Hot Stuff, Page 3

  Harley peered up at Sage, from where he was still crouching on the doorstep. ‘You raise him alone?’

  ‘I-I do. The pregnancy wasn’t planned and . . . his father wasn’t pleased.’

  It was a lot for someone like her — someone who held their cards close to their chest — to admit.

  Harley held her gaze. ‘You know, I was raised by a single mother. She’s the woman I most admire in the world.’ Aaron let go of Harley’s finger and he stood up to his full height. ‘It’s funny, the reason I broke up with my ex after six long years was because she didn’t want to have a family. But that’s the problem with falling in love at first sight. You’re head over heels before you realise you have completely different values.’

  Sage nodded, her eyes an ocean of understanding.

  Harley decided to take a risk and keep going, because suddenly he realised he was damned if he was going to let this incredible woman vanish from his life again. ‘Catching up for a drink doesn’t have to be complicated. We could take baby steps, if you wanted to. Get to know each other a little better. Start over. Who knows? Maybe there’s a reason we keep crossing paths.’

  Thankfully, Sage was nodding again, her beautiful mane swishing behind her back. His heart juddered a bit in his chest. ‘Baby steps. In the real world. I think I can manage that.’

  Then she smiled, and on the inside he was back on the beach, walking on sunshine. Paradise found.

  The Bluff

  Maria Lewis

  A shrill, piercing sound punctured Ever’s subconscious, waking her with a start. The room was an impenetrable mass of black, and she fumbled around in the darkness for the source of the unforgivable noise. She tumbled ungracefully out of bed and landed on the floor — thankfully on her phone — and groaned as she rolled over to answer it.

  ‘Ello,’ she said, her voice raw and raspy from the previous night’s festivities.

  ‘It’s happening.’

  ‘Ardelia?’ Ever whispered, the words not sounding like they came from her own mouth.

  ‘That storm cell we were looking at is happening. The low is moving offshore and will make landfall in the next forty-eight.’

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘If we wanna do this, we gotta do this now. I called your brother, and he can get the plane up in two hours. We’d be in Hobart before sunrise and it would be a few hours’ drive before we get a boat out to the break.’

  ‘I know, I know . . .’

  There was a long pause as Ever’s mind ran over the finer details and the timeline in her head. This would use up the last of what they had in the sponsorship budget, and if the low dissipated before they got there it would be a complete waste of time.

  ‘Ever?’

  ‘I’m thinking. Is Kitty in?’

  ‘You know Kitty; we did her trip to Brazil and my bucket list is ticked off. This is all you.’

  Ever bit her lip, feeling her heartbeat pulse beneath her skin with anticipation. ‘All right, let’s do it.’

  ‘YES! Ha, this is so exciting! When can you make it?’

  ‘Uh . . .’ Ever sat up, looking around at the strange surroundings now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She peered over the edge of the bed at the sleeping body that lay there. ‘I think I can be at the airport within the hour. I need to pick up the big-wave boards from home and the fins, but —’

  ‘Wait, it’s two in the morning and you’re not at home?’

  Shit, thought Ever, mentally scolding herself.

  Ardelia’s delighted smirk was almost audible through the phone. ‘Ever, where are you, girl?’

  ‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure,’ she replied.

  ‘You went home with someone last night!’ Ardelia shrieked.

  ‘Ssssshhh, they’re still sleeping and if you keep speaking at that volume I’m never gonna make it out of here without waking them up,’ she said, getting to her feet and collecting her clothes, which were scattered around the room.

  ‘Who is he? Or she? Were they good? Oh, my God, this is so unlike you — I’m waking Kitty up.’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘KITTY! Kitty wake the fu—’

