Frenchy's Sunset Surf School | Blind Date 18 of 31 🏄🏼♀️
Suzi needs a date. Well actually, based on the bet she just made with her two best friends, she needs thirty-one dates. Thirty-one blind dates to be exact. It's the perfect way to prove to he...
Suzi's flip flops slapped against her heels as she padded along the pavement, using her right hand as a visor and squinting through her sunglasses in the early evening sun. The ocean was a brilliant blue. The azure sky faded to white at the horizon.
Still no surf school. She checked her phone. Nothing. Maybe she had the wrong time. Sunset did seem like a strange time for a lesson. Biting her lip, she regretted her decision to listen to her mother.
I heard marvellous things about him, honey. Professional and experienced. A wink had followed the words.
Suzi let out a sigh. She still felt queasy from all the chocolate ice cream she'd binged on the night before and sticky sweat coated her body. The hot cop hadn't replied to her earlier message. Not surprising. The text had been a bit needy. Well, at least she'd get some exercise—if her instructor ever turned up.
The flapping of rubber on skin continued as she walked toward Malibu Pier, wondering if this technically counted as a date. Her bikini bottoms were riding up her arse again. Taking a peek to make sure no one could see, she adjusted them for the... she pursed her lips, thinking—she'd lost count of how many times. Then, hand still up her dress, she caught a chuckle.
Spinning, she came face-to-face with a young man. He sat on the boot of an old mustard campervan, one foot propped at its edge, the other dangling, his teeth bright against brown skin and dark stubble.
"Bonjour!"
She blinked.
"You are Suzi, oui?" He spoke with a heavy French accent.
She suppressed the urge to wriggle and peered around, but there was nobody else nearby. "Um, yeah. How did you know?"
Lines crinkled at the sides of his hazel eyes. "Ah, I was told to expect a jolie demoiselle with blonde hair and green eyes. And here you are."
"And here I am..."
"D'accord," he said, clapping his hands and springing up. "Are you ready for the best surf lesson you never had?"
Suzi regarded him. Of medium height, with broad shoulders and a stocky, muscular build. As her eyes moved up and down, he raked a hand through thick brunette, sun-bleached hair and his sun-kissed cheeks grew pinker.
"Sure thing."
The grin widened. "Super! Welcome, demoiselle, to Frenchy's Surf School. My name is Olivier."
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Minutes later, Suzi trailed Olivier—now bare-chested and carrying a pink foam surfboard—across the hot sand.
"Why sunset lessons?"
"Well, I was told tonight the romance is important, et voila!" With an outstretched hand, he indicated the vista before them: figures on colourful towels, the deep-blue water and surfers carving across the face of slow-moving waves.
