Lorelie Brown - Riding the Wave

“I care what you do with your life. And whether you’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy.” He was the freaking world champion, and he’d won in an epic way. What was there to be unhappy about?

Except he was missing part of himself. The part that had walked out the door in Avalon’s wake.

“Certainly.” Eileen patted Tanner’s shoulder. “I’m sure you are,” she said in a tone that said she was convinced of anything but.

Pushing out of the seat, he pulled the tiny jump drive out of his pocket. He knew without looking what it was, a fat file of pictures. But he had a feeling that baseline knowledge wasn’t the same thing as the effect.

Avalon had done him one last favor, because that was the type of woman she was. It was obvious that he’d hurt her, but she’d given him a file full of pictures so that nothing would take him by surprise at the meeting.

He had to track down a computer first.

He ended up perched at his sister’s desk. Her room was a disaster zone, which he didn’t remember at all from when they were growing up together. Her place used to always be neat. But he had to sit on the very front edge of the desk chair because the back was entirely stacked with clothes.

He took another look around. All the mess seemed to be clothes, as a matter of fact. “Swear to God, if I put my hand down on a bra, I’ll burn it.”

Sage stood in front of her open closet door, where a full-length mirror hung. As if the tiny halter-top dress she wore wasn’t enough of an anomaly for her, she bent at the waist and fluffed her hair, then tossed it back. She looked distinctly beach-bunnylike. “You better mean you’ll burn your hand, because my bras are seventy-five bucks each.”

“Dude, are you serious?”

“Completely.” She bent over him to grab up a tiny thing with a clasp on top that he supposed was a purse. It wouldn’t have held anything more than a lipstick and some cash. “You better behave if I leave you in here alone. Don’t go digging in my files. You might not like what you find.”

“What, the cute cat vids will scratch my eyes out?”

“More like I don’t want you in my porn.”

He shuddered. “Oh Jesus, Sage. Don’t even joke about that.”

She swatted his shoulder with her minipurse. Clutch, maybe? “Your sister has sex. And sometimes I don’t, and then I need the porn.”

“Go away and stop talking about that stuff.”

“What, porn?”

He plugged his fingers in his ears and hummed. Sage would always be his baby sister. The two should never, ever come together.

“Where are you headed, anyway?” She looked a little more tarted up than he was comfortable with. The sheer red gloss was a little much, but she’d have a shit fit if he tried to wipe it off.

“On a date.” The grin that spread across her face said way too much about troublemaking and was probably a result of Avalon’s influence. “Hopefully to get laid so I don’t have to come home to porn.” She put extra emphasis on the last word, as if insisting he notice.

He clapped his hands over his ears again. He was playing it up, yeah, but this was sort of fun. Letting Sage tease him . . . It spoke to a level of intimacy that they hadn’t always had. “Can’t hear you—did you say you’re a virgin?”

“Sure. Yeah. Virgin.” She snickered, then gave a tiny wave of her fingers as she sashayed out of the room. “See you, brother.”

“Don’t do anything I would,” he called.

But he still waited until the door was fully shut before popping the external drive into a USB slot. This was a moment he needed to keep exclusively to himself.

Because Christ if this wasn’t going to hurt.

She had organized the files. There were two little blue folders to start with. One was labeled WavePro, The other said “Private.”

He stared at the computer screen, his fingers running lightly over the flat top of the mouse. This was . . . surprisingly difficult. A little, burning kernel of emotion flipped around and around in his stomach.

He didn’t want to think about the tingling tremble that made directing the cursor difficult. He clicked on the WavePro folder first. This was a piece of pie compared to winning a World Championship—and yet it still felt as if his whole life was tilting.

The file held lots of shots of water and breaking waves. Plenty of him shredding pretty damn hard for an old man, if he did say so himself. Her shots from shore were minimal. She’d preferred to be out there in the water with him, ducking flying boards for the perfect shot. As a result, most of them were wet and Tanner didn’t look too bad. He deserved the win he’d nailed down. The pictures showed that in their technically clean exposition.

