The Truth About Sex & Surfing [Featured Story]

Chapter four

Hailey hadn't counted on there being so many mirrors. There was even a mirror on the ceiling. Looking up, she could see the two of them reflected there – in fact, she could see the reflections of their reflections. A whole crowd of James Bond types, just staring at her.

Here's a guy who's done this before, she thought.

She met his eyes. She couldn't not do that (there would be some rule about it in The Casual Sex Handbook, only she hadn't been given the manual or the app or whatever). There wasn't anywhere else to look, anyway. Still, it was just the slightest bit hard to breathe, what with all that attention, the way he was so focused on her. Why didn't he say something? Why couldn't she think of anything to say? Where was that banter they'd had back at the bar?

Her ears popped, and her feet seemed to be floating off the floor. Her stomach hovered and swooped like a kite. For the first time in her life, she longed for some schmaltzy instrumental version of a Coldplay song, some muzak to help cover up the silence.

Then the elevator began gliding to a stop, but not fast enough for her tastes. They'd shot up so fast – the numbers flashing 45, 46, 47 – and now they were closing in on PH. Penthouse, that was the floor he'd punched, waving what looked to be a special pass across the security scanner. Hailey would have liked to take a closer look at that pass – before they'd got on the elevator, across the vast building lobby, she'd seen a gaggle of tourists in a long line for another elevator – but he'd put the pass back in his wallet, and his wallet back in his inside jacket pocket.

"This isn't my scene," she wanted to shout, not at the air but at Jimmy and everyone else who'd urged her to come here and do this. "I may be a huge dork but I've only ever had sex with one person before and I'm sorry to say that I knew him and there were no mirrors or penthouses involved. All very run-of-the-mill boyfriend sex, I confess. I'm not made for this sexy sex. I can't handle the build-up and all the intensity."

With a pang, Hailey remembered how on rainy days at the deli, the stainless steel equipment in the kitchen fogged up and the customers lingered over their finished plates, chatting to her about nothing very much. Nothing pressing or urgent, no topic in particular she could remember now except the home-y feeling of it all. And despite all his gruffness, she knew Jimmy would struggle to run the place without her. Who would make him throw out the out-of-date shrimp? Who would make him French toast before he got in on a Saturday morning? She wished she was back there, on her own home ground.

She found her voice. "Are there any good karaoke places around here, any delis?"

"I wouldn't know," he said, like he was glad he didn't.

"That's a shame."

"I can't say I agree with you."

"Aren't there any local places? I mean, the beaches here are beautiful, probably the best I've ever seen, but as far as places to go, there doesn't seem to be anything but tourist-y spots like that Irish bar."

He crossed his arms. "Yes, I'm sure a local would tell you it was better in the nineteen-sixties, when it was called Elston. Before the developers came in."

"So it was a surfers' paradise before it got called Surfers Paradise?" Hailey pictured some adorable bungalows, with hammocks strung up on the porches and little shack-like beach bars down the way. A town like a Beach Boys' song.

"Right," he said, with an unmistakable note of sarcasm in his voice. "Before those horrible developers erected all these condos and created all these jobs for everyone."

It didn't take a genius to guess which side he was on.

"So, what's your name? Who are you, anyway?"