Hula Girl Page 7

  But then he does something that makes me laugh. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket in preparation for getting my number. It’s a flip phone. It’s so unsophisticated that it looks like a child’s toy.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “No laughing,” he replies. “This is called ‘simplifying your life.’ I don’t need it for anything other than making phone calls. Everything else is a worthless distraction.”

  “You don’t text anyone? Or need to check your email? Read the news? Watch videos?”

  “I’ve lived that way before, obsessively glued to my phone. But it didn’t really add anything to my life. It was more of a constant drain on my focus. I’m happier without all that.”

  I shake my head in wonder. “I can’t even imagine. Being here without any connection to work has had me going through withdrawals.”

  “Seems like you’ve enjoyed yourself recently without ever once checking that thing.”

  I open my mouth to reply but then stop. He’s right. During this brief time with him, I haven’t once picked up my phone. I was, for once, living in the moment.

  “Anyway, I know you’ll be here for a few more days. I’d love to see you again. Take you for a ride on a longboard, like I said.”

  “Is this part of your MO with the tourists?” I ask with a smirk. “Go back for seconds when time allows?”

  He squints at me in that way of his. “You’re really invested in this idea, aren’t you?”

  “What idea?”

  “That you’re just another one of the many women I take to bed?”

  “Well—”

  “If it turns you on to think that, then, by all means, be my guest. But I’ll tell you the truth—I’ve never invited anyone to Makai’s. And I’ve never taken anyone to my place. And no, I’ve never gone ‘for seconds’ in the way you’re talking about. I just … I like you, Ava. I know this is temporary. That you’ll go back to your life in a few days, but I still think it’s worth enjoying more time together. What do you say?”

  Looking up at him, I see the sincerity in his eyes. He’s gorgeous, sexy, and decent. How can I say no to seeing him again? “Um, yeah, I’d like that, too.”

  We exchange numbers. “I’ll give you a call, okay?” he says.

  I nod and when he tips my chin up so he can kiss me goodbye, I melt into him, my hands going to his bare chest. It feels like the kind of kiss you’d see in a movie where the couple is desperately clinging to each other at a train station, or better yet, on the wet sand as the water rushes up on them. It doesn’t feel like a goodbye kiss. It’s more like confirmation. Confirmation that we’ve got some irresistible force keeping us connected.

  As our kiss grows deeper, more heated, I drop my hand from his chest to his hip. The exquisite muscle in a V shape leading into his low-slung board shorts is exposed just enough for me to trace it.

  “Fuck,” he moans as he pulls away. “I gotta go. But I don’t want to go.”

  I drape my arms around his neck and press my body against his so that we’re both aware of the way he’s reacted to our kiss.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” I tell him softly.

  He laughs and kisses me again, quickly this time and nipping at my bottom lip as he pulls away. “You’re something, Hula Girl.”

  I sigh in pleasure and contentment. “Go do your thing, Surfer Boy.”

  He walks backward for several steps, keeping his eyes locked on mine. Finally, he smiles and shakes his head before turning away.

  I don’t know if he’ll really call or if that was just his way of ending this on a polite note. As I touch my kiss-bruised lips, I feel absurdly giddy, excited for the possibility of what might happen.

  And suddenly, my vacation seems too short.

  9

  Ford

  I try not to wince as I listen to the cacophony of noises coming out of the eight student musicians in front of me. They’re trying their best, I know that. But still, it’s not coming together. They’re all playing at their own tempo, throwing each other off. The funniest thing is that by the way they are giving each other the side-eye, I can tell that they think it’s someone else’s fault, not their own.

  I let them battle it out, hoping they’ll find the rhythm and balance on their own. When I was a kid learning instruments in this very same place—my mom’s music school—I always made the biggest leaps when I was given some freedom to explore on my own.

  This is my day job, the thing that pulled me away from Ava so that I had to walk awkwardly home sporting a boner when all I wanted to do was climb with her into the backseat of her rental car with her.

  Jesus, what a time we had. She’s beyond sexy. Clever and witty, too. I wonder what it might be like to really know her.

  And yet, I know there’s no chance of that. The logistics are just not in our favor. She lives in Los Angeles. I live here. There’s no point in seeing her again, no point in indulging in this … whatever this thing is. Yes, she’s beautiful and I’d love to take her to bed again. And again. And again.

  But the problem is, I already know it’s not just sexual attraction with her. This would all be much simpler if that were the case. Instead, I’m itching to talk to her again, to hear more about her life. And that is not what you do with a one-night stand. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t have told her I’d call her.

  Sighing, I close my eyes tight and try to focus on my kids. They’re a ragtag bunch of eight and nine-year-olds. The instruments they’re playing range from the acoustic guitar to the trumpet. They’ve been working on this modified version of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” piece for eight weeks. The culmination of that hard work is meant to take place tonight with a recital for parents, friends, and the local community. They’ve all been excited about this moment, so it especially pains me that they’re so obviously off.

  Me being so distracted by thoughts of Ava probably doesn’t help.