  Ever hung up the phone. She was going to cop the full inquisition once she got on the plane, but right now she needed to focus on making a hasty and silent exit. Wiggling into her jeans and throwing on the Spiderbait T-shirt she had been wearing, she tiptoed for the door. Her hand was on the handle when she paused, looking at the sleeping form. It had been nearly a year since Ever had slept with anyone, and after a particularly rough break-up she had undergone a self-inflicted celibacy. But last night . . . She watched the muscles in the dark brown of his back ripple as he breathed, his body moving slightly with the movement. His short, black hair was ruffled from where Ever had pulled at it, and she blushed in the darkness. His name was Nain, which was Aboriginal for ‘lookout’ he had told her. They’d got to talking while she had been enjoying a lone dinner of tacos at her favourite Mexican bar. He was funny and smart, and without a doubt the most beautiful man she had ever hooked up with. One thing led to Margaritas, which led to ending up back at his place, which led to Ever pondering whether or not to leave her number. It had been a great night — an amazing night — and the reality of trying this in the real world would never be as good as one fleeting evening of fun. She had a nice mental polaroid and she didn’t want to ruin that by getting to know all the things she would undoubtedly dislike about Nain. Besides, she hadn’t even given him her real name — how would she explain that away? Ever cast the sleeping man one more look, savouring how peaceful he seemed and the curve of his cute butt that was peeking out from under the covers. She left without a word.

  ***

  ‘Finally, you’re here!’ said Ardelia, as Ever flopped down in the seat of the private plane they had at their disposal.

  ‘I’m here,’ she huffed, ruffling her long black hair as she relaxed.

  Her older brother, Jake, emerged from the bathroom and gave her an excited nod. ‘You got everything?’

  ‘Boards are packed and any other emergency cargo we might need,’ Ever replied.

  ‘Sweet. Lester gave me half a dozen of the new wetsuit prototypes he’d like you to ride in.’

  Ever crinkled her nose as she thought. She, Kitty and Ardelia were on the bankroll of Lester Buzza — the CEO of the world’s largest surf brand — for a limited time. He was their surfing genie, granting the women finances for an expedition of three trips to anywhere in the world they wanted to surf as long as they were documented by his hand-picked film and photography crew and decked out head-to-toe in the latest Riptyde merch. Ever was acutely aware of the need to balance the brand-promoting responsibilities with the needs of the actual surfing.

  ‘No,’ she said after a long while. ‘I’m riding his boards, everyone else will be decked out in Riptyde, and Kitty and Ardelia can wear the new stuff if they’re getting wet, but I’m about to try and ride one of the most dangerous surf breaks in the world. This is not the time to be road-testing new equipment.’

  Jake smiled at her, as if knowing that this was exactly what she would say. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more. Plus your “lucky” wetsuit is Riptyde anyway, even if it is three years old.’

  ‘That’s an age in the fashion world, mate,’ said Kitty, who bounded up the steps of the plane with a sleeping mask glued to her head and her short, white hair sticking out at odd angles as if she’d just been electrocuted. She had six coffees on a tray and the latest copy of Surf International rolled under her arm.

  ‘My hero,’ said Jake, scooping up one of the coffees as he spoke to Ever over his shoulder. ‘We’re all set to go in Tasmania. They’ve got the jet-skis prepped and Hamilton flew down there a few days ago when he saw the storm building. We’ll be up in the air as soon as Prentice’s replacement gets here.’

  ‘Replacement?’ Ever asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. Prentice was her ‘big-wave buddy’ as she nicknamed him and was the
man in charge of keeping her alive in surf over twenty foot. The jet-ski driver had towed her into some of the best waves of her life — and got her out after her worst wipeouts. She was comfortable working with other drivers — usually Kitty mounted up for her in the smaller conditions — but Prentice was the best there was.

  ‘I know,’ sighed Jake, ‘His kid has really bad food poisoning or something. He’s got a replacement guy he says is amazing and has just moved here, so . . . He’s got good credentials and he’s agreed to do it at the last minute, Ev. It’s the best we could do. He used to be a world champion jet-skier from what Dr Google tells me.’

  Ever nodded. ‘Okay. If Prentice says he’s good and you say he’s good and he knows his shit, then just get him here. Time is of the essence.’

  ‘I hear ya, sis,’ he said.

  ‘And we should send Prentice flowers or . . . what does an eight-year-old boy like? Iron Man toys?’ she added.

  Jake smiled. ‘Already sent him an Avengers costume kit. We’ll be up in twenty. Oh, and you should definitely read that Surf International article.’

