Read Online Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) by Lori Ann Mitchell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lori Ann Mitchell
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of her building, heart pounding, hands clammy. She shook her head, gently pounding her fists against the brick at her back. She should have known - should have known it was too good to be true.
She bit her lip and marched up the stairs to her apartment, pacing the front room as the sun kept hitting her eyes. She was never outside during this time of night, this beautiful, warm time of night. Summer evenings that lasted so long that early evening still felt like midday. She heard the waves outside her open sun room windows and immediately thought of Derek, the day they’d spent together, the way he’d made her feel, in and out of her bikini.
It hung, drying on the rack by the door, waiting for another lesson. “I don’t need a lesson,” she muttered, grabbing it and changing quickly in her bathroom, grabbing her sandals, a too-big hoodie and her backpack purse on the way out the door.
She turned left at the bottom of the stairs, toward the ocean, and rented a board at the stand next to Shuckers Oyster Bar. Randy, the guy who ran the rental stand, was a loyal Sequels customer and gave her a pretty great rate.
“How long do I have?” she asked, clutching the board and feeling as if she might surf until the moon was high overhead.
Randy, in his mid-50s and featuring long, stringy blond dreadlocks and perpetually glassy eyes, winked at her. “As long as you want, Sage.” He jerked a thumb in the opposite direction from the beach. “I mean, it’s not as if I don’t know where to find you.”
She chuckled and drifted closer to the shore. It felt odd, being this close to the water without Derek by her side, ribbing her, teasing her, coaching her, urging her on. And yet, suddenly, she understood the ocean’s appeal: it was the first place she thought to go to run from her problems, escape her anxiety and fight her fears that Derek had already lost interest in her.
She stripped off her hoodie, kicked off her sandals, grabbed the board and strode into the sea, the water warm and foamy on her ankles as her entire body shivered with delight. She strode deeper into the waves, her skin glistening with the salt spray, before dipping and gliding under the first big wave and repeating the process until, at last, she sat atop her board, peering back at the beach and, beyond, up the street to where, at that every minute, Derek was probably taking to the podium.
She wondered, idly, the water rocking her board, relaxing her in ways she’d never known were possible before, if Derek noted her absence and, if he did, if he missed her in any way.
Sage shook her head, refusing to go there. Instead she turned, slightly, feeling the rising swell beneath her and then paddled, desperately, eager for her first ride of the day. She missed it, mostly. That and three more, but on her fourth try… Sage stood and rode and rode and rode, standing until just before the sea foam met with the sand and her board wouldn’t go any farther.
Then she stepped off, like a real pro, grabbed her board and headed right back out again. She surfed and surfed, falling, standing, curving, riding, gliding, the salt water in her eyes, body and hair wet, the sun feasting on her pale skin, until the sun was growing lower and lower and she could hardly feel her arms and legs anymore.
She’d forgotten to pack a towel and so she sat on the board, letting the fading sun and gentle breeze dry her body as she finger combed her hair until, at last, she stood and slid back into her sandals and hoodie.
“Dang, girl,” said Randy, sliding her board back in his rack. “I don’t ever remember you being out here
She bit her lip and marched up the stairs to her apartment, pacing the front room as the sun kept hitting her eyes. She was never outside during this time of night, this beautiful, warm time of night. Summer evenings that lasted so long that early evening still felt like midday. She heard the waves outside her open sun room windows and immediately thought of Derek, the day they’d spent together, the way he’d made her feel, in and out of her bikini.
It hung, drying on the rack by the door, waiting for another lesson. “I don’t need a lesson,” she muttered, grabbing it and changing quickly in her bathroom, grabbing her sandals, a too-big hoodie and her backpack purse on the way out the door.
She turned left at the bottom of the stairs, toward the ocean, and rented a board at the stand next to Shuckers Oyster Bar. Randy, the guy who ran the rental stand, was a loyal Sequels customer and gave her a pretty great rate.
“How long do I have?” she asked, clutching the board and feeling as if she might surf until the moon was high overhead.
Randy, in his mid-50s and featuring long, stringy blond dreadlocks and perpetually glassy eyes, winked at her. “As long as you want, Sage.” He jerked a thumb in the opposite direction from the beach. “I mean, it’s not as if I don’t know where to find you.”
She chuckled and drifted closer to the shore. It felt odd, being this close to the water without Derek by her side, ribbing her, teasing her, coaching her, urging her on. And yet, suddenly, she understood the ocean’s appeal: it was the first place she thought to go to run from her problems, escape her anxiety and fight her fears that Derek had already lost interest in her.
She stripped off her hoodie, kicked off her sandals, grabbed the board and strode into the sea, the water warm and foamy on her ankles as her entire body shivered with delight. She strode deeper into the waves, her skin glistening with the salt spray, before dipping and gliding under the first big wave and repeating the process until, at last, she sat atop her board, peering back at the beach and, beyond, up the street to where, at that every minute, Derek was probably taking to the podium.
She wondered, idly, the water rocking her board, relaxing her in ways she’d never known were possible before, if Derek noted her absence and, if he did, if he missed her in any way.
Sage shook her head, refusing to go there. Instead she turned, slightly, feeling the rising swell beneath her and then paddled, desperately, eager for her first ride of the day. She missed it, mostly. That and three more, but on her fourth try… Sage stood and rode and rode and rode, standing until just before the sea foam met with the sand and her board wouldn’t go any farther.
Then she stepped off, like a real pro, grabbed her board and headed right back out again. She surfed and surfed, falling, standing, curving, riding, gliding, the salt water in her eyes, body and hair wet, the sun feasting on her pale skin, until the sun was growing lower and lower and she could hardly feel her arms and legs anymore.
She’d forgotten to pack a towel and so she sat on the board, letting the fading sun and gentle breeze dry her body as she finger combed her hair until, at last, she stood and slid back into her sandals and hoodie.
“Dang, girl,” said Randy, sliding her board back in his rack. “I don’t ever remember you being out here
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