"Since when in the hell did you start taking an interest in surfing?" Delk asks me, as the two of us change out of our dirty, greasy cammies and into a clean pair of clothes.

"Since he saw that little peach on the beach a few weeks back." Murphy answers for me, his voice muffled as he struggles to remove his sand tee, catching against his head.

I shake my head, chuckling to myself, "Murphy, you have no clue what you're fucking talking about."

"We don't blame you," Murphy continues antagonizing, his head of flaming hair and pale skin finally escaping the trap of his own shirt. "Who doesn't love a sweet,-" and now his words are dripping in an almost unnecessary southern twang," succulent, decadent, juicy, and fleshy fruit."

Delk is amused, laughing along with Murphy's antics, while my face contorts in disgust. Where in the hell does this kid come up with some of the things he says? "Murphy," I take a deep breath as I speak his name, "I say this with love and care; You need fucking help."

My two friends share a look with each other, nodding together before Delk joins at my side, wrapping a tight arm around my shoulders, his dark skin contrasting against my light skin. "Would you just look at yourself," he begins with fake condolence, volleying off of Murphy's teasing, "My guy's got first date jitters."

My hands push off of his side, laughing as I shove him right into Murphy. "It's not a date. She doesn't even know I'm coming-" I stop mid-sentence, regretting that I spoke the words out loud for them to hear.

"Whooo, ooo, ooo," they both sing out, Murphy nudging Delk and taunting, "Now that's romantic. Women love surprise gestures."

As if Murphy knew the first thing about what a woman loves.

I watch as Delk's ears perk up, his face swimming with curiosity. "What do you mean she doesn't know you're coming? Did you not have to book the lesson in advance?"

Shit. There's no way I'm getting out of this one without telling them the whole truth.

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath, keeping my eyes to the floor as I slip on a pair of dark grey swim trunks over my boxers. When I finally gather the courage to look them in the face, I start explaining, "Well, I did book in advance, but not necessarily for myself. Not technically at least..."

"Technically?" They both push on, waiting for me to share more.

I reach into the locker in front of me, snatching a black Led Zeppelin graphic t-shirt out of it and pulling it down over my head. I take a deep breath before sharing the rest of my shameless explanation. "Technically, Roger booked the lesson," both of their eyes squint in a 'who the fuck is Roger?' manner and the looks only get worse as I explain the rest," for his 11-year-old son, Maverick..."

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" Murphy exclaims, a sickening grin spreading from one cheek to the other.

"Goddamn Dawson! You know you've got it bad when you're pretending to book a surfing lesson for your 11-year-old son. You've seen the girl once and you're already committing identity fraud."

I can feel my face turning red, but I can't help but laugh thinking about how far I've let the situation escalate. "It's not that fucking bad," but then I think about it for a second more, "Okay. It's fucking bad. I just want to get to know her is all, and learning how to surf would be pretty damn fun, too."

"You do know this won't go down well, right?" Delk speaks matter-of-factly, working a palm brush against the hair on his head, "She sees your 6'3, desperate ass walking down that beach and she's gonna serve your ass right then and there. My bro, I send you my sympathy and condolences."

"I'll figure it out," I grit my teeth, biting against my bottom lip and letting my mind drift to visuals of how this evening will play out.

Yeah, the visuals aren't looking so good.

My hands are rough as they grab onto the straps of my camo backpack, yanking it up and slinging it around my back with a sense of optimism. "Well, it's too fucking late to back out now." My favorite quote to use in instances where I find myself in more trouble than I initially bargained for. I bring my feet together, standing tall and pushing out my chest firmly. I meet my hand against my head, saluting to my friends before I head out. "Ooh rah, Devil Dogs! Wish me luck," and this time I send a wink their way, "I'm gonna need it."

༄༄༄

My heart nearly beats out of my chest as I make my way down the sandy path leading onto the beach. I noticed Lelani's Jeep already situated in one of the spaces in the parking lot, her presence nowhere in sight, which tells me one thing: She's waiting on me- but not really me because she thinks 'me' is actually 11-year-old Maverick, coming with his dad Roger to take a damn surfing lesson.

