapidly, knowing the grin on my flushed cheeks is all the confirmation needed.
“Wow.” She hums. “Good for him.” Allie is quiet for a moment before she adds, “And does he know... everything?”
A pinch of guilt bites my gut. “He knows why I came home—the gist of it, anyway.” I sigh. “He doesn’t know what happened once I was back.”
She must hear the contrition in my voice, because Allie rests her head against my shoulder and pats my thigh. “That’sokay. You’ve only known him a couple months, everything that happened to you is so fresh. It’ll take time to get there. If he’s really the person you think he is, he’ll understand.”
“He will,” I murmur. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m having such a hard time opening up about it. He’s been so honest about his life.”
I have few doubts that Weston would be unwilling to accept the choice I made a few months ago, especially considering the circumstances that led me to it. Though, there is a pesky prick of fear that has its teeth sunk into the back of my neck—stopping the words from leaving my mouth each time I think I’m ready to open up about it with him.
“It takes time,” Allie whispers, kissing my temple before snuggling back into my shoulder.
It’s still pretty early, and Weston’s session doesn’t start for another forty-five minutes. Despite it being late-July, the sun hasn’t yet crested over the mountains in the east, and with our tent facing the Pacific to the west, we’re completely shadowed.
My dad is still with Weston warming up—or whatever it is they do before a competition—and Carter is with them, taking photos. I’ve never been to one for my dad’s other athletes. I attended a few junior contests with Camden in high school, but none of them were this extensive. And outside a handful of charity exhibitions my dad participated in when I was a child, he’s been retired all my life.
Liv competed in the last Olympics three years ago, but we weren’t able to fly the entire family out with mine and the twins’ sports schedules. Lou and her parents attended the games in Portugal, while the twins stayed back with my parents and me, and we watched her compete on television.
Despite living a life that practically revolves around surfing, this is the first competition I’ve ever attended like this. Thereare far more people than I had anticipated, and nerves nip at my stomach as I impatiently wait to watch Weston on the waves.
I wonder what he thinks of it—if it’s thrilling to him, or an added pressure. I know he doesn't like crowds or too much noise, but I imagine the roar of the waves drowns it all out. When he’s beyond the break, I wonder if the audience makes a difference, or if he’s able to tap into the tides and connect with them the same way he does when he’s alone.
I can only hope for the latter, because I know how determined he is to perform well today. Not only to place, but to exceed everyone’s expectations—most of all his own.
“How are things with Declan?” I ask Allie.
I assume they haven’t broken up—she would’ve told me if they had, but she hasn’t mentioned him since the fiasco on her birthday two weeks ago. I’m curious as to why she’d continue giving him the time of day after that.
