Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,34
enough.
Jada looks between the three of us and blows out some air. “Oh, fine. I’ll show you two when you get back, unless there’s some other little s oten thing you’d like to learn.”
“What’s the paperwork a person would file to get legal status?” Crap. That flew out of my mouth a little too fast.
Jada turns her head to the side and gets a worried look on her face. “Is this for you, hon?”
I shake my head no emphatically. “Nah. It’s for a friend.”
Brianna and Jada exchange a look.
“Seriously. It’s this guy I play poker with … right, Hop?”
“Yeah,” Hop whispers.
We both eye Jada and wait. She says, “Let me think about the best info to get you. But my gut feeling is there’s not much that can be done.”
Anger boils up. I shove it back down, knowing Jada’s just telling it straight. But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. “Okay. Let me know if you come up with anything.”
Jada’s face softens. “I will.” Then she grabs a manila envelope off the counter and hands it to me. “Address is on the cover.” She checks her watch. “You got fifty-five minutes.”
Brianna’s little car is tight quarters. My knees are inches from my ears.
Brianna asks, “So who is this guy you’re wanting to help?”
I focus on the road. “One of Hop’s buddies.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her playing with her bracelet. She says, “That’s really cool, but why doesn’t your friend just get a lawyer?”
“Money. Some folks have it. Some don’t.” I can hear that tension in my voice, but I can’t get rid of it. I speed up, switch lanes, and pass a couple of cars. It’s dumb that it makes me feel better. I press down on the pedal and pass another few cars.
Brianna holds the help-me-God handle. “I think we’ll get there on time, Ford.”
I let up on the accelerator. “Sorry. If we get there late, my ass is grass.”
“This legal-status stuff seems pretty personal when it’s for someone you just met.”
I shrug.
She says, “You wanna talk about it?”
I don’t want to talk about what happened to Jorge. “Maybe later.”
“Okaaaaay. Change of subject.” Then she adds, “You know what, Ford? I’ve always wanted to surf. But I’ve been too nervous to try. I haven’t hung out with surfers before you.”
“ s Reous to tryI could teach you,” I say, thankful for the change of subject. “It’s pretty easy. I’ve heard I’m a decent coach.”
Brianna squeals and plays with her seat belt. “All right! What about this afternoon?”
She’s so excited and cute. I think about it. It was really cool for her not to push me. I hesitate and then say, “Sure. Today’s great. I’ll meet you at Encinitas. It’s a bit shifty on the break, but it’s a decent place to learn. It’s a sand bottom and we’ll stay on the inside.”
She laughs. “I love surf lingo.”
An hour and a half after we get off work, I meet Brianna in the parking lot at Encinitas. She steps out of her car in a spicy bikini. It’s white and tiny and shows off all her curves. And while it’s mighty fine to look at, clearly she’s never surfed. That sucker will get washed right off of her. And she’ll freeze. She’s so excited she’s practically bouncing over to me.
I clear my throat. “That’s a great swimsuit.”
“Thanks.”
Then I grab a wetsuit out of the truck and pull it over my legs. “Did you bring anything to wear over it?”
She wrinkles her nose. “No. I have a long-sleeve shirt—will that work?”
Oh man. She makes clueless so sexy. Never would have thought that possible before now. “Have you ever been swimming at the beach before?”
She shrugs. “The water’s too cold. But I figured, you know, with the excitement of surfing, maybe I could deal.”
I grin. “No way.”
Her face falls.
I quit pulling my wetsuit on, leaving it hanging around my waist. “And that’s why you have me. I kind of figured you might need one. I brought an old wetsuit for you to try. It might be a little big, but it’ll be way better than nothing. Trust me.”
She does a little dance; her braids bounce around her face. “I knew you would be the perfect coach. You’re awesome and we haven’t even gotten in the water yet.”
I pass it over to her. I do my best to look the other way while she wiggles into my old suit. How much can a guy take? Every little