5. Becca

Chapter 5

Becca

Last night we spent the evening talking and enjoying the Brazilian national drink—the Caipirinha. Like a mojito but with Cacha?a—a sugarcane hard liquor. He had one, I had many and today, I had to buy a new pair of darker sun glasses. He warned me. They go down smooth and light, but they can be rough and dark in the morning. He wasn't lying.

But today, the salt air fills my nose at the beach, and the bright sun beats down on my skin. Davi is my only focus. He's out on the water, down two points, and this is his last run. I watch him closely, and I stand as the energy and excitement for him buzz through me.

I scream, "Go, Davi!" Even though he can't hear me, I like to think he can feel me rooting for him.

An ideal wave approaches fast, and he snags it. The crowd goes wild, as this could be what sends him over the edge to win. A barrel forms, and he surfs inside, spins around, and surfs backward. My breath catches in my throat as I chew on my lip and tangle my fingers together as I watch him.

It looks like he'll come out, but the barrel collapses faster than I can snap, and the crowd gasps in unison.

As worry claws at my gut, I launch my hand to cover my mouth.

Where is he? Please come out. Davi, please…

The jet skis roll in from the side, heading toward where Davi was last seen. They shake their heads, plus, his board has yet to surface. I'm about to panic as the sirens sound, and the other rescue team comes running from the tent onto a motor boat that pulls in from farther out in the water.

I skate my eyes back to the water and stand on my toes as if doing so will bring me that much closer to him.

Then his board bursts from the water, and Davi follows it into the air like a dolphin breaching the surface.

The crowd goes wild while I clutch my chest, close my eyes, and lift my face to the sky, thanking the heavens that he's okay.

The announcer lets off a roar of excitement, but I don't understand what he's saying as I keep my focus on Davi. I only hear that his score puts him in first place.

My hand resides over my heart as it seems like it's going to stop, but the adrenaline-induced thumping lets me know it's going to be okay.

As soon as he reaches the sand, I want to run toward him, but I remind myself that he's working and will come find me when he can.

He has the last wave of the competition and gets escorted straight to the awards, where all the top three surfers are awarded their trophies. I've never screamed and cheered so loud in my life. It's thrilling to watch an event where the skill is at the mercy of Mother Nature's whim. As Davi put it, "The ocean can be calm, it can calculated, and it can be cruel."

Today it was both calculated and cruel, giving many surfers less than perfect ridges and swells. Many of the participants got the short end of the water stick, but no one seems to be bummed out. They all seem jovial and just happy for those who did win. It reminds me a lot of my ex's passion for skateboarding. I've never seen a sad skateboarder. They just seem to have no cares, but the pipe never changes for them. They have consistency that these surfers just can't depend on.

The moment Davi has his trophy in hand, he jumps off the stage. I watch him look for me, and his eyes lock on mine in the crowd. We smile at each other, and he heads toward me, but he keeps getting stopped by women. I look over their tanned skin, bikini-worthy bodies, and long, luscious hair, and suddenly, I'm self-conscious.

Seeing him fawned over by women, who could be models and on the covers of magazines, puts more doubts into my head. I can see he's trying to get to me, but the women are relentless. He avoids one, only for another to pop up and he only seems to be getting pushed back instead of making his way forward.

What am I doing? He has his life here. This is his life. I would only be a moment in his life.

And I'm not a fling girl. The minute I leave, he'll return to his previous ways. He oozes sex, so it's bound to happen.

Sadness makes my heart heavy, and I turn and head to the taxi line, hailing one and making sure I never turn back. I tell my driver to take me back to the hotel.

I rush into the shower to remove the sunscreen and sand from my body and to have a moment of peace as I consider the choices I have. I can't seem to fathom any of them as my mind wanders to espresso eyes and sun-kissed cheeks.

I wish I hadn't left him…

The hot water cascades down my body, the room steams up, and visions of Davi plague me. Watching his body work on the surfboard, his washboard abs, and sexy forearms. Who would have thought forearms could be sexy? I never did. Not until Davi, that is. Or at least I never thought about them.

My blood pressure rises right along with my rapidly beating heart, and I lower my hand as the ache between my legs is fierce. I've abstained since meeting him, but he's not home, and I need a release of all of the emotion that has been coursing through me. Meeting him has set me on fire and only an explosion can release the pent-up need.

My thighs are soaked, and it has nothing to do with the shower. I tease through my delicate lips as I picture Davi's hands there instead of mine. I think of him at my back, kissing my neck. I grab one breast and wish for his much larger ones to engulf it. Squeezing my nipple, I tug hard, the pleasure and pain wash over me.

The teasing is too much, and I swirl my fingers over my clit and gasp. I speed the rotations, circling, circling. And groan as I sneak a finger inside, and I fall against the shower wall as pleasure rockets throughout my body. I thrust faster, and Davi's eyes, his smile, and his body flash in my mind.

I shout, "Davi," as the images push me over the top. My orgasm bursts into a shudder of soothing through every inch of my body.

"You called, my love," his warm voice coats my ears.

I snap my eyes open and freeze with one hand inside me and the other squeezing a breast. Shock overtakes me so much that I can't even think about embarrassment. I don't feel scared, only curious… and perhaps even more on edge. "What are you doing?"

"You left without me, why?" There's a hitch in his voice, almost pained.

Sighing, I say factually, "You have a life here, Davi. I have a life back in Denver. We can be friends, but I don't think we should have more."

His eyes stare into mine through the shower glass door as steam swirls around us.

"I come to the U.S. frequently?—"

"It's just not smart."

"Then let's be dumb."

I laugh at his playful rebuttal.

What can being dumb get me? Heartbreak? Happiness? Both?

"Let's pretend like you'll be here forever. I want that dream, Becca."

My core clenches, my chest aches, and it's so enticing.

Can I even dream?