Page 70 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Makai

By halfway through day two, Hamish moved like he belonged on the water. His technique was still that of a beginner, but there was something in the way he paddled now, more confident, less hesitant. The way he’d take a hit and keep coming back for more, determined to master it.

There was no question that he was loving it.

I floated on my board, watching him position himself for the incoming set, his back muscles flexing beneath the wetsuit as he aligned with the wave. He’d ditched the board shorts today, going commando like I’d suggested, and the neoprene now hugged an ass that was truly perfection.

“This one!”

I called out, spotting a clean, gentle roller approaching. It was perfect for a beginner’s second day.

“Start paddling... now!”

Hamish dug in, arms working with surprising strength. The wave lifted him, and I held my breath, waiting for the moment when he’d either catch it or miss it entirely.

He caught it.

His pop-up wasn’t pretty—more of a scramble than the smooth motion—but he made it to his feet and found his balance, arms outstretched like he was walking a tightrope. The board glided forward, picking up speed as the wave carried him toward shore.

“Yeah!”

I pumped my fist in the air, even though he couldn’t see me.

“Ride it, Hamish!”

And ride it he did. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. Far longer than yesterday’s brief stand-up before the wipeout. His form was still awkward, knees too straight, back too bent, but he was fucking doing it, and the sight of this uptight British guy surfing made something warm bloom in my chest.

When the wave finally petered out, leaving him coasting in the shallows, Hamish leaped off his board with a whoop that echoed across the beach.

I spotted a wave and paddled forward, catching another wave with ease, and riding it in, throwing in a smooth bottom turn before aiming my board towards him, hopping off as the wave petered out.

“Did you see that?”

His face was lit up, eyes wide and bright, cheeks flushed with exertion and excitement. Gone was the stiff, proper Englishman who’d answered his hotel door, replaced by someone vibrant and alive.

“How thrilling!”

“You killed it!”

I was grinning so hard my face hurt.

“That was at least twenty seconds, maybe thirty. Most beginners don’t—”

I didn’t get to finish. Hamish crashed into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me clear off my feet in a bear hug that knocked the breath from my lungs. His body was solid against mine, wetsuit to wetsuit, his face pressed briefly against my neck.

“That was marvellous!”

Then, as suddenly as he’d grabbed me, he released me and stepped back, horror washing over his features. The proper Englishman was back, probably mortified at his breach of decorum.

“I’m so sorry,”

he said, running a hand through his wet hair.

“I got carried away at the thrill. But the hug was entirely inappropriate.”

I laughed and reached for him, pulling him back against me in another hug.

“Dude, chill. Hugs are okay. Nothing to apologize for.”

His body was stiff against mine for a moment before he relaxed, his arms coming up to return the hug with a tentative pat on my back. I held on a fraction longer than necessary, enjoying the firm press of his chest against mine as he let out an undignified “oof.”

I slapped him on the back.

“That was fucking amazing, and I’m so proud of you.”

“Right,”

he said when we separated, still looking a bit flustered.

“Well, thank you. For the lesson, I mean. And for convincing me to try this.”

“Day’s not over yet.”

I nodded toward the horizon where another set was rolling in.

“Ready to catch another one?”

He looked at the waves, then back at me, and his face broke into a grin that made my stomach flip.

“Absolutely.”

We paddled back out together, and I watched as his confidence grew with each attempt. He wiped out more than he succeeded, but each time he got back on the board with renewed determination. By the fourth wave he caught, his pop-up was smoother, his stance more natural.

Between sets, we floated side by side, talking about nothing important—the island, the water, the seals we could see lounging on distant rocks. It was easy, comfortable in a way that surprised me. I was used to chatting up tourists, making them feel welcome and relaxed, but this felt different. I cared what this guy thought, wanted him to have a good time, to see what I loved about this place.

And yeah, I wanted him. The attraction had been immediate when I’d first seen him sleep-rumpled and shirtless in his hotel room, but now it was deeper, more complicated. Almost like a friendship. With a very hot married guy.

But then he’d laugh at something I said, or his fingers would brush mine as I adjusted his stance on the board, and I’d forget all the reasons this was a bad idea, rationalizing to myself that his wife couldn’t be that great if she couldn’t see the great man who was right in front of her.

“One more?”

I asked as the afternoon light began to soften. We’d been in the water for over two hours, and while I could’ve stayed all day, I knew beginners got tired fast.

“If you think I can handle it.”

