Chasing Forever Down (Drenaline Surf Series) (8 page)

BOOK: Chasing Forever Down (Drenaline Surf Series)
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Strickland
’s Boating reminds me of a beach house with its floor-to-ceiling windows. Rental prices for jet skis and sailboats printed on bright yellow flyers plaster the glass door. I can’t focus on anything around me when we step inside. It’s a boater’s heaven – life jackets, fishing poles, snorkeling and scuba kits, and endless rows of T-shirts and sweatshirts with the Strickland’s Boating logo.

He
’s standing behind the counter, under a giant black and white photo of a Great White shark that would look even more incredible in a driftwood frame. His shaggy brown hair falls over his eyes, and he shakes his bangs to one side when he looks up at us. He meets us halfway across the floor, and even before seeing his name tag, I know this is Reed.


What can I help you ladies with?” he asks, shaking his bangs again and revealing his hazel eyes.

He
’s unbelievably cute in his own way, like how every girl in school lusts after the gorgeous pitcher and one day you accidentally bump into the third baseman and his dreamy green eyes on the way to your locker and wonder why no one chases after him as well.


Well,” I say, “we’ve been in town less than twenty-four hours, and I’ve already lost count of how many times people have recommended this place.”

Linzi
shoots me an impressed smile, and by the smile on Reed’s face, I think he totally bought it.


It’s a little late for spring break, so I’m guessing senior trip? Or summer vacation?” he asks.


Vay-cay,” Linzi says. “A much needed one at that.” She smiles and slips into the background, and I’m actually impressed she’s keeping her mouth shut.

Reed motions around the store.
“We’ve got just about any and everything you might want to do on the beach. Most popular thing is probably jet skiing,” he suggests.

I shake my head.
“Never really been the jet ski type.”


No problem,” he says, slashing the idea of jet skiing off his mental list of sales pitches. “Sailing is pretty awesome. We have some great locations out past the cove that are really cool, and there’s parasailing which has really gained some popularity over the last few years, mostly with thrill chasers.”

He guides us through the store, pointing to different spots as he rattles off every water-related beach activity he can possibly make a profit from.

I keep shaking my head. “Nothing too wild. We have to make it home in one piece,” I remind him.

He laughs, and his smile is so cute that I actually feel guilty for my ulterior motives for being here in the first place. He really does strike me as a nice guy. No wonder he’s the first and easiest to get past; he seems too genuine to ever say ‘no’ to anyone.

“I’m starting to think maybe you’re one of those close-to-the-shore kind of girls. So where is home exactly?” he asks, stopping just short of the front counter. He turns back and looks at us.

My chest tightens as I inhale.
“North Carolina,” I say.


Wow,” he says, looking at the floor. “That’s a long way. What brings you to a tiny beach spot like the cove?”


Paper stars.”

The plastic jar on the counter behind him is full of them, sparkling like the lit up palm trees outside. It’s like all the colors along The Strip have been swept up and sealed in this jar, from the pink and orange sunset to the blazing red sun to the glittery white sand to the ocean blue water, all bleeding into each other in the form of paper stars.
I’m no expert in the business of paper stars, but seeing that they’re signed with the initials CT makes my heart flop from my chest and onto the squeaky clean floor of Strickland’s Boating.


Paper stars?” Reed asks.

I come back down to earth and look to the hidden seahorse in my purse for salvation. Solomon comes through because the words flow out of my mouth instantly.
“Sorry,” I say. “Those just look awesome. It’s like every color of the beach wrapped up in a jar.”

My hands are on either side of the jar in a matter of seconds, holding it in the air and shaking it to bounce the stars into new alignments. I set it back on the countertop and look at Linzi. She digs a dollar bill out of her purse and hands it to
Reed, then helps herself to an initialed star. Hot pink. I’m not surprised.

Reed laughs.
“You won’t believe how many of those things we go through,” he says. He reaches over and takes my dollar. I want to hand him a few twenties and take the whole jar, but I settle on just one shiny orange CT star.


And how did you get so lucky as to score all these autographed stars?” I ask.

My body tenses with half-fear and half-hopefulness. Maybe he won’t realize I’m totally baiting him and hoping to reel in some form of information about his west coast friend.

Reed rocks back and forth on the heels of his shoes. “Uh, well, you know, connections and all. The surf shop is next door, and uh, Alston! Hey man, I was starting to think maybe you’d been kidnapped by a mermaid colony or something.”


Couldn’t get that lucky,” a guy says from behind us.

Linzi and I turn around simultaneously to look at the guy who just walked through the door. He’s tall and shirtless and drenched with ocean and sand. If there’s a cliché for sexy Asian beach bums, he looks it, but damn – he’s hot.

A golden retriever runs across the room, his paws scraping against the floor. He drops a chewed up hot pink Frisbee next to Linzi.


Awww,” she coos. She bends down and runs her hands through his fur. “He’s so cute! What’s his name?”


Dexter,” Reed says. “Alston’s had him out on the beach all day.”

He bends over and picks up the Frisbee then walks around the counter to the sliding glass door. He hurls the Frisbee into the early night, and Dexter chases after it as quickly as he ran through Strickland’s Boating.

Reed is probably thanking his own lucky paper stars for Alston walking through the door. There’s no way to bring up the CT stars again without looking too pushy. If he knows anything about Spence-Burks-turned-Colby-Taylor, he’ll know the North Carolina link could be dangerous. And my excitement over paper stars didn’t help. He picks up his cell phone from behind the register and makes mention of Alston not coming back until closing time.

This is his hint that we need to leave, and just in case I didn’t catch his hint, he adds more.
“So yeah, if you change your mind about jet skiing or sailing or anything, hit me up,” he says. I wonder if all of his business deals end with what sounds like a pick up line.


