Page 103 of PR Stunt

Grayson chuckles. “Oh, I was embarrassingly obsessed with them. Went through a phase when I was ten where I basically lived in my wetsuit and that necklace. Wouldn’t take it off. Thought it made me look like a real ‘gnarly’.”

I laugh. “Oh, that’s bad.”

“Oh, it gets worse.” He shakes his head, grinning. “I also refused to watch anything except Lilo & Stitch for a full year.”

I throw my head back, laughing, the sound bright and bubbly. “I can so see it.”

Grayson’s eyes turn toward the horizon, where another wave builds in the distance. “That one has your name on it.”

A thrill of nerves and excitement skates down my spine, but I nod, determination kicking in. I’m ready. I slide back onto my stomach, gripping the edges of the board as he turns me to face the shore. The water swells beneath me, lifting the board ever so slightly as Grayson moves beside me, his voice anchoring me.

“Stay loose. Feel the momentum. Pop up when it catches you. You’ve got this.”

I grit my teeth, focusing. The wave builds behind me, and the water rises, lifting me, carrying me.

Now. I push up with my arms, plant my feet, and—oh my God.

I’m standing.

I’m surfing!

The board moves beneath me, slicing through the water, but I’m balanced. I’m actually staying up. I’m still up! My breath catches as exhilaration, pure and electric, surges through me. Wind rushes against my skin. Then, over the sound of the waves, I hear Grayson’s voice, loud and unrestrained.

He whoops.

I turn my head, instinctive, and there he is. He’s grinning. Sun-soaked, dripping wet, watching me like I just did the impossible. His eyes are bright, alive, locked on me. I feel it before I see it. I crash into the water, but this time, it doesn’t feel like failure. I pop back up, gasping, and Grayson is there almost instantly. Strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me in and steadying me. His chest is warm, solid, the muscles flexing as he grips me. “You’re a fucking natural,” he breathes against my ear.

A laugh bursts out of me. I smile from ear to ear, still catching my breath, the high of it all pulsing through my veins. I turn around in his arms to face him, his hands still on my hips.

“You think the photographers got the shot?” he asks.

“Sadly, I don’t think it was cute enough. They probably just got me choking on saltwater.”

He laughs. We’re still facing each other, bobbing gently in the water. His smile lingers.

What the hell. Why not? I slide my hands up around his neck.

His hands find my legs, fingers curling just above my knees. And then, slowly, he lifts me.

I wrap my legs around his waist, the surfboard leash tugging lightly at my ankle as it drifts behind us. The water laps at his shoulders. My chest brushes his, skin to skin, and I swear I can feel every inch of him beneath the surface. There’s a single droplet of water clinging to the end of his long lashes.

My heart thuds faster, too loud, and I know he feels it, because his hands tighten just slightly. “I think I like surfing.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll have to take you surfing more often.”

My stomach tightens. More often. It shouldn’t make something in my chest pull tight, but it does. Because there is no more often. There’s just this. A couple of weeks. That’s all we have. A truce in a sun-drenched bubble, far from reality, far from everything waiting for us back in l.a.

And once it’s over…

I swallow, forcing a quick, light tone. “Might be hard, considering all of this expires soon.”

His arms don’t loosen right away. If anything, his grip lingers. Just a second too long. Before the moment can settle, he dips us both under the water again without warning. I squeal mid-laugh, sputtering as we pop back up. “Grayson!”

“Charlie,” he mocks.

I splash him. He splashes me right back.

We’re both laughing now, spinning slowly in the water, the surfboard bobbing nearby and the sun glinting off the waves. For a second, it’s easy to forget what’s waiting when this ends.