Page 9

I collapse onto the bed beside her, her words echoing in my ears as that rational fucking voice starts up again.

You need to tell her who you are.

I fucking know I do, but it doesn’t make it any easier. But the longer I continue hiding who I am, the worse it’s going to be. And as much as I thought this was just sex between us, I’m starting to think it might actually be more than that.

“Flynn,” she says, her hand resting on my back.

She’s still lying on the bed, covered in me, and there is something so hot and possessive about that, that I just want to fuck her all over again. All night, in fact, marking her, branding her as mine even though I have no right to do that.

I roll my head to face her, my heart rate slowing as I reach across, cupping her face in my hand. “Give me a sec,” I say before pushing up off the bed.

I disappear into the bathroom, splashing my face with cold water before grabbing a washcloth and sticking it under the tap. When I walk back into the bedroom, Alana hasn’t moved, the evidence of what we just did still all over her stomach. Sitting on the bed beside her, I gently clean it off, my gaze following the movements as I try to work out how the fuck to explain this to her.

When I eventually lift my gaze, Alana is watching me, a soft smile on her lips, which does nothing to hide the confusion on her face. “You okay?” she asks.

I blow out a breath, chucking the washcloth on the floor as I lay down beside her, my hands tucked behind my head, my eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah.”

She laughs, shuffling around as she sits up and moves so she’s straddling my hips. “You sure?”

“Mmm hmm,” I murmur.

Her fingers trace a path over the muscles of my stomach, dipping down to run through the trail of hair that leads to my dick. “That was pretty hot,” she whispers, awe in her voice even if it feels like she’s talking to herself.

“Alana, do you know who I am?” I blurt out.

Her eyes snap to mine, her brow narrowing in confusion. “No, should I? I mean, should…” She trails off, her gaze moving down to where she currently straddles my hips, my dick slowly waking up again beneath her.

My hands move to her hips, holding her in place, as understanding suddenly dawns on me. “No, that’s not it... We’re good. I was never gonna just come inside you or whatever,” I start, knowing that was probably a ballsy move on my part, fucking her without even bothering with a condom. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have?—”

“No, it’s…well, I have an IUD,” she says, cutting me off. “And I’m clean, but I?—”

“I am too,” I tell her, gently squeezing her hips. “I promise. I’m… Fuck,” I breathe out, sitting up so we are now facing each other. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, brushing my lips against hers. “We probably should’ve discussed the whole…you know…”

She smirks a little, dropping her arms loosely around my shoulders. “Fucking-each-other-bare thing?”

Chuckling, I drop my forehead to rest on her shoulder. “Yeah, that,” I murmur. “But seriously, I promise you don’t have anything to worry about with me. I’m clean and I’m not like sleeping around or whatever, and I don’t just…” I pause, blowing out a breath as I lift my head and try to find the words. “I don’t just randomly hook up with people.”

She lifts a brow, an amused look on her face as she says, “You randomly hooked up with me.”

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re something else, beautiful. I didn’t really stand a chance.”

She smiles at that, her head tilting to the side as she says, “So, to summarize, we’re both clean and we’re both not sleeping around and I have an IUD, so we?—”

“We shouldn’t do this again,” I say.

“WHAT?” Alana practically yells. “Why the hell not?”

Groaning, I flop back onto the bed, scrubbing a hand down my face as I reach for my phone charging on the nightstand. Alana is still sitting on my hips, her stare intense as she watches me type away before finally turning the phone around to her.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Just read it,” I say, watching as she takes the phone from me, her eyes scrolling over the old articles. Her eyes widen as she does, occasionally flicking to me before returning to the screen, her finger scrolling through the hundreds of search results that show up just from Googling my name.

“Holy fuck, you’re a professional surfer?” she whispers, looking at me again.

I shake my head. “I was, but not anymore.”

“Wait, why?” she asks, her gaze moving to the phone again. “You were like world champ at seventeen, you were…shit, you were really good.”

“I was,” I tell her, tucking a hand back behind my head. “Until my accident.” Alana looks at me quizzically, and I nod toward the phone in her hand. “Google my name and surf accident.”

She does, her eyes scanning the screen again as she undoubtedly gets an endless supply of articles about the surf accident that left me unconscious and with a dislocated shoulder. How it happened during the Rip Curl Finals in California when I was going for a sixth straight World Championship. How everyone expected me to win, but instead I was taken out by a huge wave, my board catching me on the head before I came down hard.

I don’t even remember it, mostly because I was knocked out cold, but also because I’ve spent the past few years trying really hard to forget it. To block out what happened after when I tried to surf competitively again.

“Holy shit,” she breathes out. “I think I remember reading about this. Wait, it was…how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-five,” I tell her. “It happened when I was twenty-two.”

“Wow,” she says, her eyes moving back to the phone screen. “So, wait, you don’t surf competitively anymore?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“Why not?” she asks, looking back at the screen. When I don’t say anything, Alana’s gaze flicks back to mine, a knowing look on her face as she says, “You tried.”

It’s said as a statement rather than a question, and all I can do is nod in response.

“What happened?” she asks, her hand moving to rest on mine as it sits on her thigh.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I tell her.

Alana drops my phone onto the bed, her focus on me as she leans in and drops a soft kiss on my lips. “You still surf though. I mean, we’ve surfed together, so it’s not like you can’t surf.”

