The Truth About Sex & Surfing [Featured Story]

Chapter eleven

Ugh. Hailey blinked and rolled over, every muscle sore. Her head began to buzz – or, she became aware that her head was buzzing – and her bladder screamed. This is why, she thought, I never drink whiskey. Correction: This is why I should never drink whiskey. Never, never, never. It hurt even to think.

Sand gritted beneath her, loose in the sheets. Light drifted in through the slatted blinds, and a faded, wax-caked yellow longboard leaned in one corner. Next to it was a pink Rip Curl board, smaller and shorter, with a dolphin design like a tattoo across the middle. On the other side of the empty bed, she could spot a nightstand teetering with beat-up looking paperbacks, and a dining-room chair with a few t-shirts strewn across the back of it. From somewhere close by came the sound of running pipes, someone taking a shower. And more distant, a faint uneven hum that took her a longer moment to identify. The sound of waves.

She let out a deep breath and her hangover receded a bit. She could remember getting to this room, no problem, she just hadn't known what it looked like. (When they'd gotten in, it'd been dark and she'd been, well, busy.)

Now she wished she could take a picture of it and tweet it. Or Instagram it. Better yet, print the picture on postcards to send to the people back home.

Dear Jimmy,

Here I am waking up in Dylan Shane's bed. Wish you were here (in Australia that is, not in this bed, because this bed is all mine and anyway, you're straight so probably couldn't get the most out of it anyway). XOXO!

P.S. Thanks very much for encouraging me on the casual sex thing BECAUSE HOLY CRAP IT'S THE GREATEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME. ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT NO QUESTION!!!

Or:

Dear Liz,

Isn't this a nice picture of an Australian's bedroom? Can't you get the sense of the person's personality, what with the surfboards and the paperbacks? Wouldn't you think the man who lives here might just be a really lovely guy as well as the most freaking incredible oh my god never mind? Love you.

And while it was mildly tempting to think of sending one to Ben and Fiona too, Hailey decided she wouldn't bother, because as of this morning, her hangover notwithstanding, she felt so great that all she could wish them was health, wealth and happiness, though at the same time she wasn't planning to invite them over for dinner anytime soon. In fact, she sort of hoped that everyone everywhere – every last person in the entire freaking world – would do the irresponsible, stupid, whiskey-drunken thing she'd done.

Forget Placebo. If she could bottle what it felt like to have sex with Dylan, she'd be a gazillionaire in no time.

Their first kiss was still fresh in her mind. Hailey closed her eyes and his mouth was on hers again, and nothing had ever been so surprising and so fucking wonderful. He had a perfect mouth, just the right shape, faint taste of toothpaste and also liquor, some citrus-y aftershave coming faintly from his collar. When he put his hands on his face and drew her closer to him, she'd never felt so wanted. So hot.

Then, on the beach, one of his hands between her legs, fingers on the joy button. He'd slid her cutoffs down to her knees, then she'd kicked them off. She'd pulled his jeans down and reached inside his boxers and squeezed. "Yes," she'd said, about one million times. The size of him. And his weight, the rocking sensation as he moved in and out of her.

So he'd had a condom handy – more than one, even. That didn't mean he was some ruthless player. At least he hadn't seemed anything like ruthless when, after the second time, he'd helped her locate her clothes and given her a piggyback ride to his car and driven her back to his house, his hand squeezing her thigh when he wasn't shifting gears.