She stared at me. “Did you just call me a man?”
“Those are the only kinds of things worth telling.” a date with bridgette
“Because I like you. And when I like someone, I usually do something stupid. Like challenge them to a race into the waves fully clothed. Or accidentally set their surfboard on fire.” She stared at me
The waves kept up their endless shuffle—push, pull, drag, sigh. Seagulls argued over a forgotten french fry. Somewhere down the beach, a portable speaker was playing something slow and Latin. Bridgette sat up and leaned against my shoulder, her hair smelling like salt and coconut and something else—something clean, like line-dried sheets. Like challenge them to a race into the waves fully clothed
“Your chariot, m’lady,” I said, leaning the bike against a rusted railing.
“I called you undefeatable.”
The last light caught the edges of her face, and for a moment, she looked less like a girl who spent her life chasing swells and more like something the ocean had made on purpose—a wave given form, given breath, given a crooked grin.