I nod, curling my hand around the back of her neck, knowing we are getting closer and closer to the truth and why this thing between us can’t continue.

“I do surf,” I tell her. “Just not competitively.”

“But why?” she asks, sitting back up.

“Why did you stop when your coach died?” I ask, turning her question back around.

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I told you. It was too hard, and I was?—”

“Afraid of letting everyone down? Of failing?” I say, reminding her of the exact words she said to me only hours ago. Alana nods, her eyes locked with mine. “Yeah,” I say with a wry smile. “Well, same with me.”

“But you’re the one who told me I wouldn’t fail, no matter what happens.”

I reach for Alana, pulling her down so she lies against me, her warm skin pressed against mine as I close my eyes and try to memorize this feeling of holding her in my arms, of everything about her. “And you won’t,” I tell her.

She lifts her head, propping herself up on my chest. “And neither will you.”

I laugh, tucking her hair behind her ears. “But I did,” I tell her. “I tried to compete again, and I just…” I trail off, remembering the next year when I tried to just pretend like the accident had never happened.

But it was all anyone wanted to talk about, all anyone ever asked me about at every surf comp I showed up to. And the pressure felt impossible, like I was carrying the weight of everyone’s expectations, and no matter what I did, it was never going to be enough.

I was a five-time World Champion, and after the accident, I couldn’t even fucking place. Eventually, it was just easier to withdraw and stop competing altogether.

“I couldn’t even place, Alana,” I eventually say. “The accident was all anyone could talk about, even the following year. I fucking hated that they kept reminding me about it when all I wanted to do was forget. It fucked with my head, and in the end, I just…stopped.”

“So what, you gave up?” she asks.

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” I tell her, knowing how pathetic that makes me. “But if I wasn’t going to compete, I decided I’d do the next best thing.”

“What’s that?”

I blow out a breath, knowing this is it. This is the moment all of this ends between us. “I coach,” I tell her, watching her beautiful blue eyes. “I coach Jade Whitlock.”

She immediately tenses, pulling herself from my arms as she sits up, an inch of space now between us that feels like a fucking mile.

“You coach Jade Whitlock?” she repeats, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” I say. “Which is why…” I trail off, not even wanting to say it again.

“Why we can’t do this,” Alana says, voicing it anyway.

I sit up, my hand moving to her face, curling around her jaw as I rest my forehead against hers. “There are rules in place,” I start, knowing she probably knows all this. “And I can’t coach her and coach you.”

Alana nods. “Yeah, no, I get it.”

“I shouldn’t even be surfing with you,” I tell her, already knowing far too much about her style and technique. Knowledge that could help Jade beat her if I wanted to use it.

“Of course,” she says, her eyes closing.

“And this,” I continue. “This doesn’t look good either.”

She nods again, pulling back a little. “No, of course it doesn’t,” she whispers, blinking her eyes open. “I’ll go.”

“Alana,” I say softly, my grip on her neck tightening. “I never wanted this to happen.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I know, it was just a quick hook up, right? Two people looking for a good time and?—”

“No, it wasn’t just that,” I say, cutting her off. “And I meant what I said, I never wanted to hurt you.”

She lifts her eyes to mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers.

I swallow hard, trying to find a way to explain it to her that doesn’t make me sound like a fucking arsehole. Although to be fair, I think that ship has well and truly sailed.

“I wanted to,” I say. “You didn’t recognize me though, and it was just so, so…so fucking refreshing, you know? To not have someone ask me about the accident or if I was ever gonna compete again. You were just you and you let me just be me. The guy I was before the accident. And I loved that.”

She lets out a breath, nodding a little as though she gets it. And while I know her situation with her coach dying is different to mine, the end result isn’t that much different. When things change and what you once loved becomes hard work, it feels like there’s just no point anymore. And you’d do anything to forget that feeling, to go back to the way things were before.

“I guess I should go,” she says, pulling back as she moves to the side of the bed.

I follow her, standing and pulling her into my arms in a tight embrace. “I’m really sorry, Alana. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” she says, lifting her gaze to mine. “And hey, it was fun while it lasted, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, giving her a smile, even if the voice in my head is telling me it was way more than fun. Just like it was way more than just sex. But I can’t admit that to her, not now.

She licks her lips, stepping back as she reaches for her running shorts. “When does Jade get here? I don’t think she’s checked in, right?”

I shake my head, not moving as I watch her get dressed, wishing to fuck I could turn back time to when she was naked beneath me, when I was bare inside her, when the two of us were coming hard. “No, she’s not here until the week before.”

“Good,” she says with a nod. “Guess we’ll get away with it.”

She offers me a small smile before turning and walking out of the bedroom. I quickly grab my shorts, yanking them on as I follow after her. “Alana, wait,” I say, reaching for her arm. “Let me drive you home.”

“It’s fine,” she says, pulling her arm from my grip. “I can run. It’s not far.”

“I don’t want you out there this late by yourself,” I say, knowing I sound way more possessive than I have a right to.

“It’s okay, Flynn,” she says, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “This part of the island is really safe.”

“Alana,” I whisper, closing the distance between us, my hands cupping her face as I drop my forehead to hers. “I’m…”

I don’t even know what I can possibly say, and so instead, I do the one thing I know I shouldn’t. I kiss her, softly, deeply, slowly. Desperately trying to memorize how fucking perfect she feels.

“I’ll see you,” I whisper.

“Bye,” she says before turning and walking out the door.