My god, I'm fucking screwed.

My body heaves over, and I scream into my palms- a horrid scream of self-shame. When I finally feel some of the indignity leave my body, I straighten out my back and regain my composure, running my fingers through my hair and giving myself a positive fucking affirmation while I'm at it.

It's fine. Everything's fine. You paid the deposit for a surf lesson, and you're getting a damn surfing lesson.

My feet begin trudging through the sand once more, having gained this new sort of confidence from my self-talk. The shore of the beach comes into view while the sound of waves crashing hits my ears and my eyes watch the white, foamy crests crash into the wet sand. Through my peripheral vision, flashes of golden skin and thick black hair draw my attention to Lelani and the two surfboards laid out in front of her. She sheds a layer of clothing off her body, exposing her coral one-piece bathing suit underneath. A part of me wants to pull my eyes away from bright-colored material and the prominent curves that lie beneath it because I want to be respectful, but the weaker part of me- the one that's admiring the fucking unbelievable beauty standing in front of me- doesn't want to be a gentleman right now.

A set of dark eyes meet mine, and I watch Lelani's head tilt in the distance as she recognizes me. I throw a cheerful wave in her direction, cocking my head and smirking as my feet involuntarily lead themself over to her.

The wind strews her wavy locks across her face, and her fingers tug against them, whipping them away from her cheeks. "Funny seeing you here," she says, cracking a smile, but quickly putting it away before I can notice it, "So what? Are you stalking me now?"

"It's possible," I say shrugging my shoulders and taking in her round face carefully. Her skin looks bright, clean from any trace of makeup, and glowing with youth. Her lips are full, coloring themselves in a natural shade of pink and creating a seamless cupid's bow. "But it's also plausible you're the one stalking me."

She scoffs, tipping her head back, "Hardly the case, Brodie." My name rolls off her tongue slowly as if she knows exactly what she's doing to grab my attention even more. "I'm here to teach a surfing lesson. What's your alibi?"

Fuck it. I'm going to have to break the news eventually anyway, right?

I clear my throat, ridding any trace of shakiness or timidness that may be evident in my voice. "Funny that you mention it, I'm actually here for a surfing lesson."

"Really?" Her head perks, convinced for a split-second, but then I see it- the exact moment she realizes exactly what's going on here. Her eyes narrow to me as her head shakes in disbelief. "Oh, you-" She paces in front of me for a second, surely shaking off the sudden frustration that's rising inside of her. "You are- you fucking Marines are just- ugh!"

She storms off, beginning to yank one of the surfboards off of the sand aggressively. My hand grips the end closest to me, stopping her. "Lelani, please- just let me explain first."

Her body swivels quickly, the surfboard twisting with her and nearly knocking me to the ground as it whips against my leg. Her face is only inches away from mine as she points an angry finger to me, "Is this some sort of goddamn game to you? This is my work! This is my life, Brodie!" Lelani gives herself a moment to catch her breath before reprimanding me some more, "I'm devoting my time trying to teach my passion to others, and make some money just so I can afford to keep doing it and you just make a joke out of it!"

"It's not like that at all," I admit, feeling a massive string of guilt run through my core.

Lelani quickly darts for her tote bag, fetching and jerking out her flyer. She shoves the crumpled piece of paper in front of my face, reading it out loud as my eyes read along with the words myself. "Junior Beginner Surf Lessons. Ages. 7. To. 12. Was that not clear to you, Brodie? You're what- at least 22-years-old?"

"God, I knew I had some fine lines, but I didn't know they were that bad." Lelani shoots me a glare. Alright, no games. Now's not the time for jokes Brodie. "Nineteen," I mumble.

"Nineteen," she repeats, still aggravated with me. "That's seven years too old for the cut off age, Brodie."

"Age is just a number, Lelani. Deep down, I'm just a pubescent 11-year-old boy who wants to learn how to ride some gnarly waves." My hand throws a shaka her way, but she's not the slightest bit impressed.

"What do you want?" She asks, throwing her arms up defeatedly at her sides. "I told you I don't mess around with Marines. I meant that. If you're just looking to fuck, then look somewhere else."

