She stood on the bluff overlooking Santa Cruz beach, smoking and watching as the young swimmer hoisted a surfboard to his shoulder and carried it to the water's edge. Even through his wet suit she could see the ripple of well-developed muscles. Not overdone, like some weight lifters, but perfectly proportioned, an anatomical delight.
Though the rain had stopped, the wind came in sudden, impetuous gusts, whipping up swirls of surf here and there until the ocean’s surface looked like blue-black frosting on a giant cake.
She shivered in the chamois shirt she wore over her thin UCLA T-shirt.
Her young son scampered on the sand further down the beach, edging nearer to the water, teasing the tide, oblvious to the fact that his life was about to be tossed upside down. She had just left her husband of ten years after catching him in bed with a younger, apparently better built model of herself. Damn, Kile, in all these years she'd never even looked at another man.
"Don't get too close!" she shouted above the crashing of waves against shore.
The surfer, mistaking the warning for himself, looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers. She shuddered at the power of his glance.
"I won’t," her son promised, breaking the spell.
The surfer smiled and then he turned.
She watched as he waded into the ocean, then lay down on the board, paddling out to meet his special wave.
He stayed flat on his stomach, waiting patiently, and then suddenly he was up, moving from knees to upright stance, twisting as the board responded, making his muscled body work against the force to fall.
Her heart raced as she silently urged him on.
Slowly, the wave built behind him.
She held her breath, afraid to move.
A ten-foot wall of water poised to curl over him.
Another twist of his torso and he was running his hand along the wall and the crash and swirl, yet still standing, his feet on the board lost beneath while foam.
Magnificent, she thought, admiring his fluid grace as he rode the long smooth wave into shore.
Moments later he emerged dripping from the water. Adonis resurrected, arrogance in his self-confident stride. She watched him, her heart still racing, hoping to catch his eye again, to share another secret glance.
Suddenly he looked up, flashing a smug, sardonic smile, as if he knew she wanted him.
Only a second and then he turned away. A thin, blue-jeaned, blond teenager, ran open-armed to embrace him.
She finished her cigarette and flicked it in the sand, strangely disappointed.
"Mommy, are we going now?" her son called out, scrambling up the hill to where she stood.
"Yes," she said, her eyes still following the surfer as he disappeared down the beach. She turned to the child. "We've stayed here much too long already. It’s time we got back on the road. Grandma's waiting."
"Will we be there today?"
She smiled, tousling his curly blond head. "Sure. If we hurry, we can get there in time for dinner."
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