They were spare and sparse. It worked, in a way, because it pared the visual impression down to the bare necessities. But it left the overall impression of something slightly cold. They were pretty much on par with the photos he’d seen in her portfolio almost a month ago.

He swallowed when he came to the last file in the WavePro folder.

The photos in the second folder were something more. Something special. The very first was a predawn shot of him waxing up his board, staring out at the waves. The light made him look a little bit old, a little bit weary. Like he’d reached the end of his journey.

He remembered that moment. There had been negative stuff in his head, but he’d still held out and paddled through the waves. Avalon had managed to capture it. His throat locked at the idea of anyone else, anyone at WavePro seeing that moment.

Even more so with the next series of pictures, the ones that had been taken when he was back out of the water again. He’d been exhausted. Weary lines circled his mouth, and his jaw looked hollowed out. But he’d been stoked about a particular change-back turn and he hadn’t been able to stop grinning. He looked like a fool . . . and he looked happy. Staring straight at the lens. Staring straight at Avalon.

She’d also captured them, from her viewpoint. The pictures of him sitting on his balcony, a cup of coffee curled in his hands. Even the steam showed up in the shot. His shoulders were relaxed, and the tilt of his pelvis said his spine was nearly melted into the deck chair.

And also the way he’d looked at her. Half-awed, half-fascinated. A little bit wary, too.

Had he loved her even then?

He folded his arms, staring at the monitor. Something both uncomfortable and reassuring settled in his chest.

Yes, he probably had. There was something about Avalon that simply fit within him. The rest of it could all be worked out later.

She wasn’t going to show anyone the second set of pictures. That was obvious from the label. Keeping them under wraps would be foolish. She’d finally found that extra spark that she craved, that she needed to break through the pack. But she’d hide it all because she thought that was what he wanted. What he needed. That was Avalon, the curious blend of creativity and self-sacrifice.

Part of him twisted uncomfortably at the idea of exposing their most private moments. But if that was what it took, he’d do it gladly This gesture would make Avalon’s career, but most important of all it would get her back in his arms. She needed to know he was behind her, no matter what.

But he had a feeling he’d better hurry up.

The meeting was one of the most uncomfortable things she’d ever sat in on. She didn’t want to be there. The pictures were what she had, and they’d have to be enough. There were no words in the world that could talk WavePro into taking photos that were subpar.

She tapped a pen across her knee. She’d rather be doing it on the black-marble tabletop, but she’d gotten a nasty look from the head of public relations around twenty minutes ago for the very same thing.

A quick glance up from under her lashes said the picture on the projector was from Tanner’s second week of preparation. He’d followed up a two-hour surfing session with a five-mile run. Like a freaking boss.

She felt weak for being so stuck on him, even when he wasn’t there. The warm, heady feeling she got all through her stomach . . . there was nothing to be done about that. She guessed she should enjoy the ride while it lasted.

It took monumental effort to get her head back in the conference room where she belonged. She’d done her part already. But Mr. Palmer had asked for her input. The change from his piss-poor attitude about her at the first meeting had been too good to turn down. Beth, the attorney, had sat in as well, and their chat in the hallway had been nice. If Avalon’s mood had been even a fraction better, she’d have invited the other woman out for a girls’ night out with Sage. Only problem was that Avalon didn’t feel like she’d be in the mood for drinks anytime soon.

Finally, things seemed to be drawing to a close. They’d settled on a handful of shots for full-page ads, including a double-page spread, and the rest would be sent on to SURFING for selection. Surely something would make the cut for this year’s special edition on the world champion.

At least Tanner would have given her that much.

She took her time stacking up photos and gathering up her backpack. If she took her time, maybe no one would look to her for small talk. The moment was . . . less. Less exciting, less impressive, less big than she’d dreamt of all through her career. They’d accepted the photos, but no one was thrilled with her.

When the double doors of the conference room swung open, the last person she thought to see was Tanner. He still wore the slacks and green button-down he’d had on earlier. “How’s it going?”