  He laughed as he headed into the cockpit to check on the pilots. Kitty looked down at the publication, as the rest of the crew grabbed coffees and she handed one to Ever.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Kitty muttered.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Ardelia, who was tapping away on her laptop.

  ‘Don’t what?’ asked Kitty, sitting across from her and taking a bite from a strawberry doughnut the size of her head.

  ‘Ergh, I don’t know how you eat that crap,’ Ardelia said, while Kitty and Ever shared a smile.

  ‘Not all of us are “my body is a temple to hemp juice” nutters,’ Kitty remarked, picking up the thread of all old argument. ‘Sugar and a coffee would do you good once in a while. And, hey, look at me!’

  Ardelia couldn’t help but grin as Kitty held out her arms and gestured to herself. ‘Just know that I warned you about reading that story. It’s patronising. Here, Ever.’

  She slid the laptop over to her friend, who balanced it on her lap as she looked at the storm system swirling over the southeast coast of Tasmania.

  ‘Shit,’ remarked Ever.

  ‘Right? This is what we’ve been waiting for. It’s too dark to tell yet, but how big do you think?’

  ‘The biggest day ever surfed at Shippies was around thirty foot, I think; this has gotta be at least that. If it’s any bigger, it’s gonna be unsurfable.’

  ‘Hmmm. Anyway, on to more important topics . . .’

  Kitty’s head emerged from the doughnut. ‘Huh?’

  Ardelia grinned smugly. ‘Who did you sleep with last night, Ever?’

  ‘WHAT?!’ screeched Kitty through a mouthful of pastry.

  ‘Sssshhh,’ Ever hissed at her friends, conscious of the photographer and cameraman sitting only a few seats away.

  ‘Oh, please,’ said Ardelia, batting a hand. ‘Like they’re gonna care. Like your brother would even care.’

  ‘We don’t talk about that stuff, we keep it professional and we keep it family.’

  ‘Riiiiight. Anyway, this person’s name was? And where did you meet?’ Ardelia pushed on.

  ‘It’s not important,’ blushed Ever. ‘He was . . . nice and really clued-up and funny, and thankfully I’ll never have to see him again.’

  ‘How big was he?’

  ‘Kitty!’ she growled.

  ‘What? Like that wouldn’t be the first thing you asked me.’

  Ever laughed and shook her head. ‘It’s not . . . I didn’t even give him my real name. He wasn’t a surfer or anything, he didn’t know who I was or what I did. We didn’t even talk his job, and if I remember correctly I think I said I was an accountant.’

  Ardelia’s sweet, girlish laugh rung out. ‘You always said you’d make a good accountant.’

  ‘I hate maths with the fire of a thousand suns,’ remarked Kitty.

  ‘Anyway,’ started Ever, ‘I don’t wanna talk about this. We’ve got to have our game faces on—’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ cut in Kitty. ‘You have to have your game face on. You know I won’t surf anything bigger than twenty foot and I especially won’t surf anything bigger than twenty foot at Devil’s Point.’

  ‘They don’t even call it that anymore,’ Ever mumbled.

  ‘My objection is, I can’t travel down the line for a safe wave. There is no safe wave there.’

  Ardelia agreed. ‘She’s right. Unless this low dramatically disappears in the next few hours, this is all you. Kitty and I will be out there on jet-skis for any other back-up you might need, or we’ll be chilling comfortably on the boat. This — the random hot guy you shagged and don’t wanna mention after the longest dry spell in the history of hot women — is exactly what we should be talking about. It will take your mind off what’s coming.’

  ‘Hooray,’ sighed Ever.

  Kitty had left their conversation as she was absorbed in the four-page feature that had been written about them in Surf International. Ever could only make out the pictures from her angle, but her friend had stopped chewing for five minutes, which meant she was engrossed. Ever noticed that Ardelia looked nervous as they sat there in silence, waiting for Kitty to finish reading. The second she got to the final sentence, she looked up sharply. Ever recognised the flush forming on her face as a clear sign that she was mad. In a flurry of movement Kitty picked up the magazine and hurled it across the plane. Ardelia and Ever jumped involuntarily at the sudden motion, but Kitty was already up on her feet and storming over to retrieve the publication.

