Page 64 of Lowering His Guard

“Grab a board,” I tell the students. “One board at a time. Watch your spacing.”

Everyone does. Except the blond. He yanks his board sideways instead of lifting it straight out of the rack. The nose swings around...thunk!...right into my forehead. I stagger back.

“You should’ve been paying attention,” he says as I rub my forehead.

“Congratulations,” I respond. He appears confused. “You're the first person to hit the instructor before we've even touched the water.”

Brock rushes across the sand toward me. “You okay, pint-sized?”

“I'm fine.” I don’t bother to mention I’ve been hit worse. He looks ready to spit nails. I’m not aggravating him.

He turns to the student. “Apologize.”

The kid shrugs. “It was an accident.”

Brock takes one step closer. “Apologize.”

“Sorry,” the kid squeaks.

I pat Brock’s chest. “Easy, giant.” I turn to the student. “Accidents happen.” I pause. “The problem wasn’t the accident. The problem was you didn’t think anyone else mattered while you were moving your board.”

“Watch.” I pull a board out vertically. Turn. Check behind me. Slide it onto my shoulder. “The ocean teaches you something pretty quickly.” I pause. “Your board is your responsibility.”

I meet the blond’s gaze. “Think you can do it without concussing your instructor this time?”

Brock growls. “Concussion? Are you concussed?”

I blink. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I forgot the alphabet for two seconds.” I pause. “A B C D E F G,” I sing. “It’s back now.”

“This is not a laughing matter. You were hit in the head.” His eyes widen. “And you’re bleeding.”

He shackles my wrist and drags me across the beach toward the bar. He lifts me up and sets me on a stool before crouching in front of me. “Look at me, pint-sized.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m looking.”

“Follow my finger.” He moves a finger left and right while staring into my eyes. “Any double vision?”

“Just one grumpy football player.”

His lips don’t tip up at my joke. “Headache?”

I hesitate and his jaw tightens. “A little,” I admit.

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“Dizzy?”

I consider it. “Maybe for a second. No, more like a nanosecond.”

“Any ringing in your ears?”

“Nope.”