4. Dex

Chapter four

Dex

"Wasn't a wipeout, but you scored pretty low there, mate," Archie says as soon as Britta closes her front door. "I take it you didn't tell her you're one of the top surfers in the world?"

"Didn't come up."

We walk into our apartment across from Britta's. Our units are steps away from each other, but oceans apart in décor. While hers was decorated by Georgia—the big-time designer who used to live there—and has a comfy California vibe, ours is more surf-bum thrift-store.

A line of surfboards, in an open rack, we've installed along one wall; weights; a giant TV; a second-hand sofa; and an old table with a couple of chairs. Neither of us is around enough to really care how it looks, but I'm always surprised Archie doesn't want something nicer. I didn't grow up anywhere fancy like he did, so it doesn't bother me.

"Don't get discouraged, Dex. Eye on the prize." He pulls a surfboard from the rack. "This okay?"

"You need a new catchphrase, mate. ‘Eye on the prize' is a bit tired." I take the board from him, tucking it under my arm. "Besides, she's a girl, not a prize. And I'm not chasing her."

Archie assesses me, his brows drawn together. "I wasn't talking about her. I was talking about the title. The world title. Britta is the distraction, definitely not the prize."

My face heats, and I turn from him to head out the door. Archie follows behind with his own board, his loud steps made louder as they echo off the metal stairs outside our unit. The waves are small this morning, so he'll be okay, even though he misses surfing the big ones. A colossal wipeout five years ago left him with a serious concussion and inner ear problems that knocked him clean out of competition. Now my career is as important to him as his used to be.

That's part of the reason I often value his insight more than my own. My career isn't mine alone, it's Archie's too. When I win, he wins.

Which is why, if he thinks Britta will be a distraction, I have to prove to both of us she won't be. The six weeks she'll be here are off season. I'll still train, but with the next event in January, I've got some time to relax.

And the brief time I spent with Britta this past summer was relaxing. I came back stronger, more focused, and confident. I can't point to the exact reason beyond Britta not knowing anything about me or having any expectations of me. That takes a lot of pressure off a fella.

That will all change if she comes to the World Title event, and I can't predict how she'll react any more than I can predict a rogue wave. Sure, I can read the signs that she's not intimidated or impressed by fame. Georgia Beck is a bigger name than I am, and Britta acts like Georgia's a regular person.

So, it's possible, she could show up for the event and not think twice about the crowds of people wearing T-shirts with my name on them and waving cut-outs of my face. She may not even notice.

Or, like other girls I've dated, she could get caught up in it and think what I do is more important than who I am. Yeah, I'm a surfer, but that's what makes me a one-trick pony. If surfing goes away—whether because of poor performance or injury—then so does everything else, and I'm left just being…me.

And I'm still trying to figure out who that person is. If I had time to get serious with anyone, she'd have to go on a journey of self-discovery with me. Because I'm at the very beginning of that trip and I don't know what to pack or unpack or even where to start.

Britta's not that girl. She's only here for six weeks. Maybe not even that long. So, I definitely won't get distracted by her long term. In fact, having her around may help me relax not just in the coming weeks, but right when I need to most. At the biggest competition of my life.

With Britta at the event, I'd have one person in the audience who sees me not as a pro-surfer, but as I am at my core. A guy who loves coffee and waves. That's the simplest, easiest version of me. And that's the version I need to be to win the title.

I've put all I can into training for the championship event. Now it's time to sit back and let muscle memory and Zen take over. Britta might be the good luck charm I need to do just that.

But I'll have to convince Archie first.

When we reach the sidewalk leading to the beach, I slow to walk beside Archie. "There's really not a way to uninvite her," I say.

"I don't send her the info. Problem solved." There's relief in his voice, but his solution isn't right, and we both know it.

"She's going to be next door for weeks, and Georgia asked me to keep an eye on her." I match his longer steps when he speeds up. "She's had a rough go the past few months, losing her mum and all."

"She knows nothing about surfing. What are you supposed to talk about? You need someone who understands the sport and the pressure you're under." Archie sighs, but his words lack conviction.

"I'm talking about her coming to the event tomorrow, maybe spending some time with her while she's here. I'm not marrying her." I clap my hand on Archie's shoulder. He tends to make things bigger than they are.

"Maybe not yet, but you've mentioned her more than a time or two since you came back from Paradise, and you couldn't take your eyes off her just now." Archie stops and faces me. "Every time you fall for someone—which is a lot—you lose focus. The no-dating rule this season paid off big. Maybe it's not realistic forever, but when you date girls who've been around the Tour, they cause less of a disruption to your training schedule. They understand they have to come second to that, even in the off-season."

"That was before. I'm more mature now. I'm focused." I scoff. Obviously, the no-dating rule worked this season, but Archie's got it all wrong about who I should fall for when I'm ready to date again. "I've dated plenty of girls on the Tour. Never been so under the pump as I am with surf bunnies and women pros. There's too much pressure. We're powder kegs."

Archie's thongs thwack with every step he takes, taunting me to deny that the only time I stop thinking about Britta is when I'm in the water.

Lucky for me, I spend a lot of the time in the water. "Not interested in dating anyone right now, anyway. My eyes are on the prize, and I'm not letting anything get in the way of the title or staying on the Tour next year."

The only answer I get is the sound of Archie's thongs. When we hit the sand, they go quiet, and he finally speaks. "She shouldn't come Monday. She'll be a distraction. Worse, she doesn't respect the sport. Only fans should be on that beach."

"Yeah. You've got a point."

I say nothing else until we get close to the water. We drop our bags on the beach and take out rashies. I get mine on faster than Archie. I'm pulling the spandex over my chest and stomach, while he's barely got one arm in his.

I grab my board. A wave crashes, and I offer Archie a broad grin. "On the other hand, I'm keen to show her what I can really do—you heard the dig about me not having an actual job, right?"

Then I jog to the water, duck dive under a wave, and paddle out to the lineup. The waves come to me like Britta's smile when I tease her—easy and heart-pumping—and I surf better than I have in weeks.