  ‘There are going to be potatoes everywhere,’ said Ardelia, as she leaned over to whisper in Ever’s ear. After Ever gave her a questioning look, Ardelia explained: ‘She’s spitting chips.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ever replied blankly.

  ‘I have never read such complete and utter bullshit in all my life!’ Kitty spat, throwing herself back into the chair. ‘Do you know what that hack calls us?’

  ‘Beach babes?’ suggested Ever, gathering up the most boring and clichéd phrase that had been used to describe the three of them over the years.

  ‘No. He calls us — and I quote — “The T.L.C. of the surfing world”. WTF does that even mean? Ardelia, you’re ethnic: aren’t you offended on behalf of your people that he’s lumped two white girls in there with one of the most iconic African American hip-hop groups?’

  Ardelia laughed at Kitty’s rage. ‘Honestly? No. I’m more offended that he had to try and fit us into one of the eight existing female stereotypes.’

  Ever reeled them off from memory: ‘The virgin, the whore, the mother, the valedictorian, the bitch, the maid, the wife—’

  ‘And the bombshell,’ finished Ardelia. ‘He actually does call me the valedictorian in that piece.’

  ‘That’s because he doesn’t know how to describe anything unless he can compare to something well known that already exists,’ said Ever.

  Kitty didn’t buy it. ‘That’s crap. How many times has he done profiles on the Cooly Kids or the Bra Boys, and not once has he ever called them the Backstreet Boys of surfing.’

  ‘It’s because we’re women. We should just be grateful he called us T.L.C and not the Spice Girls,’ Ever remarked.

  ‘That’s because there’s five of them. With Ever’s brother as our manager he should have called us The Corrs of surfing,’ Ardelia suggested.

  ‘Oh, my God, please stop,’ Ever groaned, while her brother not-so-subtly began humming the tune to ‘Runaway’ as he headed out of the cockpit.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ started Kitty. ‘I’m going to read you the first few paragraphs, then I’m throwing this mag out of the plane at high altitude.’

  Ever laughed as her friend dramatically cleared her throat.

  ‘Ahem,’ she began. ‘McMoron writes: In the past five years, they’ve become the poster girls of the international surfing world: and for good reason. From childhood friends growing up in the lazy coastal communities of New South Wales to bei
ng plastered on every Riptyde campaign from Burleigh to Brazil, they’ve become the first recognisable girl gang in the surfing world, whose marketability matches up to their talent in the water. Meet the T.L.C. of modern surfing.’

  Ever made a gagging noise while Ardelia just shook her head sadly. Kitty went on, undeterred.

  ‘He says some more shit about our backgrounds . . . Ah, here it is: Just like the chart-topping trio of the Nineties, the girls come as a package deal. The threesome recently signed a world-first contract with Riptyde that has seen them embark on the trip of a lifetime: they have three opportunities to surf anywhere in the world they want, with each girl choosing the location that would best set off her respective talents. The surf brand’s enigmatic CEO Lester Buzza has even loaned the women his private jet with the exploits of their expedition set to be put together in what he calls “the first definitive documentary of women’s surfing”. Like T.L.C., each twenty-something beauty is vastly different from the other. There’s the leader of the group, the valedictorian, the Chilli: two-times world champion Ardelia, who is the brains behind the organisation. She’s the sound-bite, Miss Consistency, the marketable one, the safe bet, the girl with more trophies and titles to her name than the other two combined.’

  ‘Huh, at least he said you have brains,’ Ever noted.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ardelia agreed, ‘but I feel as if he came dangerously close to just leaving it at “boobs of the organisation”.’

  ‘Then there’s T-Boz, or Kitty as she’s known amongst the surfing community: she’s the loose cannon, the feisty femme and the aerial specialist who can go head-to-head with South America’s best and pioneered the near-impossible Hallelujah 180.’

  Ever reached across and slapped Kitty a quick high-five before bracing for her own cringe-worthy analogy.

  ‘Last but by no means list is Ever, whose older brother Jake was a quick flash-in-the pan on the ASP World Tour, before his more talented kid sister pushed through the ranks.’