Free Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) by Lori Ann Mitchell
Authors: Lori Ann Mitchell
but still – feet up on the chair across from her, a cap on her head, ponytail sticking out of the cap, sipping a drink and staring at the ocean.
Not that she was complaining. For whatever it was worth, at least Derek had taught her how to surf and, what’s more, how to appreciate the beautiful little seaside town in which she lived.
Sage supposed she owed him that much, at least. Why he saw fit to drag some sun-kissed, tattooed, blonde little hottie to his speaking event tonight and rub it in her face still stung like beach sand on her knees after a bad wipeout, but still… she’d had her fun.
Not nearly enough of it, of course. After that first tender moment with Derek, her bikini top pressed up over her breasts, his hands all over her, her hands all over him, God, she’d wanted more. So. Much. More.
She’d been looking forward to it, too. The stolen moments in Derek’s rented seaside cottage, or up in her loft apartment over the store, the shadows dappling his young, lean body as they whiled away the hours on a slow Sunday afternoon, or Monday night… or Tuesday morning. The showers together, long and loving after surfing their butts off all day. And, from the feel of him, hard and liquid in her hand, Derek had wanted that, too.
Or had he just wanted her, for a hot minute, like all the rest of his surf bunnies? Had Sage just been a momentary diversion, a quick after-surfing treat before he moved on to a much younger, much hotter, much more willing and easy main course? Whatever the reason, one thing was clear: Sage was yesterday’s news, and Derek was, in the end, just another boy pretending to be a man.
Heather returned, bearing a fish-shaped platter topped with peel and eat shrimp, conch fritters and popcorn shrimp. “Yum,” Sage said, like a little kid eating dessert first.
“I know, right?” Heather teased, playfully, setting an extra plate, napkins and table setting across from her. “I brought these in case your boyfriend comes by.”
“Boyfriend?” Sage asked, taking the top off her little container of cocktail sauce.
“Yeah, wasn’t that you with Derek yesterday?” Heather asked, nodding toward the ocean. “The guy who runs the surf camp? My son was in his class earlier in the day and, I could have sworn, you came up just as they were finishing.”
Sage felt the heat rush to her face, just as the tears started to flow. “Oh Jesus,” Heather said, sinking into the other chair. “I’m so sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“God no,” Sage said, reaching for one of the extra napkins. “I just… God, how embarrassing.”
“We’re at a raw bar,” Heather snorted, handing over yet another napkin as Sage fixed her face. “You’re not officially allowed to be embarrassed at a raw bar. Are you… okay?”
“Yeah, I just… I just feel so stupid, you know?”
Heather clucked her tongue, nodding toward the raw bar deck. “I’m a single mother, working at a raw bar, after dating a married guy who said he was divorced, then after I found out he was married, still had his kid because he said he was going to get a divorce and… he’s still with her, hasn’t sent me a cent of child support in years, so… who feels stupid in this conversation?”
Sage blew her nose and crumpled the napkin into a tight, little ball. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” Sage said.
“I didn’t tell you to make you feel sorry for me,” Heather said, nudging Sage’s plate closer. “I told you to make you feel better. Now, eat up.”
Sage
Not that she was complaining. For whatever it was worth, at least Derek had taught her how to surf and, what’s more, how to appreciate the beautiful little seaside town in which she lived.
Sage supposed she owed him that much, at least. Why he saw fit to drag some sun-kissed, tattooed, blonde little hottie to his speaking event tonight and rub it in her face still stung like beach sand on her knees after a bad wipeout, but still… she’d had her fun.
Not nearly enough of it, of course. After that first tender moment with Derek, her bikini top pressed up over her breasts, his hands all over her, her hands all over him, God, she’d wanted more. So. Much. More.
She’d been looking forward to it, too. The stolen moments in Derek’s rented seaside cottage, or up in her loft apartment over the store, the shadows dappling his young, lean body as they whiled away the hours on a slow Sunday afternoon, or Monday night… or Tuesday morning. The showers together, long and loving after surfing their butts off all day. And, from the feel of him, hard and liquid in her hand, Derek had wanted that, too.
Or had he just wanted her, for a hot minute, like all the rest of his surf bunnies? Had Sage just been a momentary diversion, a quick after-surfing treat before he moved on to a much younger, much hotter, much more willing and easy main course? Whatever the reason, one thing was clear: Sage was yesterday’s news, and Derek was, in the end, just another boy pretending to be a man.
Heather returned, bearing a fish-shaped platter topped with peel and eat shrimp, conch fritters and popcorn shrimp. “Yum,” Sage said, like a little kid eating dessert first.
“I know, right?” Heather teased, playfully, setting an extra plate, napkins and table setting across from her. “I brought these in case your boyfriend comes by.”
“Boyfriend?” Sage asked, taking the top off her little container of cocktail sauce.
“Yeah, wasn’t that you with Derek yesterday?” Heather asked, nodding toward the ocean. “The guy who runs the surf camp? My son was in his class earlier in the day and, I could have sworn, you came up just as they were finishing.”
Sage felt the heat rush to her face, just as the tears started to flow. “Oh Jesus,” Heather said, sinking into the other chair. “I’m so sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“God no,” Sage said, reaching for one of the extra napkins. “I just… God, how embarrassing.”
“We’re at a raw bar,” Heather snorted, handing over yet another napkin as Sage fixed her face. “You’re not officially allowed to be embarrassed at a raw bar. Are you… okay?”
“Yeah, I just… I just feel so stupid, you know?”
Heather clucked her tongue, nodding toward the raw bar deck. “I’m a single mother, working at a raw bar, after dating a married guy who said he was divorced, then after I found out he was married, still had his kid because he said he was going to get a divorce and… he’s still with her, hasn’t sent me a cent of child support in years, so… who feels stupid in this conversation?”
Sage blew her nose and crumpled the napkin into a tight, little ball. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” Sage said.
“I didn’t tell you to make you feel sorry for me,” Heather said, nudging Sage’s plate closer. “I told you to make you feel better. Now, eat up.”
Sage