Even though it’s ridiculously early, there’s already people in the water. A small group of surfers are far out, bobbing around on their boards, waiting for the next set. There’s a lone jogger in the distance, and several dog walkers. Overall the vibe is calm. Peaceful.
Leaving my coat and flip flops in the sand, I walk towards the water’s edge. The sea foam kisses my toes, instantly numbing them. I suck in a breath at how freaking cold the water is, but power through. One step at a time. Taking baby steps deeper into the sea. Icy tendrils caress my calves, snaking their way up past my knees and around my thighs.
I’m sure the water wasn’t this cold the other night with Finn. Just thinking of him makes my stomach flip like when I was akid and we’d go too fast over a humpback bridge. Suddenly the water doesn’t seem too bad.
When I’m in just past my waist, I begin to swim. The cold doesn’t bother me once my shoulders are under and there’s no strong or dangerous currents.
Growing up in the West Midlands, my father – before he was a junkie, abusive piece of shit – would joke that we were just about the farthest point from the coast in every direction, so trips to the beach were rare. It’s probably why I grew up with such a fascination and appreciation for the ocean and all its wonders. My father suffered from severe thalassophobia and cymophobia so that probably contributed to his reluctance to take me there too. Can’t blame him considering my mother drowned in the ocean when I was only two.
I grew up so determined to be his opposite, that I told myself, over and over until I believed it, that there was nothing to be afraid of in the water. Even though I’m notentirelyconvinced about that. Have to admit, this is nice though, having the ocean right on my doorstep to enjoy whenever I want.
“Watch it!” A voice hollers from somewhere behind me, but before I can react, something solid smacks me in the face, and everything goes black.
As stars dance before my eyes, I gradually regain consciousness, my gaze fixing on the most breathtaking face I’ve ever seen, despite the ferocious scowl marring his beauty.
“Fuck’s sake. Fucking grockles thinking they own the entire fucking ocean,” he mutters, his intense eyes locked onto mine.
“W-what happened?” I manage to ask, feeling a mix of confusion and attraction.
As awareness seeps in, I realise I’m no longer swimming. No longer in the water. And for some reason I’m lying on the cold wet sand.
My head is pounding.
“Youhappened,” the stranger looming over me retorts, but even in his irritation, there’s a magnetic pull that draws me in.
I wince at the venom in his tone and then flinch at the pain my movement causes. I struggle to sit up but a firm hand on my shoulder forces me backwards. In my panic at being touched so suddenly and harshly – triggers are a fucking bitch – and still disoriented, I reach out and grab his arm, pulling him along with me as I crash back into the sand. The weight of him makes the landing harder than expected.
“Ow,” I complain, closing my eyes as a wave of dizziness washes over me.
When I open them again, the stranger is millimetres from my nose, staring at me with a little less anger than before.
Is that concern I see in his gaze?
Why is he on top of me?
“Are you okay?” he asks, the worry in his voice contrasting his initial hostility. His breath caresses my cheek, making me shiver, and my heart races at his proximity, so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
His eyes seemed so dark before, but there’s actually captivating copper flecks in his irises that add warmth. Wow.
With difficulty, I force myself to nod.
“You shouldn’t have been swimming in the surf zone!” He grumbles, but his hands brace in the sand beside my head, the space between us suddenly charged. The pressure of his torso lifting from mine allows me to breathe, but I find myself missing the heat of his firm, highly sculpted body.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I stammer, feeling a sudden urge to get closer to him.
“That’s what the flags are for!” Our gazes lock and my breath catches.
“What flags?”
He gestures to his right, my left, and even though it makes my head swim, I follow the direction he’s pointing to. Fuck. I must have really hit my head hard. All I see is the empty beach.
“What flags?” I repeat.
“Well, it’s too fucking early for the lifeguards to put the flags out but everyone knows this area is designated for surfing. This is the chequered flag zone. The swim zone is further along, between the red and yellow striped flags.”
I’m not sure if it’s his nearness or the bump to the head, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate. “I didn’t know. I’m new here.”
“Are you completely wet behind the ears?” He snaps, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes too. I’m sure of it.