Oh my God, I’m flying. I’m in heaven. My board is skimming so fast over the water, I can’t breathe. My feet are planted skew-whiff and I wouldn’t get any points for style, but I’m doing it, I’m riding the wave.… And now I’m reaching the shore, still upright, breathless, an ecstatic smile plastered across my face.
I hop off my board and pick it up, then beam at Finn, who is whooping on the sand.
“High five!” He slaps my hand, then grasps it, just like Terry.
“I did it!”
I’m floating with elation. I flew over the sea. I defied gravity, the elements, and my own muscles. All of them. Right now I feel like all I ever want to do in life is fly over the sea, again and again and again.
I totally get why people give up their regular lives to do this.
“Have you ever thought of dropping out of your job to surf all day?” I say impulsively to Finn. “Because …” I spread my arms around at the waves, the beach, the view. “I mean …”
“Every time I surf.” He grins back. “I have a short but perfectly formed fantasy in which surfing is my life. Then reality hits.”
“Reality.” I roll my eyes.
“But it doesn’t need to hit yet. We can be surf dudes all afternoon. Bro.” He high-fives me again and I laugh.
“Bro.”
“The ride is it.”
“The ride is it!”
And then we both head back into the foaming, thrilling water with our boards. Right now I never, ever, want to stop.
At last I’m too exhausted to carry on. I stand on the sand, panting after my last thrilling ride, watching as Finn hoists his board under his arm and comes over to me. Water is dripping from his hair onto his face, and his grin is infectious.
“I’m done,” I say.
“Me too,” he agrees. “We can come out again tomorrow, maybe. Look, this place is popular.” He jerks his head toward the other surfers who have appeared, farther down the beach from us. There are two teenage boys, a woman of indeterminate age, and a wizened-looking guy who’s probably far younger than he seems. The woman lifts a hand in greeting as she sees us looking over, and I wave back.
“Honestly,” I say to Finn, deadpan. “They’ve ruined the place.”
“Totally.” Finn nods. “I remember when you could come to this beach and there’d be two people. Max.”
“I remember when you could come here and there’d be one person,” I counter. “Those were the days.”
“Touché.” He laughs and dumps his board on the sand, next to mine.
The sun is dancing on the turquoise water of the shallows; it feels almost summery. Finn glances down, then exchanges incredulous looks with me.
“Sorry, are we in the Caribbean all of a sudden?”
“Must be,” I reply, smiling.
I sink down to sit in the shallows, stretching my legs out in the glassy, translucent water. I don’t have the energy to surf anymore, but I don’t want to leave the magic of the sea. As the water foams over my legs, I feel such lightness rising through me, I think I might float up off the sand with happiness. I don’t know if it’s the surfing or the sun or the sea or Finn beside me, but life doesn’t get any better than this. My muscles feel burned out—but my brain feels exhilarated. I was doing it the wrong way round before.
And now my exhilaration is turning to something different. A desire for Finn that I can barely control. I remember this now, I remember it.
I want him right now, I think, and blink in such astonishment that I nearly giggle out loud. I’m normal! It’s back! I crave the whole, entire deal. Full, proper sex, genitals included.
Finn comes to sit beside me and I immediately redden. Oh God. First he has to look like a surfing god in his black wetsuit, riding waves I can’t manage, hefting his board with ease, high-fiving me. And now he has to come and sit right by me, with his muscles and his chest and his smile. Does he know what he’s doing to me?
My arms are desperate to wrap around him. My lips are desperate to kiss him. My … my everything wants him. Just look at his hands. Just imagine what they could do.
Oh God, stop staring at him, Sasha.
But what do I do? The fire inside me is a forest fire. It’s engulfing me. I feel hot and impatient and almost demented with urgency. My body has well and truly come alive, that’s for sure.
I stare straight out to sea, flaming inside, clueless how to proceed. In my current fevered state, everything seems suggestive. Casually, I lean back on the sand on my elbows, then sit up again before he can think …
What?
Sasha clearly wants sex—just look how she’s lying back on the sand on her elbows.
He will not think that. I’m an idiot. But, oh God, if he did.…
And now that I’ve opened the door in my brain, the fantasies start flooding in. Finn gently cupping my chin. Finn kissing me with that strong, generous mouth. Finn and me tumbling together in the waves, the water foaming and rippling around our naked bodies …
No, wait. Too fast. Rewind.
Finn slowly unzipping my wetsuit, kissing my skin as he goes. Oh God. Just the idea is making me feel heady. A tremor rises through me, and I adjust my position on the sand.
“OK?” says Finn.
“Fine!” I squeak, convinced he can read my thoughts. “Fine.” Somehow I muster a normal, cheerful smile. The smile of a woman not consumed by crazed sex fantasies about her platonic male friend who is sitting right beside her. “It’s amazing,” I add inanely. “The sea. The blueness.”
The blueness? Is that even a word?
But luckily Finn doesn’t pick up on it. He seems to have his own thoughts going on. They’re pretty deep thoughts, from the furrow in his brow. Maybe he’s going to confide in me at last, I think. Oh God. Maybe this is where it all comes together, the shared emotions and the momentous sea and the epic sex, in one big raging … furnace.
Do I mean raging wave?
One big something, anyway.
“Just looking at the sea is a cure for … whatever.” His voice sounds a little gravelly, either from whisky or shouting over the roar of the sea.
“Agreed.” I nod as a wave crashes over my legs, then recedes, dragging pebbles with it. “It’s amazing. Like being hypnotized.”
“Heartache. Burnout. Breakup. Fuckwit bosses. Whatever the trouble is. Come and sit here and look at the sea for a while, and just …” He exhales. “Breathe.”
“I thought you were going to say, ‘Just drink whisky,’ ” I say, and Finn gives a shout of laughter. He’s silent for a moment, as though piecing something together in his mind. Then he adds, more slowly, “I was trying to numb myself. But maybe I needed to feel myself instead. Feel myself. Remember myself.”
I’m silent, motionless, hardly daring to breathe, hoping he’ll say more. Reveal more. And after a minute or two, he speaks again.
“I think I’ve been avoiding therapy because I’m afraid of what I’ll find. I’m a pretty standard-issue guy, but everyone’s got something, right?”
“Yes,” I say softly. “Yes, everyone’s got something.”
“And the idea of breaking down in front of some counselor …” He shudders. “Crying. Not being able to control myself. What if I got furious with him or her? What if I lash out like I did at work?” His forehead crumples. “I’m a liability.”