He was breathing hard, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes were bright with the same stoke I’d felt the first time I’d connected with the ocean.

“I know you can.”

I scanned the incoming waves, looking for the perfect finale.

“There. The one coming behind the break. It’s got your name on it.”

He paddled hard, following my instructions with a trust that made my chest tight. His timing was perfection, the wave lifting his board right as he popped up to his feet in a much smoother motion than I’d seen from him all day. As he rode it in, balanced and confident, he looked back over his shoulder at me with a grin of pure joy.

Fuck. I was in trouble.

“Time to call it?”

I asked when he waded back to me, board under his arm like he’d been doing this for years instead of days.

He nodded, out of breath but still grinning.

“I suppose I should quit while I’m ahead.”

“You’re right. Don’t want to push it too hard and risk an injury. Let’s head in.”

I clapped him on the shoulder, letting my hand linger a moment too long.

“You’re gonna be sore as hell tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it.”

As we trudged up the beach toward the parking lot, boards under our arms, I stole glances at him from the corner of my eye. Water dripped from his hair down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his wetsuit, and I fought the urge to trace its path with my tongue, all the way down to the thickly muscled globes of his ass.

This was going to be a long week.

We crested the dune that separated the beach from the parking lot, and I spotted trouble immediately. A small crowd had gathered near my trailer—women in flowy dresses, men in suits way too formal for the beach.

There, in the middle of it all, directing the chaos like a traffic cop at a five-way intersection, was the sexy wedding lady, with her clipboard and her fancy accent and sexy boldness. I nudged Hamish with my elbow and nodded toward the spectacle.

“That’s my crush. Hot wedding planner.”

I kept my voice low, not wanting to alert the wedding party to our salty, dripping presence yet.

“She’s got this amazing accent, and she has this way of talking. Total dame vibes, like she’s going to call you a good boy and make you do all kinds of naughty things to her. Watch her come over and sternly yell at us.”

Hamish let out a soft gasp—maybe he found her as sexy as I did—and stopped abruptly.

“Wait. Why would she yell at us?”

“Because she thinks she owns this part of the parking lot.”

I grinned, watching her explain something to a photographer.

“It’s close to her venue, the new Cannery Hotel. She shows up every few days to stage fancy wedding shoots.”

Hamish frowned, eyes darting between me and the wedding planner.

“And you... what? Park here to annoy her?”

“I mean… Kind of,”

I admitted, resuming our trek toward the trailer.

“My business partner, Skylar, has already lectured me on how childish it is, and I know. It’s fucking stupid. But when I irritate her, she talks to me, and I like talking to her.”

“So you’re like a grade school bully?”

Hamish’s voice had gone up an octave, his face flushed beneath his wetsuit hood.

“You enjoy being yelled at?”

“Not yelled at, exactly. It’s more like... passionate disagreement.”

I winked at him.

“You’ll see. It’s hot.”

As we approached the trailer, Wedding Lady spotted us and her eyes narrowed. She said something to one of the bridesmaids and started walking in our direction, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield.

Hamish made a strangled noise beside me, and I looked over, frowning when I realized that he was holding his surfboard like a shield. Maybe Wedding Lady scared him.

“I need to change,”

he squeaked. Then he sprinted the last few yards to the trailer, fumbling with the door.

“I’ll... be inside.”

“What about the—”

But he’d already disappeared inside, leaving me standing there. Weird. Maybe he didn’t like strangers.

I propped my board against the side of the trailer and started to unzip the top of my wetsuit, peeling the sticky wet fabric down as I turned to face the approaching storm.

“Mr. Yamamoto.”

The wedding lady stopped a few feet away, her hazel eyes flashing with annoyance.

Though was she also checking out my abs? Today she wore a cream-colored dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and her blonde hair was pulled back in some complicated twist. She was crazy beautiful.

“I see you’ve once again chosen to park your... establishment... in the exact spot where I’m conducting a photoshoot.”

“Ms. Wedding Lady.”

I bowed, enjoying the way her eyebrows shot up at the nickname.

“What a coincidence. I was telling my client about you.”

“I’m sure you were.”

Her accent made even sarcasm sound classy. She glanced at her watch, then back at the wedding party, who were now awkwardly milling around, unsure of what to do while their leader was engaged elsewhere.

“Look, I don’t have time for our usual banter. Could you move your... trailer thingy? I’ve got a sunset shoot scheduled and the lighting will be ideal in about twenty minutes.”

