Read Online Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) by Lori Ann Mitchell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lori Ann Mitchell
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before.”
“It’s my first time solo,” she said, dragging a pink ball cap from her backpack purse and dragging it on over her still damp hair.
“Could have fooled me,” he said; coming from Randy, that was quite the compliment.
“Here,” he said, handing her a colorful business card.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Half off your bar tab at Shuckers with every rental,” he said, tapping the big gold notice on his rental stand.
“Nice one,” she said, clutching the card as she walked onto the mostly empty Shuckers deck. She nodded at a few familiar faces, like the bartender who bought a thick paperback mystery every few days on his way into work, or the hostess who always had Sage special order Teen Seamstress magazine every month.
Still, tonight she wanted to be alone, and though pleasant, Sage walked decisively toward an empty table for two overlooking the beach. The sun was setting now, the sky a brilliant blend of blue, orange and pink as a waitress approached.
“Welcome to Shuckers,” she said, sliding a single laminated menu onto Sage’s plate. “I’m Heather and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Heather was college-aged, fresh faced, dressed in red surfer baggies and a clingy tank top, the typical Shuckers uniform. Not too sexy, just pleasant and sun-kissed, like a surfer girl from the 60s the Beach Boys might have sung about. Having just put in a full session – the first on her own – Sage felt a sudden kinship with the younger woman.
Hesitantly, she handed over the card Randy had given her. “I was going to grab a margarita, but…”
Heather took the card and winked. “It’s covered,” she said.
“Yeah?” Sage asked, surprised. “Usually it’s like draft beer and stale crackers.”
“Usually you’re right,” Heather admitted. “But we don’t see many of these and Randy’s a pretty good guy, so… unless you’re ordering champagne and lobster, you’ll be good.”
“One margarita, please,” Sage said, feeling pleasantly exhausted and far better than if she had stuck around Sequels, watching Derek flirt with the honey bunny surfer girl all night.
She sighed and glanced at her menu, suddenly famished. “Feeling like anything special?” Heather asked, setting down a glistening margarita a few minutes later, heavy on the salt and looking cool and refreshing.
“I think I’ll do the seaside sampler,” Sage said, sliding her menu away before she could chicken out.
Heather took it, smiling down at her knowingly. “Just come in from a session?” she asked.
Sage almost squealed her answer, “Yes.”
“Nice one,” said the younger girl, wrinkling her nose. “I always get the seaside sampler after I go surfing, too.”
Sage sighed and sat back, sipping her drink and feeling like she was playing hooky. She was, actually. Though Fiona could certainly manage on her own and, in fact, had seemed excited about doing so, it just wasn’t Sage’s style. Then again, neither was seducing some hot twenty-something surfer, either.
She shook her head, mentally kicking herself as she licked a crystal of salt off the rim of her glass before washing it down with a fresh sip of margarita. Everything about Sage’s life had changed since Derek walked into it, only a few short weeks ago.
Here she was, on a work night, wearing a bikini under a hoodie – granted, an oversized hoodie,
“It’s my first time solo,” she said, dragging a pink ball cap from her backpack purse and dragging it on over her still damp hair.
“Could have fooled me,” he said; coming from Randy, that was quite the compliment.
“Here,” he said, handing her a colorful business card.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Half off your bar tab at Shuckers with every rental,” he said, tapping the big gold notice on his rental stand.
“Nice one,” she said, clutching the card as she walked onto the mostly empty Shuckers deck. She nodded at a few familiar faces, like the bartender who bought a thick paperback mystery every few days on his way into work, or the hostess who always had Sage special order Teen Seamstress magazine every month.
Still, tonight she wanted to be alone, and though pleasant, Sage walked decisively toward an empty table for two overlooking the beach. The sun was setting now, the sky a brilliant blend of blue, orange and pink as a waitress approached.
“Welcome to Shuckers,” she said, sliding a single laminated menu onto Sage’s plate. “I’m Heather and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Heather was college-aged, fresh faced, dressed in red surfer baggies and a clingy tank top, the typical Shuckers uniform. Not too sexy, just pleasant and sun-kissed, like a surfer girl from the 60s the Beach Boys might have sung about. Having just put in a full session – the first on her own – Sage felt a sudden kinship with the younger woman.
Hesitantly, she handed over the card Randy had given her. “I was going to grab a margarita, but…”
Heather took the card and winked. “It’s covered,” she said.
“Yeah?” Sage asked, surprised. “Usually it’s like draft beer and stale crackers.”
“Usually you’re right,” Heather admitted. “But we don’t see many of these and Randy’s a pretty good guy, so… unless you’re ordering champagne and lobster, you’ll be good.”
“One margarita, please,” Sage said, feeling pleasantly exhausted and far better than if she had stuck around Sequels, watching Derek flirt with the honey bunny surfer girl all night.
She sighed and glanced at her menu, suddenly famished. “Feeling like anything special?” Heather asked, setting down a glistening margarita a few minutes later, heavy on the salt and looking cool and refreshing.
“I think I’ll do the seaside sampler,” Sage said, sliding her menu away before she could chicken out.
Heather took it, smiling down at her knowingly. “Just come in from a session?” she asked.
Sage almost squealed her answer, “Yes.”
“Nice one,” said the younger girl, wrinkling her nose. “I always get the seaside sampler after I go surfing, too.”
Sage sighed and sat back, sipping her drink and feeling like she was playing hooky. She was, actually. Though Fiona could certainly manage on her own and, in fact, had seemed excited about doing so, it just wasn’t Sage’s style. Then again, neither was seducing some hot twenty-something surfer, either.
She shook her head, mentally kicking herself as she licked a crystal of salt off the rim of her glass before washing it down with a fresh sip of margarita. Everything about Sage’s life had changed since Derek walked into it, only a few short weeks ago.
Here she was, on a work night, wearing a bikini under a hoodie – granted, an oversized hoodie,
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