Riding His Longboard - Sienna Blake Page 0,3

man, what seems to be the problem?” I asked, scooping up Jackson and rocking him in my arms. “You know I usually get woken up in the middle of the night by hot women, not cranky babies. I have a big competition tomorrow, so it would really help me out if you could just drift back to sleep. Can you do that for me?”

As if answering my question, Jackson let out a whopping big mess in his diaper, sending a trumpet of noise and a brutal waft of stink into the small room. I swallowed hard, trying not to gag but instinctively jerked, sending Jackson off into a wave of wails.

I laid Jackson out on his changing table and held him there with one hand while I pulled a clean nappy out of a box on the shelf underneath. I yanked out half a dozen wipes from the box before I got the nerve up to open the diaper and see the mess that was creating that odor.

It was terrifying.

I gagged again as Jackson wailed, murmuring words I hoped were comforting, and swabbed the smelly bottom again and again. Finally, I rolled the nappy into a tight little ball and pitched it in the diaper pail. That seemed to calm the little fellow down. I carefully picked up both feet and slid the clean nappy under Jackson and fastened the side tapes. I was still pretty awkward at this but getting better. I picked him up again and put him on my shoulder, bopping back and forth on my legs in a gentle rocking motion that put him right back to sleep.

I did it. I’m a genius. A total friggin’ genius who deserves a medal. I’ll just put him back in his crib and… Shit.

The wails started again but louder. Apparently, Jackson only liked to sleep on humans instead of sheets. Or maybe he was allergic to his crib. Or being horizontal. Whatever it was, every time I thought I had him back to sleep, he’d pop back up again fifteen minutes later, either crying uncontrollably or ready to play. Anything but sleep. At 4 a.m., I gave up and we lay down on the floor and passed a bouncy ball back and forth and gnawed on cereal for the next two hours until the sitter came.

I didn’t even bother to shower. I just grabbed my board and my other gear, threw it in my truck and took off for the competition. Normally, I would take an hour or two to study the waves, but this time, I barely had time to jump on my board and hit the water. I’d been the favorite going in and it should have been an easy win, but I barely came in third.

The press would have been all over me if it weren’t for my mates Heath and Rhys running interference.

“Lou Lou’s?” Rhys asked as soon as I left the awards ceremony.

I nodded as Heath said a curt “No comment, fellas” to the group of reporters who were pleading for a quote to go with my spectacular screw up.

I drove the long way around in case some of them followed me to Lou Lou’s, but I didn’t see anyone in my rearview mirror when I pulled into our favorite dive bar. It was right on the beach, the beer was cheap and most importantly, no one gave a damn if I had probably just tanked my career.

Well, except for my two mates, who were now staring at me across a sticky table, holding mugs of beer and a paper bowl of peanuts. Rhys Carmichael was my neighbor and close friend. Not that he looked like it right now in his ratty old shorts and faded t-shirt, but the man was the chief financial officer of a prestigious investment firm. He was also one a hell of a surfer.

Rhys was almost as good a surfer as my other mate, Heath Sutherland. We’d been friends since we started surfing together as teenagers. Heath pioneered the SurfsUp app, a leader in surf forecasting, making him incredibly wealthy, but he managed his company part-time so he could spend the rest of his days surfing and volunteering as a lifesaver at Manly Beach.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Rhys asked quietly, running his hand through his short blond hair.

“Not a damn thing,” I said. That was all I had to say because he knew better than to push.

Heath was a different story. “Look, mate. We’re worried