  Standing, I focus on Eli, the boy on clarinet. He’s an interesting character, often overcompensating for his insecurities by acting much older than he is. His parents got him into learning an instrument so that he could build a real sense of confidence. But so far, it has only triggered him more. He can’t hide behind a witty comment while playing. I’ve given him a little extra attention and developed something of a bond.

  “Hey, bud,” I say. He looks at me even as he keeps playing. They all keep playing, so sweetly determined. “Sit up straight. Head up, too.” He does as I say, but as is his bad habit, he’s got the instrument almost clutched against his chest. I gently pull it about forty-five degrees away from him. The clarity of his efforts improves immediately and he smiles around the mouthpiece. “There you go.”

  I then give each of the other students some individual attention and see a change for the better overall. Settling back into my chair, I have them start from the top.

  As they play, a stray thought comes to mind. Should tell Ava I’ll be in Los Angeles in a week? Maybe we can get together out there?

  But that would require telling her a whole lot more about me. And that isn’t what this thing with her is. This thing is just a vacation romance.

  Romance.

  No, not even that. This is just pure chemistry unleashed. She and I are very good at fucking. That’s all.

  And yet.

  And yet, I can’t stop thinking about her. Not just for her smoking hot body, either. I can’t stop thinking about the look of sadness in her eyes when she told me about her father. About how I could relate so strongly to the fear in her eyes when she said his death left her family in a terrible financial bind and how, at an age far too young, she took on responsibilities she shouldn’t have had to.

  More than any of that, I can’t stop thinking about why she let me see that. I pegged her right from the start as building up protective walls. Hell, she even admitted to that. So, why did she expose herself that way?

  It shouldn’t matter. Getting to know her better isn’t an option. Or at least, it
isn’t a smart option. There’s no point in investing any more time in this passing connection. Because that’s what it is, just a fleeting moment. After this, she’ll go home to LA and tell all her girlfriends about the surfer she slept with while on vacation. And I’ll go back to my normal pursuit of riding waves.

  I’ve got to shake her from my thoughts. Not just because of the task at hand with these kids, but because I need to start mentally preparing for my own trip to Los Angeles.

  My time has run out. I’ve been disconnected from all my obligations for as long as I can manage. Now, I’ll have to face the music, as it were.

  Time for me to announce my intentions at the firm I left behind. Either I end my leave of absence and return fully committed or I resign and give up my shares and any future opportunity I might have to be a part of the family business.

  It’s a big decision. But I know what I’m going to do. This leave has been the best thing I’ve ever done. Coming home to Maui, being close again with my mother while being a help to her with her music school, has been incredibly satisfying. Living this stripped-back life, without all the nonsense material things I had come to think I needed, has been enlightening. The choice between this life and my old life is a no-brainer.

  What’s held me back from doing anything until I’m absolutely forced to is my grandfather.

  Well, grandfather is too familiar of a term for him, I’d have to say. I’ve never called him that, nor used the term grandpa. He’s always been Palmer to me. Palmer McAvoy started his firm when he was just in his twenties and built it into something highly regarded, known as much for its cut-throat tactics as its exceptional record of cases won. From what I can tell, he has an innate ability to pick the right legal challenges. Every decision on that front goes through him and he isn’t shy about vetoing taking on a client if it doesn’t suit his criteria.

  He would have vetoed my father bringing me over if the decision had been under his purview. From what I could sort out through overheard arguments, he thought Senior should have left well enough alone, that I wasn’t really his son, not after living so many years apart. He presumed that I’d never be more than some kind of island heathen and he never bothered to hide his distaste for me.

  It wasn’t hard to steer clear of him for the first few years that I was with my father, but when I studied for and registered an insanely high score on the LSAT—Law School Admission Test—he sat up and took notice. Not only took notice but began to insist that I report to him in his large corner office on a weekly basis so he could coach me on matters of the law. I went to these meetings with open hostility. Until that one time when I was able to stump him on some arcane point of legalese I recalled. Gotta thank that photographic memory for some things. He’d sputtered and called me a liar and a cheat before calming down long enough to realize the potential I had. The potential to enrich him further in the law firm, that is.

  After that, he did everything he could to spoil me. He bought me a BMW as a gift for getting into Yale. When I graduated ahead of schedule in just three years and went right into Yale Law, he bought me a condo. When I earned magna cum laude and made plans to move home to join the firm, he set up a shares system that was tied to my performance. The more revenue I was directly responsible for, the more shares were transferred to me. It was meant to last six years and be nearly impossible to get more than an inconsequential number of shares overall but I maxed out the scheme in the first two years.

  And like the greedy sucker I had too easily become, I welcomed it with open arms. All those things, plus the black American Express card that he paid for. I took it all because even though I’d established a relationship with my father, I could see how Palmer paying attention to me gnawed at him. It was easy enough to see that Senior’s relationship with his father was just as dysfunctional as ours was. As much as I had done a one eighty and craved his approval, I also couldn’t stop from wanting to torture him a little. After all, he had abandoned me until it suited him otherwise. Those scars may have been covered over by tough tissue, but they never really went away.

