❝You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to face them.❞
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After wiping out on the waves and spending the last six months in a physical therapy centre recovering, pro-surfer Thalia Monroe, heads to the small coastal town of Sandy...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
A SHADOW BLOCKS the sun from my view as I lay on my back on the beach with my eyes closed, and the clearing of a throat gets my attention. Sighing at the interruption of my peaceful sunbathing, I peek one eye open seeing Atlas stood above me, looking down at me with an amused smile on his face. He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling in front of his face slightly before he moves it.
A few days have passed since we all went out to the bar. Having a slight hangover the day after the bar was not one of my finest moments, especially since I was only tipsy by the end of the night, but having not drunk for a while, my tolerance was much lower. Something Atlas teased me about mercilessly the next day.
"You know as a surfer you're six times more likely to get a melanoma, so you're just adding to it by sunbathing, even though you're not competing."
My brows furrow, and I shake my head as an amused smile slips onto my lips. Opening both my eyes and sitting up, Atlas takes a seat at the bottom of my towel as I pull my feet back. "You know the weirdest of facts."
He shrugs, running his hand through his hair. "I like to read."
"Try reading a romance book like a normal person." I sweetly smile and he rolls his eyes. "Shouldn't you be working?"
Looking over to the surf shop where it's all closed, I look back to him confused before he answers, "I have an errand to run, plus it's the day I go to see June."
"Then what do I owe this annoyance?" I question as I slip my dress over my bikini-clad body.
"If your day only comprises tanning, how do you feel about running the errand with me? I need to go pick up the canopy for the surfing competition for where the judges sit under," Atlas explains.
"I thought the locals usually donate to the competition?" I ask, curiously, since I remember that's what Gabi told me.
Atlas nods, swinging his car keys around his finger. "They do, but we get the canopy from the town over since no one here has one. So, what do you say?"
"Can't go alone? Worried someone will kidnap you for your good looks?" I joke, as I stand up and gather my things, with the help of Atlas, who shrugs the sand off the towel and folds it.
"You admit I'm good looking, then?" He smirks, and I shove him. "You joke, but someone could kidnap me."
"They'd bring you back when you start spitting out your weird facts," I tell him before we make our way up the beach and the stairs that lead back to the road and small parking area where a few cars are.
"My weird facts are growing on you. Admit it," he jokes, poking me in the side.
"I admit nothing."
He holds his arms out as we come to a stop and gestures to the one that is his. "There she is. Our ride."
"I did not picture you driving that."
A VW bus is parked in one of the few parking spaces just up the steps of the beach, light blue in color, that has a rack on top for surfboards. I look between the man stood in front of me, with his hands now in his pockets and a sheepish smile on his face, and the vehicle that I did not expect him to drive. He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, as if nervous about what I'd think about it, before he shrugs.
