Thicker Than Water

Chapter 2

Drew pulled into the parking lot of the first surf shop he passed. The squat wooden shack looked as though it had been there for decades—it probably had. The slats of wood siding on the outside were rough and sun bleached. A picture window, the black metal frame oddly pristine against the dilapidated exterior, must have been installed in the last few years. Displayed in the window were a male, a female, and two genderless—except for their apparel—child-sized mannequins. The fiberglass family was showing wear beneath supposedly fashionable and brightly colored swimsuits from the early eighties. The manufacturer’s logo on the surfboard propped up behind the mannequins was so severely sun bleached it was almost unreadable.

The bell above the door chimed, signaling Drew’s entrance. “Aloha,” said a man behind the counter.

“Aloha, kakahaika,” Drew said.

The sales guy blinked, startled, like he didn’t expect Drew to respond that way. “Nohea ma ‘oe?”

“Wahi. Navy brat.” Drew leaned down to look in the glass case. “I need a comb, bro,” he said.

“You know Hawaiian, mate?”

Drew’s heart jumped into his throat and he lost his balance. Australian accents, why are they so sexy? He caught himself on the case before he faceplanted into the glass. “Sort of.” Drew turned around and came face to face with Shawn Kennedy. “Hey, Shawn.” Drew’s tongue was stupid thick in his mouth. “How’s it hanging?” Smooth…not.

“Slightly to the left,” Shawn said with a sly grin.

Drew froze, a deer in the headlights.

Shawn cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the gold curls gathered in an elastic band at the base of his skull.

Drew watched Shawn’s arm muscles flex, too stunned to speak. For years he and Shawn had surfed in competitions, but they’d never talked, like talk talked, nothing except the passing hello and good luck. Star-struck, yes. This must be what star-struck feels like.

“What ‘cha here for?” Shawn asked.

“The competition,” Drew said.

Shawn smirked.

“Wax comb,” Drew said, flushing with embarrassment. Dumbass.

“Wax,” Shawn turned his head, checking to make sure no one was behind him. “Hurley sent me a new board…was gonna try it out tomorrow.”

Drew’s lips pulled into a flat line. They were competitors, so Shawn telling Drew that he was going to use a fresh board in the competition was like letting the defense have a peek at the offense’s playbook. Drew blinked. “Hope it works out for you,” he said.

“I was going to take it out to Haleiwa on dawn patrol; wanna come with?”

Drew’s mouth went dry and his tongue doubled in size again. f**k yes. He couldn’t make his mouth move to respond.

“Hey Drew.” Amber Moorefield appeared at Shawn’s side. She held a white bikini—or what was left of a one—in one hand and an empty clothes hanger in the other. She was a surf groupie, picking up contracts with sponsors to model their women’s wear at events. All of Amber’s social media profiles listed her occupation as professional beach bunny. In the circuit, some guys had a different term they applied liberally when referring to her—sand slut.

“Amber,” Drew said, his jaw clenching. There was no animosity between her and Drew, except for right now…the way she looped her arm through Shawn’s, a cocky grin curling her lips, staking her claim.

“You want him to come with tomorrow?” Amber looked at Shawn, but didn’t wait for him to answer. “Don’t want to wait to wipe the beach with his ass, huh?” Her smile turned into a sneer.

“We’re in different heats tomorrow,” Shawn corrected her. “I’m surfing against Mike Bussone.”

Amber narrowed her eyes at Shawn. “Whatever.” She snapped her attention back to Drew. “Either way, you’re going down, bro,” she said, twisting the last word, wringing venom from it.

“Screw you,” Drew said.

Amber laughed like she’d won an argument. b***h.

Shawn extricated himself from Amber’s grip and scratched at the back of his shoulder, before reaching in his pocket to get out his wallet. “This and three bars of the Sticky Bumps,” he said, gesturing to Amber to hand the clerk the shreds of a swimsuit.

Drew crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the counter, looking everywhere except at Shawn. His gaze met Amber’s a couple of times, the anger boiling hotter when he caught sight of her shitty grin.

The guy behind the register waited until Shawn and Amber’s car had pulled out of the lot to address Drew. “You’re in the quarterfinals?”

Drew nodded, rolling his shoulders against the tension chording his muscles.

“You don’t like that woman, huh?” The clerk’s expression was half-amused, half weary.

Drew shook his head. “I don’t like women in general.” The statement wasn’t exactly true. Drew did appreciate the women in his life, but Amber was the type no one could appreciate because no one would ever like Amber as much as she liked herself. “I want a blue one.” Drew pointed to the wax combs crowded in in red solo cups inside the display case.

“Thee dollars and five cents.”

Drew paid in cash.

“Pōmaika‘i ka la apopo.”

“Mahalo,” Drew said.