1
Cruz
She’s there, sitting at a table, warm chocolate-brown hair floating in the breeze that’s coming in from the ocean view restaurant. I’m not close enough to her, but if I were, I could see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Eyes that are as blue as glaciers, clear and bright. A body that molded to mine, like she was fucking made for me. One night, that’s all I had with her, a night that never leaves my mind. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, my hands coming up empty when I reach for her, wanting to feel the curves of her body against mine, the way she gave to me with abandon.
My eyes stay on her the entire time the waitress greets me at the high-top table that’s set up at the restaurant. She takes my order as I barely acknowledge her. I’m too busy soaking up everything. The way she smiles at the guy sitting across from her. Yeah, that shit isn’t going to fly. I’ll bide my time, drink the bottle of Shock Top the waitress brought. I didn’t even respond to her asking if I’d like anything else.
As if she can sense my presence, I watch as she moves her head, searching for me. I’m not ready for that yet, so I move back, allowing the pillar to hide my face. My goal right now is to sit back and watch.
The last time I saw Luna, she was in a tangle of white sheets, sleeping after the last orgasm I wrung from her body, leaving us sated and exhausted. If it weren’t for my surfing competition looming and needing to get practice in, I would have never left her. She knew I was coming back too. I even left her a fucking note. That didn’t stop her from leaving. By the time I came back to the hotel room, the only thing that was left was her lingering scent. If I were smarter, I would have gotten her last name. Eighteen months, that’s how long it’s fucking been. Now that I know where she is, a small town here in Cocoa Beach, Florida, the same place where I’ve now settled down, it’s on. I know exactly who to call, how to find her, and make her mine once again. Fuck the douchebag sitting in front of her. He can’t even hold her attention judging by the way she keeps darting her eyes from the beach to the bar area. Oh yeah, this is going to be good. And it will be happening as soon as I leave the Sandbar Sport Grill. A lot of things have changed since the last time I saw Luna—the jumping out of planes for Uncle Sam and going into hostile territories, I retired from, and surfing competitions have slowed down unless it’s local. My main focus for the past few months has been getting the Wet Spot down here in Florida up and going. That doesn’t mean I don’t get up early in the morning, count the sets, and decide if it’s a good time to surf or not. Luna is like the ocean that runs through my veins—she’s right there flowing with it. Now, though, it’s time to bring her home.
2
Luna
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Cruz is here. I can feel him. The way the sun is beating down on this hot day in Florida would never allow the goose bumps to appear on my skin unless I was dehydrated, which I’m not.
“You okay?” Tripp asks. He’s part of the reason for the move down to Florida. There was nothing left for me to stay for in California, especially after the eye-opening wakeup call I got in Cruz’s hotel room.
“Yeah, tired. It was a rough night.”
“Go on home, Luna. I know you need to work and take care of things. I’ll pay the bill. Call you later?” I roll my eyes. Tripp will more than likely be knocking at my door this afternoon.
“I can pay for my bill,” I object.
“Nah, you can pay next time.”
“Well, then, I’ll see you later.” I stand up, hugging him. He’s older than me by four years, still has that boyish charm about him. If it weren’t for him being sent to Florida, he’d still be back in Texas working with their space station. It was luck that when I told him I was leaving California for good this time, he was being transferred down here for an assignment. Though I know that will be ending soon, I’m not sure how he or I will handle that, not to mention the someone else in our life.
“Later, gator,” he replies, ruffling my hair on top of my head. Some things never change, and that’s Tripp for you. My bladder tells me that it needs to use the restroom after two lemonades, so I make my way through the restaurant all while I feel that someone is watching me. There’s no way Cruz can be here, not after all this time. I tried looking for him, did everything I could. Including looking at the surfing competitions steadily in the past couple of years, but Cruz is a popular name, more than I thought it would be, and I wasn’t sure if it was his first or last name. It got me nowhere. After three months, I gave up, packed my shit, and moved to Florida. Sure, I loved California, but there wasn’t a huge opportunity for me out there, not to mention the rent. It was so steep I knew the studio apartment wouldn’t work in the future either. My parents moved back to Oregon, and there was no way I wanted to follow once I graduated high school, so I stuck around the Los Angeles area until my world imploded on me. Then I did what any girl would do—they brushed themselves off and busted their ass for a better life.