"Woah, woah," I say, throwing my hands up in defense. "Who said anything about fucking, Lelani? I genuinely just want to learn how to surf."

And also get to know you, but I'll leave that part out since you don't mess around with Marines; whatever that could mean?

"There are adult surf lessons available all over the island," she says, continuing to gather her belongings up off the sand, "but mine is not one of them. Hell, you can even take your friends, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, with you; make a wholesome friendship experience out of it," she mocks, rolling her eyes, and making me laugh. I shouldn't be amused with the sass on this girl, but to be frank, I totally am and her boldness is completely intoxicating.

"I don't want to learn from anyone else," I smirk, folding my arms across my chest in detest. Her brown eyes finally catch mine, narrowing themselves as if she's trying to read me. She stills for a moment, her knees dug in the sand and I use it as my opportunity to try and convince her once more. "I've already paid the deposit, Lelani. Can't you just make me an exception? You're getting paid regardless. Money is money, right?" I decide to pull out my best puppy-dog-face as I finish the rest of what I'm saying, "I'm just an innocent man who wants to learn how to surf."

She lets out an exasperated sigh, "I hardly think that innocence is in your personality description."

My smirk grows further because she's right. She looks down, silently going over all of her options and my eyes watch carefully as she tucks another piece of wind-blown hair behind her ear. She pushes her hands off the top of her knees, coming to a stand and brushing the grains of sand off her legs before approaching me. Lelani pulls her shoulders back, puckering up her chest in front of me, the top of her head only meeting up to my shoulders. "Fine. I'll teach you."

"Seriously?" I chuckle in disbelief and optimism.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Her words are dripped in a layer of sarcasm. "But I have conditions."

"Okay," I agree. "Let's hear 'em."

"Well, first off: one month. I'm giving you four weeks of lessons, and that's it."

"But what if it takes me longer than four weeks to catch on?" Without thinking, my feet carry themselves slightly closer to her. She stands her ground, the distance between us shrinking.

"Second," she affirms, ignoring my previous question, "No funny business. These lessons are strictly professional. Nothing more."

"Strictly professional," I repeat, letting the words slowly drip from my lips. I hold a finger up, "But you can't put the blame on me if you start falling for me."

She scoffs, her face cracking a beautiful smile that I can tell is genuine. She thinks I'm funny. That's a start. "I can assure you that won't be happening. I don't-"

"Mess with Marines," I interrupt, finishing the rest of the sentence for her. "So you've told me. Little do you know, there's so much more to me than just camouflage and combat boots, Lelani."

Her eyes cut away from me, her voice for a moment becoming quiet and weak, pain bleeding through behind it. "I won't take the risk this time."

Lelani's words dig deep into my chest, a flush of sympathy washing over me even if I wasn't exactly sure what she was referring to. "Okay, Lani," I say, changing the subject and trying to get the fiery side of her back. Her head pops up as she registers the nickname and her cheeks quickly turn pink. "Any other conditions I should know of before we get started?"

"Yeah, actually." She looks me dead in the eyes as she asserts the last rule of our agreement, "Third...No nicknames."

"If you say so," I shrug, feeling confident that I was capable of making her blush so hard. Without any further exchange of words, Lelani turns, picking up one of the surfboards and shoving it in my direction. My fingers grip its edges, taking its smooth surface into my hands excitedly.

"I hope you like flowers," she teases, and my eyes suddenly take in the pattern of yellow and white daisies covering every inch of the deck. Ain't no shame in a little floral action. "Now the first thing to learn when it comes to surfing is how to wax your board. It keeps you from slipping off when you're in the water."

"Sounds good," I nod, waiting to hear her next instruction.

"On your knees, Maverick." A burst of warmth spreads down my spine, and I'm positive it's not coming from the setting sun behind me.

"I thought we were adhering to the rules you laid out, Lelani? No nicknames," I remind her.

"I don't follow the rules, Brodie... I make them." A wicked smile spreads across her face. My teeth bite against my lip, stifling all the words I want to say out loud but think better of not to.

Well, Lani... I'm not so keen on following the rules either.

༄༄༄

😂

❤️🥰

⭐️⭐️