Or…” Alston says, stepping closer to Linzi with a suave player boy attitude, “you guys could come to this party tomorrow night. VIP kind of thing.”

He reaches over the countertop and grabs two VIP tickets for us. He scribbles his cell phone number on the back and makes sure he hands that one to Linzi, who is practically drooling on the floor.

Operation Find The Bouncers is halfway complete. Nice guy – check. Player – check.


We’ll so be there,” Linzi says.

She goes through a quickie informal introduction with Alston, and he doesn’t flood with panic when she mentions being from
North Carolina. If anything, he seems infatuated, and I fear that Linzi may be useless from this moment forward. So much for CSI work. I doubt we’ll see that little pink notebook again.

She waves her VIP ticket in the air as soon as we’re out of view of Strickland’s Boating, and just as she danced with
Sofia the suncatcher earlier, she twirls in circles along The Strip on the way to the car. While she spins, I keep watch for con artists.

 

“Will you stop stressing? We’ve got this,” Linzi says. She pulls the hotel bed covers over her and falls onto her pillow. “We’re totally in. We just have to stay there.”

She says good night and turns off the lamp before I can go into my spill about how staying there is the problem. I turn over in my bed and face the window, watching as glimmers of moonlight turn blue as they shine through Solomon. He twirls closely to an air vent, his blue
gleams twisting like vines up the walls. I can only hope those vines are lucky ones.

CHAPTER
7

The Crescent Cove Bakery overkills the crescent moon theme, but their cheese biscuits make up for it. Linzi’s pink CSI notebook rests on the table next to her frosted donut. She scribbles our shopping list for the morning onto a blank page: sunglasses, sunscreen, bikinis, more flip flops, and beach towels. Then she slides a pack of tourist brochures she swiped from the hotel across the table to me.

I flip through them, ignoring the shopping attractions and repeated ads for Strickland’s Boating. “Hey, here we go, Crescent Cove history,” I say, flattening the brochure on the table.

I keep my voice low as I read the contents to Linzi, from how Crescent Cove was a small town with little tourist activity and only known for its old carnival (which is now shut down and the grounds are believed to be haunted) until present day – surf town and home of recent surf star Colby Taylor.

“Finally, the good part,” Linzi says. She bites into her donut and attempts to tell me with a full mouth to “read on.”


He’s the first surfer to be sponsored by Drenaline Surf,” I say.

I turn to the back of the brochure and see him posed in front of the
local surf shop holding a blue and orange surfboard. My own adrenaline pumps up and surges through me like a monster wave crashing against the shore. I fold the brochure and stick it in my purse. I can’t read on. The thought of someone leaving my world and chasing after something as awesome as being a big name surfer makes me long for an escape even more than I already do. I literally feel my bones aching for that freedom.

I take a deep breath and break off a piece of cheese biscuit.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask, trying to focus on anything but surfing.


Shop for necessities, more research on the surfer, then party with his friends?” Linzi wiggles her eyebrows as she says ‘friends.’ It’s not hard to figure out where her mind is.


Reed and Alston,” I say, trying to wrap my mind around what will happen tonight, what I’ll say, how I’ll get a step closer to the reason I’m even here in Crescent Cove Bakery eating cheese biscuits.


Oh, Alston!” Linzi exclaims, clasping her hands over her heart and falling back against the booth. “Beautiful, beautiful Alston.”

My instincts want to warn her not to get too close because we’re not going to be here forever, not to mention his player reputation. But my mind decides against it because she’s way too excited and infatuated
. She might as well have some fun while she’s out here trying to help me uncover sunken treasure and buried secrets.


Let’s go, Juliet,” I say. “Time to shop.”

 

Linzi suggests we start on the other end of The Strip and work our way back up to Strickland’s Boating. The vendor booths are clones of the next, the same beach wear and T-shirts with a random fresh fruit shack wedged in the middle. We avoid the mob of little kids begging their parents to buy them inflatable water toys and floats. Linzi manages to dodge a huge inflated dolphin without even dropping a shopping bag.

Even with the surf craze and Colby Taylor billboard, the heavy surf culture of Crescent Cove doesn
’t become a reality until we stop at the entrance of Drenaline Surf. An aqua wave projects from the roof, hanging over the top of the store.

“That’s insane,” I say, pointing up at the frozen wave. It glistens like the ocean in the sunlight.


So is the surfboard. This place is amazing,” Linzi says.

A silver surfboard with the Drenaline Surf logo is centered under the wave, the body of the surfboard painted like that of a shark, complete with a black eyeball and jagged white teeth. I can
’t move from the arched entranceway. This store is the closest I’ve come to seeing his life, seeing what he disappeared for – what he died for. My stomach flips and flops like a washed up fish as Linzi tugs my arm and pulls me through the doorway.

The inside
is the same ocean blue color as the outside of the building, and the walls are decorated with huge black and white photos of sharks, just like the one in Strickland’s Boating. The main showroom is well organized by item – surf gear, surf accessories, sunglasses and clothing, beach towels, souvenirs, and jewelry racks ranging from expensive shell necklaces to cheap rubber bracelets. There’s an entire corner dedicated to shark tooth necklaces and all else shark-related, which makes sense given the shark decor. Shouldn’t sharks and surfers be mortal enemies?

Linzi’s attention must be shark-focused too because she’s looking at the necklaces before I can say anything. A poster-sized photo of a Great White hangs above us, demanding my attention. The pictures all have one thing in common – the silver logo for Jake McAllister Photography.

“For a surf shop, you’d think they’d have surfboards,” Linzi says, turning from the shark teeth to me.

BOOK: Chasing Forever Down (Drenaline Surf Series)
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