Confession time: since my WIP is about a sexy surfer, I spend an inordinate amount of time googling the phrase “hot male blonde guy wet surfer beach wet hot”. Last night, he popped up. Shoulders get at me! So in honor of both #WetWednesday and #WIPWednesday, enjoy a snippet from this sexy-surfer-novel (below)img_6077

“You’re damn right. Drama it is, then.” I had printed out some photos of the devil and contemplated putting them next to Avery’s photo. It was an attractive picture of her, although I was finding that photos didn’t really do her justice.

Not that I’d noticed, not really. It’s just that you spend six months protesting a woman’s workplace every day and you feel like you get to know her a little bit.

For instance, Avery Dacosta showed up to work at exactly 7:45 am, on the dot, Monday through Friday. On Saturdays she came in at 9. Sunday was her day of rest, although I suspected she worked from home.

She favored dark business suits that covered up almost every inch of her skin. She carried a brown leather briefcase like a weapon. In front of the media she was poised, smart. Trust-worthy, but still a bit of a hard-ass.

As the archetypical Surfer Dude, I found myself becoming even more laid-back in front of the cameras, if only as yet one more way to defy her. To assert to everyone watching how different I was from this snobby hotel developer–a Playa Vieja native, a local surf celebrity, a recent Mavericks-winner, and all-around-nice guy.

The bongos were my idea (although Marla and John would have done it eventually). So was the umbrella, which I got a kick out of today. I wanted to push her, just a little bit.

The other thing I knew about Avery Dacosta was that she pissed me the fuck off. Which takes a lot, considering that in my almost thirty years on this earth I’ve very rarely gotten angry. Stoned? Yes. Sunburned? All the time. Slapped around by a giant wave? Of course.

Angry? The kind that makes you want to stand up and fight for what you believe in? Well, that honor goes to her and her only.

Avery was the exact opposite of most of the women–most of the people– I surrounded myself with every day. Corporate, big-money, not at all rooting for the little guy.

I usually went for surfer-girl-blondes; Roxy models and the random European tourists that roll through. Fun. Easy. Summer flings.

But today Avery did something that she hasn’t done in the past six months.

Surprised me.

I’d felt eyes on me the past few times I’d surfed out by the rocks at the end of the beach–the far end, where almost no one goes. I’m not un-used to it–when I surf in more popular areas a little following of admirers will come out. And at Mavericks, a good portion of the world watched.

No I didn’t notice that as much as I was curious about this dark-haired woman spying on me from the rocks. Today was the day I could finally see her, just a little. I kept getting distracted by the graceful tilt of her neck; the way the wind tugged at her hair.

And she had so much hair. It looked dark from my view, and she kept trying to pull it down across her shoulders. But then the wind would whip it up again.

I might have a little kink thing about hair. Something about the way it brushes against my chest when a woman rides me.

Something about the way it feels in my fingers when I pull on it.

And…I might have given her a little show. She was watching after all, and the dirty voyeur inside of me liked it. Peeling down my wet suit like her own private striptease.

But when I walked closer and saw it was Avery? You could have knocked me over with a feather. Especially since I was under the impression that she thought I was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

Especially since I thought Avery Dacosta was a goddamn nightmare. She was on a direct warpath to destroy my home, my ocean, the place I had loved my entire life. And the worst part about this morning? The way she threw a glance my way before getting in her car–that perfect blend of defiance and anger–had my cock twitching inside my wet suit. Traitor.

Maybe…just maybe this morning when she’d walked past me, I’d noticed the deep mahogany color of her hair and the way it tumbled down her back in waves. She had so much hair. And for someone as uptight and rigid as she appeared to me, she wore it loose, like a shampoo commercial.

And maybe…just maybe this morning I’d also noticed that she might have the most beautiful dark brown eyes I’d ever seen. And lashes like you wouldn’t believe.

Oh and maybe I checked out her ass in that pant suit.

I felt my cock twitch again as I pasted a giant devil next to Avery’s face on the poster.

Traitor. Jesus.


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