  It wasn’t until I’d been fully immersed in this life of petty retributions, professional successes, and material gains for almost four years that I was forced to snap out of it.

  I’d gone back to the office late one night, intent on researching a case I couldn’t stop thinking about when I heard my father’s voice. The door to his office at the far end of the floor, one of the only offices not exposed by glass walls, was mostly closed, but I caught glimpses of him as he paced while speaking on the phone.

  Normally, I’d ignore him and go about my business. But something about the opportunity to hear what he was so focused on at this late hour made me stay put.

  “That’s all part of it,” he said soothingly. I had no idea who was on the other line. But his argument soon became clear. “I’m telling you, I’ve got Junior on my side. With his shares combined with mine, the old man’s position here will be completely debilitated. No more kowtowing to his every little whim.”

  It was so callous, so cold. And so like my father. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he would be conspiring to push his own father out of the firm. But I was. I stood there gobsmacked and torn. I didn’t want to be a pawn in this family drama. And yet, I had no loyalty to the grandfather who only ever saw fit to use me for his own gains. If my father wanted me to join forces with him to take over the firm, that would just give me more power.

  Wouldn’t it?

  “In due time,” my father had continued on the phone. “Once things have settled here after we take over, I’ll find a way to get Junior lost in the stacks. He won’t have a real controlling interest, after all. We’ll just stroke that ever-expanding ego of his, and he’ll go along with it, I’m sure.” Senior laughed then with a kind of pleasure I’d never been privy to.

  If it wasn’t so personal, it would have seemed cartoonishly evil.

  But it wasn’t just a moment of feeling hurt by the attempted manipulation, it was much bigger than that. It triggered a long-overdue reckoning. It was the realization that I had spent years abandoning my better instincts, years casting aside what I really valued in life, all in a vain effort to win my father’s approval. To win his respect. To gain his love. None of which ever happened.

  I actually laughed when I understood this.

  And then, I quietly retraced my steps out of the office, went back to my overpriced Brentwood townhouse to pack a few things, and headed straight for the airport. I flew to Maui on the first available flight and spent the next several weeks ignoring all emails and calls while I tried to figure out a plan. I finally reached out to the firm’s Human Resources department and informed them that I was taking a leave of absence. I left no forwarding contact information.

  Instead, I settled in at my mom’s place before her boyfriend suggested I take over his old surf shack. Staying there with no television, no computer, no internet, has been a dream. It’s brought me back to a true sense of self.

  This life has been all about surfing, the music school, time with my mom, and a kind of serenity I hadn’t realized I’d been aching for.

  That didn’t stop my father from trying to get an answer from me about returning, though. He guessed that I was back in Maui and hounded my mom, sending her bullshit registered letters to try to scare her into admitting I was here. He forgot that she’d seen that side of him before and therefore couldn’t be intimidated.

  I’d been banking on my memory of a loophole in the contract I’d signed with the firm to guarantee me up to a full year of leave due to being a shareholder. But that time has just about run out. I now either have to return to work or formally resign.

  The thing is, my quick disappearing act might have postponed my father’s plan to force my grandfather out, but I’d bet he’s only been biding his time. Giving him the chance to do that to his own father is my only hesitation in formally resigning. So, I still have to figure out how to manage this situation.

 
I let out a breath and drag my hand through my hair. After a moment’s hesitation, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and step outside. Punching in the number I’ve already memorized, I wait for three and a half rings before it’s answered.

  “Is that you, Surfer Boy?”

  Ava’s voice makes me smile. And I realize I did the right thing after all, by asking for her number.

  10

  Ava

  A musical experience. That’s what Ford said in his invitation over the phone. He said, “Would you be up for joining me tonight for a musical experience?”

  I didn’t think twice before saying yes. I didn’t even think about the odd wording. Not until now when I’ve arrived at the address he’s given me and realize my assumption that I’d be up for another sexy night with Surfer Boy is completely wrong.

  I’m standing on the outskirts of a parking lot that’s been made into a makeshift area for a children’s musical performance. I’ve overdressed in a little red dress suitable for a nightclub, which makes me want to turn around and leave, but Ford catches my arm before I can make a move. Wearing navy blue shorts and an Aloha shirt with faded blue floral patterns, he’s dressed up by island standards. Still, there’s no hiding the strength in his tan arms or the way he radiates sex.

  “I’m so glad you made it,” he says. “My kids will love having a stranger here to watch them.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Your kids?”

  “My students,” he replies with a laugh. “My music students. My mom owns the music school, and I help her where I can. Tonight is a performance of a piece the kids have been working hard on.”

  “Oh,” I say, trying to come to grips with my expectations coming nowhere close to reality. But it settles on me that reality is actually quite attractive. The reality is that Ford isn’t just some surfer dude who randomly beds tourists. He’s someone who works with kids to get the best out of them. That isn’t just admirable—it’s sexy as hell.