Wild Child. Cindi Myers
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softer, but still sexy and just edgy enough to heat any man’s blood. Unless this Bill guy was blind or gay, he wasn’t going to be able to resist Ellie’s combination of sex and savvy.
Now it was Sara’s turn to master her nerves and sign up for the surfing tournament—and finagle a private lesson from Drew. She’d resolutely switched off her phone after sending an e-mail to Uncle Spence letting him know she’d be out of touch all day.
She did have her phone with her, strictly for emergencies, but it would stay in her bag and off unless absolutely necessary.
A leisurely walk down the beach from her bungalow brought her to the Surf Shack. The weathered building was perched on pilings just beyond the pier, with steps leading up to a broad front porch. Sara stood out front for a moment, gathering her courage.
“Come on up, young lady.” A stocky, white-haired man with a thick moustache, dressed in board shorts and a T-shirt came out onto the porch and beckoned to her. “Whatever it is you need, I can fix you right up.”
She smiled and started up the steps. “Are you Gus?” she asked.
“I see my reputation precedes me.” His grin broadened and he took her hand. “And what’s your name?”
“Sara.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sara.” His gaze swept over her appreciatively. “A pleasure indeed. Are you a surfer?”
She shook her head. “No. But I’d like to be.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” He started to lead her inside, then stopped and looked back at her. “Are you dating a surfer? Or anyone else?”
Amused by this odd line of questioning, she shook her head. “No.”
“Perfect. Come inside. I want you to meet someone.”
She allowed him to lead her inside, where Drew was busy at the front counter with a customer. He looked every bit as gorgeous this morning as she remembered—sun-bleached hair falling over his forehead, a faded T-shirt stretched across strong shoulders.
Not wanting to be caught staring at him, she looked around the shop. The place was packed with stacks of yellow and green life jackets, kneeboards, surfboards, shelves of sunblock, T-shirts, board shorts and surfing accessories. A giant plastic shark grinned from the wall above the cash register and a poster next to it advertised the Original Sex Wax.
The wall next to the door was devoted to photographs. Sara recognized a younger Gus—with blond hair—posing with a surfboard and a three-foot-tall gold trophy. In another photo, Gus stood with a younger couple and a little boy—Drew? She smiled and found the boy at various ages in other photos. High in one corner she found a more recent picture of Drew and his grandfather behind the counter at the Surf Shack.
Gus cleared his throat and Sara turned to find Drew staring at her. “Sara!” A smile spread across his face.
The sheer pleasure in his eyes left her weak-kneed. “Hi, Drew,” she said.
“You two know each other?” Gus asked.
“We met yesterday afternoon.” Drew approached her. “It’s good to see you,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, too.” She struggled to talk normally around the crazy fluttering in her chest. “I wanted to apologize for running off like that yesterday.”
“It’s okay. You had things you had to take care of.”
He had the most beautiful brown eyes, with little flecks of gold in them. “I was hoping…maybe we could try again.”
She was so mesmerized by Drew’s proximity, so lost in his eyes, that she forgot all about Gus. Until he cleared his throat again and she jumped.
“Why don’t you let me look after the shop this morning,” Gus said. “You two go on and enjoy yourselves.” He glanced out the window toward the beach and the sparkling ocean beyond. “It’s a beautiful day out.”
Drew frowned. “I don’t know, Grandpa. People will be signing up for the tournament and lessons. It could get really busy.”
“Cooter can help me. And it won’t kill people if they have to wait their turn.”
“I almost forgot,” Sara said. “I have to sign up for the tournament.”
“I thought you said you didn’t surf,” Drew said.
She fought back a blush. “I don’t. But I’ve always wanted to learn.” She shrugged. “The tournament seemed like a good incentive. Besides, you get points for entering, don’t you?”
“You mean for the Sin on the Beach contest?” Drew picked up a clipboard from the counter and glanced at the papers clipped there. “It says here you get fifty points for entering.”
“Great. My friends and I are trying to win the time share at the beach house.”
Drew grunted as Gus elbowed him in the side. He frowned at his grandfather, then turned back to Sara. “There are a lot of activities this week for the festival—contests and stuff. Since the Surf Shack is one of the event sponsors, I’m not eligible to earn points for myself, but I could be a part of your team.”
“That would be great.” It would give them an excuse to spend more time together. “To tell you the truth, I was starting to worry I wouldn’t be able to contribute enough to the group. My roommate Candy has already racked up a bunch of points. And my other roommate, Ellie, is trying out as an extra for Sin on the Beach. If she gets a part, she wins a ton of points.”
“Your roommate wants to be on the show?” Gus interrupted them. “I have a part, you know.”
“You do?” She tried to hide her surprise. Aging surfers didn’t exactly fit the glamorous, sexy image usually associated with the hit show.
“I’m the crusty-but-lovable owner of the surf shop where the series stars keep their boards,” Gus said. “Local color and all that.”
“All Grandpa has to do is be himself,” Drew said. He handed Sara the clipboard. “Fill out one of these forms and you’ll be signed up for the tournament.” He moved behind the counter and consulted an open spiral notebook. “Where’s Cooter?” he asked.
“Out back,” Gus said, “repairing a board.”
Drew nodded and motioned to Sara. “When you’re done with that, come out back with me and we’ll fix you up with a board.”
She returned the completed form, then followed him down a set of stairs, into a yard surrounded by high wooden privacy fencing. Except for narrow paths through the clutter, the space was crammed with rows of upright surfboards in various conditions, more life jackets, a trio of ocean kayaks and what appeared to be the back half of a ’57 Chevy.
To the left of the stairs, a tall, wiry-haired young man was melting wax over the bottom of a surfboard resting on a pair of wooden sawhorses. He looked up as they approached. “Hey dude,” he said. He nodded to Sara.
“Sara, this is Cooter. Cooter, Sara.” Drew made the introductions. “Sara needs a board.”
“Give her one of those over there.” Cooter gestured to a row of blue-and-white surfboards against the fence. “They’re super sweet.”
Drew stepped over a heap of life jackets and pulled out a board. “Find a life jacket that fits,” he called over his shoulder.
She fished out a bright green jacket and followed him to a gate that gave access onto the beach. “Tell me about Gus,” she said. “You said yesterday he’d had a heart attack?”
“Two.” He held the gate open for her. “He was running the Surf Shack pretty much by himself and it was too much for him.”
“So you stepped in to help.”
He