Risking It All. Stephanie Tyler

      “Yeah, that’s it. Talk to the blonde,” Rina muttered. Stella kicked her shin lightly, and Mike looked amused by the whole thing. “Well, go ahead. Don’t let me stop you,” she said to Cash, who threw her one last scowl before shifting his attention to Stella.

      “Your cameraman’s Zoot, right? Purple hair?”

      “Yes, that’s him,” Stella said.

      “Well, I had him film some footage of Mike, the man who taught me everything I know about big-wave surfing. I had Zoot show me what he’d shot of me and we tried to recreate it, using Mike, so Rina, the non-blonde with the attitude over here, wouldn’t have too much work to do.”

      “Wow. That’s great of you.” Stella turned to her. “Did you hear that? This could really work.”

      “It won’t be the same,” Rina replied, even as Stella and the other surfer began talking about release forms.

      “Hey, it’s the best I could do,” Cash told her. He then murmured something about stubborn women never being satisfied, and walked off into the crowd.

      Even in her Mai Tai haze, she knew she owed him an apology. He didn’t have to find a replacement, didn’t have to seek her out at all. But why he did…now that was worth finding out.

      “Hey!” she called over the crowd that was gathered at the door to the bar. He didn’t acknowledge her and she was forced to half chase him through the parking lot. “Cash, please wait,” she said.

      He finally turned, so fast she kind of crashed against him. “You smell good,” she whispered, from where her nose was buried against his shirt. Smelled like sun, sand and beach, and she’d bet he tasted like the beach, too, all hot and tangy and salty.

      “That’s what you followed me out here to say?”

      She lifted her head. “No. I wanted to apologize.”

      “By smelling me?”

      “By telling you I’m sorry,” she said, backing away from him.

      “I’m not sure if that’s how they give apologies up north, but I’ve got to say, as apologies go, that’s probably the worst one I’ve ever heard.”

      “Yeah, well, that’s the way it happens up north, so take it or leave it,” she said.

      “Guess I’ll leave it then.” He turned to go, but she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, suddenly dizzy from the walk and the alcohol. Things seemed to be spinning when all she wanted was for everything to hold still. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

      “I don’t want to go back in there,” she told him. Cash really shouldn’t care. He sighed, looked up at the sky as if that would offer him some way out of all this. She looked up, too. “That’s a beautiful sky.”

      “Surfing’s going to kick ass tomorrow,” he said. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the hotel.”

      He took her by the elbow, mainly because she’d started walking in the opposite direction from the hotel and together they strolled the two blocks, taking the beach route instead of the road.

      She followed his lead, kicked off her shoes once they hit the beach, and she liked the way the cool sand moved between her toes. Liked it so much that she just stopped and flexed her toes.

      “Having fun?” he asked.

      “This just feels nice. I haven’t gotten to the beach much this trip.”

      “Except to yell at me.”

      He took her arm and they began to move forward, the sound of the waves rushing toward shore in the background, the cool air blowing her hair back and her skirt around and everything felt so good. Heightened.

      “Speaking of yelling, in the film, you were fighting with some guy. Something about dropping in.”

      He laughed. “Saw me at my best, did you?”

      “You were really pissed.”

      “I guess you’d recognize that emotion,” he teased. “Dropping in’s when someone jumps into the wave you’re already riding. Screws the ride up majorly, and there’s nothing that ticks me off more than someone who can’t wait their turn.”

      “Why did you make that new tape for me?” she asked. He looked at her for a second before he answered, the look that made her body tingle and her blood heat.

      “Because it seemed important enough to you.”

      “It was,” she said quietly.

      “But you don’t think it’ll work.”

      She couldn’t lie. “He’s not you, Cash. It’s hard to explain but, when I watched you on the video, you were flying. Does it feel like that?”

      “Yeah, it does. You’re weightless, suspended between time and space and even though you’re balancing, your feet are moving out from under you. Like no matter how hard you try, you’re never going to be fully in control, and that’s pretty damned cool.”

      He stared off toward the waves as he spoke, at the water crashing against the shore with a pounding, intense rhythm that seemed a lot like Cash himself. The sensations vibrated through her entire body.

      She wanted to stay angry at him for ruining her film, but the way he sounded when he talked about surfing wouldn’t let her. It was the way she imagined she must sound when she talked about her passion for filmmaking.

      “You love surfing,” she said finally.

      “Yes.”

      “Then I still don’t get it.”

      “Why I won’t sign the release?” he asked, and she nodded. “My future depends on it. Same as yours. And don’t ask me to explain.”

      “Fine. But I think you like being mysterious, just as the people at the surf shop said.”

      “And I still think you need to relax a little more,” he informed her. “What, exactly, did the people at the surf shop tell you about me?”

      “They said you were some kind of criminal or trust fund baby or something. And that all women were your type,” she repeated. They’d paused in front of the stretch of Oceanside hotel rooms and she stared at one door then another because everything looked a little fuzzy.

      Cash grinned. “Not all women,” he said, but he didn’t deny the rest.

      “I think you need to know that I don’t get involved with bad boys like you,” she told him. Even poked him in his big, broad chest a few times to bring her point home.

      His hand closed around hers, held it. She liked the power in his grip, decided that she might want to feel those hands on other parts of her body, too.

      “Well, that’s good, since I don’t get involved with good girls.”

      “How do you know I’m a good girl?” she asked.

      “Trust me. I know.” He caught her arm when she pitched forward. “Come on, now. Let’s get you to your room safe and in one piece.”

      “I’m not inviting you inside,” she insisted, even as she fumbled in her bag for the key. And he was standing so close that suddenly, she didn’t want to be the damned good girl anymore.

      “You don’t even seem to know which room is yours,” he said. “I think I should take you back to your friend at the bar.”

      “Why? So you can prove to everyone how uptight I am?”

      “Now that didn’t even make sense,” he said.

      “And neither does this.” She planted her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself up on tiptoe so that she could kiss him. Really kiss him.

      He grabbed her around the waist, held her