Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(29)

“Wait! I can’t go surfing without a bathing suit.”

Over his shoulder, he called out, “You can rent a wetsuit at the Surf Shop. I’m renting a surfboard. Let’s gooo.”

Audre stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the bustling sidewalk. She was actually dying to go to the beach. But the idea of being half-naked in front of Bash with zero preparation or warning? That was a no. No. Reshma wouldn’t approve of her backing down, but learning to embrace spontaneity didn’t happen overnight.

Still, Audre could watch him surf. Maybe book ideas would strike her on the beach. It was, after all, her happy place.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she hurried to catch up with him.





Ninety minutes, two trains, and one bus ride later, Bash and Audre had made it to Rockaway Beach. During any other summer, she would’ve been chilling on Malibu Beach—and the differences between the two were drastic. The water was cloudy and the sand was… interesting. (A few feet from them, a sequined thong and a discarded lash strip were half-buried in the sand.)

Bash had rented a surfboard and two towels, and Audre sat on one of them while he replaced his T-shirt with a rash guard.

It was a struggle, trying not to stare. His chest was strong. His shoulders were broad. Her gaze traveled along his chest, all that nut-brown, sun-kissed skin dipping down into a perfect V. Quickly, she looked away, feeling a little dizzy. She was grateful for her sunglasses, which hid the fact that she was outright ogling her paid funsultant.

“I’m gonna go in,” he said, raising his voice to combat the windy sea air. “You coming?”

She did rent a wet suit. But she needed a moment to work up the courage for a Surf Lesson L’Bash. In response, she pulled a notebook out of her tote. “I’m just gonna vibe, take some notes. But you go! Hang ten, friend. I’ll get in soon.”

With a nod, he jogged down to the water and dove in easily. The water was his second home. God, she did want to go swimming. Memories of Dadifornia flooded her… the seafood shacks with her dad, slumber parties with cousins, the roar of the ocean lulling her to sleep. The scent of salty air and coconut oil clinging to her for two and a half months every year. Yoga with her weird-ass stepmom. Audre would’ve done anything to be there right now.

But instead, she was stuck. Staring at Bash hopping on a surfboard with a nimble quickness, making yet another thing look incredibly easy. He took wave after wave, smoothly and with a balletic grace. And for a moment, she felt like she was back in California. She let herself feel transported. And at some point, her eyelids fluttered closed. When she opened them, Bash was gone.

Audre frowned. What happened? His surfboard bobbed on the surface, but he was nowhere to be seen. He probably just wiped out. That was a part of surfing, wasn’t it? She waited a few heartbeats, but still, he hadn’t surfaced.

Then Bash’s phone lit up from where he’d left it on his towel. Audre didn’t intend to be nosy, but she couldn’t help but see the caller’s photo. It was Clio, the Prospect Park girl. Audre stared at the phone with rising anxiety as Clio called two more times. She hoped Bash told her that they were hanging out, extremely platonically. She wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

Audre switched her focus back out to the ocean. Bash still hadn’t resurfaced. And suddenly, all of her panic sensors flared. She stood up, fast. Her notebook flew off her lap and landed in the sand.

“Bash!” she hollered. No response. With a gasp, she ran down to the edge of the water. “Bash! Bash, where are you? Are you okay?”

Frantically, she whipped her head from left to right, looking around for a lifeguard. There wasn’t one. She didn’t have a choice. It was time for action.

Audre tore off her sunglasses, kicked off her platforms, tossed her phone onto the sand—and ran into the water. She swam out to Bash’s surfboard, using the clean strokes she’d learned from her California cousins. When she reached the board, she attempted to stand and realized her feet didn’t touch the bottom. Taking a deep breath, she dove in with wide-open eyes. Her vision was blurry in the murky water, but she spotted Bash instantly. He was down at the sea floor holding on to something she couldn’t make out. Was he tangled in seaweed? Was he drowning?

Thinking fast, Audre popped back up to get air and then dove down to Bash. She tugged on his arm. In dreamlike slow motion, he turned toward her. Blurry surprise registered on his face—and then they both kicked back up to the surface. They popped up at the same time, sputtering, coughing, and frantically treading water.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” he yelled at her. “YOU DROWNING?”

“ME? I THOUGHT YOU…”

Before Audre could finish, he hooked an arm around her waist and swam over to his board. In one smooth motion, he hoisted her onto his surfboard and then, lightning-fast, he paddled back to shore. Once on dry land, Bash tossed Audre over his shoulder, superhero-style, and sprinted over to their towels. With careful urgency, he laid her down and knelt next to her, salty water droplets rolling from his face onto hers. Stunned from being tossed around like a rag doll, her heartbeat roared in her ears, and she was breathless and too overwhelmed to speak.

“You’re fine!” hollered Bash. “I got you. I know CPR.”

Before he lowered his face to hers, she pushed him away, shouting, “I don’t need CPR, Bash! I was rescuing you.”