I considered dragging it out, saying something about public property rights or having nowhere else to go, but something in her expression—a tiredness behind the annoyance—made me reconsider. Plus, I had Hamish waiting inside, probably doing something ridiculous, like getting stuck in his wetsuit.

“Tell you what.”

I took a step closer, lowering my voice.

“I’ll move it as soon as my client gets changed. Five minutes, tops.”

Relief flickered across her face.

“Thank you. That’s... unexpectedly reasonable of you.”

“I can be reasonable.”

I grinned, running a hand through my wet hair.

“When properly motivated.”

Her eyes dropped to my chest, where water still beaded on my skin, then darted back up to my face. A flush colored her cheeks.

“Yes, well. I appreciate it.”

“Maybe someday you’ll let me take you out on the water. Show you why I love this spot so much.”

“I don’t think my husband would appreciate that.”

“Bring him too,”

I said.

“I give great group lessons.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with what might have been the beginning of a smile.

“Five minutes, Mr. Yamamoto. I need this space.”

“Scout’s honor.”

I gave her a little salute as she turned and walked back to her wedding party.

I watched her go before heading into the trailer, ready to get out of my damp wetsuit.

When I stepped inside and closed the door, Hamish was still changing. He had his back to me, gloriously naked, water droplets trailing down the muscled planes of his back to the dimples right above his ass. He was bent over, rummaging through his clothing bag, giving me a view that made my mouth go dry.

I tried not to look, I really did. But it was such a nice ass. And then he bent lower, showing me even more.

“Holy shit,”

I blurted before I could stop myself.

He spun around, eyes wide, hands flying to cover himself—though not before I got an eyeful of what he was working with. And damn, he was working with a very nice dick.

“Sorry,”

I said, though I wasn’t sorry at all.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Don’t you knock?”

His face had gone crimson, his voice strangled.

“It’s my trailer. And we’re both guys, what’s the harm?”

I started to push my wetsuit down over my hips, watching his eyes wide.

“So, why’d you run from Wedding Lady?”

He turned away again, pulling on his boxers and jeans.

“Sorry about that. I... I didn’t want to be seen. In a wetsuit, I mean.”

“Seen by who… the wedding party?”

I tugged my wetsuit down over my legs, hopping a little as the cuff got stuck around my left ankle.

“They’re too busy posing to notice a couple of surfers.”

When I glanced up, he was staring, open-mouthed, at my dick. His soft intake of breath and widening eyes made heat pool in my groin, and I willed myself not to get a hard-on right in front of him.

His cheeks flamed red as he turned back around.

“It’s, you know, propriety. Have you heard of that before?”

There was a little dig there, and I had to remind myself that he was married, here to impress his wife, and off-limits. It was becoming my new mantra.

“Well, I pacified Wedding Lady,”

I said, drying off and grabbing my own clothes.

“Told her we’d move in five minutes.”

“You did? What did she say?”

“She was quite grateful.”

I stepped into my shorts, adjusting myself.

“She’s fucking gorgeous when she’s mad. All flushed and proper and British. But her smile is stunning, too. Maybe I’ll even stop annoying her.”

Hamish made a choking noise.

“You okay?”

I pulled on a t-shirt, wondering if stripping in front of him had been the wrong choice. Something had him flustered, and it was entirely possible it was my dick.

“You seem jumpy.”

“Fine.”

He cleared his throat.

“I’m tired from surfing, I suppose. And, um, worried about the wedding lady being angry with you.”

“Oh, it’s fine. We flirted a little, and she was nice. She’s married, so I’m limited to a crush and a few flirty comments. Can’t let it get out of hand.”

I glanced out the window to where she was repositioning the bridal party.

“Though I wouldn’t say no to a quick fuck if she offered, and her husband approved.”

“Husband… approved?”

Hamish asked, eyes widening.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s not a kink you’ve explored, but some guys are into that. And I’m pansexual, so I have no problem if a hot guy wants to watch me fuck his wife, you know?”

I tugged on my hoodie and leaned over, picking up my wetsuit and hanging it on a hook to dry.

“Though, in all honesty, I’d much prefer he joined in, if you know what I mean.”

Hamish was standing there, his mouth opening and closing. It was becoming clear that I needed to do better to respect his cultural boundaries. As a surfer, I wasn’t bothered by nudity, but he was uptight and British. Maybe his people didn’t change in front of each other.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to flash my dick at you. I keep forgetting you’re uptight and British. But we’d better get going, before Wedding Lady comes back!”

Hamish let out a weird little squeak.