Just Good Friends (9 page)

“Alternate arms,” he corrected her. “Get too tired,
otherwise. And now you’ve paddled to where you see the wave about to break. You
want to stand up on your board. What do you do?”

“It’s your pop-up technique,” he decided as he watched her.
“There’s your trouble. Let me show you.”

Under his surprisingly patient tutelage, she practiced
pushing up on her board, then moving her feet underneath her in one smooth
move, crouching low and then standing, arms outstretched.

“This seems better,” she admitted twenty minutes later. “Much
less awkward. Isn’t it?”

“You’re doing awesome,” he assured her. “Now we go out in
the water, try it there.”

She still fell off, the first five times she tried. Over and
over, she paddled her board under his guidance to the point where the wave
would break. Pushed up, used her arms and her core muscles to bring her feet
underneath her. And fell off, landing in the surf with her board trailing behind
her like a leashed dog.

“Am I ever going to get this?” she sighed after the fifth
failed attempt, hauling herself with difficulty back onto the board to paddle out
beyond the break once again.

“You are. You’re doing better. Try again.”

Once more, she paddled. Pushed up. Concentrated as hard as
she could on pulling her feet up under her in one fluid motion. And found
herself crouching on her board.

“I did it!” she shouted. And promptly fell off again.

She heard the sound of his laughter behind her as she
climbed back on her board near shore.

“Good on ya,” he encouraged her as he paddled up. “Next
time, though, instead of telling me, try standing up a bit. Not all the way up.
Stay low. Then you’ll be surfing.”

For the sixth time that morning, she paddled out, shoulders
already aching, beyond the break. Pushed up. Jumped her feet forward. Crouched.
Rose. And surfed.

It was just a tiny wave, and it didn’t take long to reach
the shore. But she felt as though she’d just surfed the Breakers in Hawaii. She
dropped back down to her board in triumph and turned to face the ocean, and Koti
paddling up to her with a grin. “I did it! I surfed! I can’t believe it!”

“Not so tired now, are you?” he teased.

“No! I want to go do it again!” she laughed.

She practiced again and again until she was rising more
often than she was falling. Finally, her shoulders announced that they were
done for the day.

“I’m beat,” she told Koti as she finished yet another run.
“I’m going to go take a shower and change. Why don’t you go ahead and do some
surfing on your own? I know it’s not too exciting for you here, but take your
time.”

“I’ll do that. Make sure you get rugged up, though. Once you
stop working so hard, and you’re out there in the wind, you’ll get chilled.”

Back on the beach, she sat on a picnic table and hugged her
arms around her drawn-up knees, pulled her jacket more closely around her, and
enjoyed watching Koti surf. It was hard to begrudge him being so effortlessly
good at it, so ridiculously coordinated, when he had been so gracious with his
time in helping her learn.

And he was good at it. Watching that lean form, all that
muscular grace crouching and weaving as he sliced through the water, was a pure
pleasure. She might have to buy that poster after all. Or just spend more time
watching him. Because whether he was running with the ball, surfing, or
swimming, he looked so good.

He stepped out of the water at last, his surfboard under his
arm, and came up the beach to her.

“Don’t sit on the table,” he said with a frown.

“What? Why not?” she asked, confused, stepping down and
checking its surface. “Is it dirty?”

“Nah. But it’s not done, in Maoritanga. Bums and food don’t
mix, for obvious reasons. And it’s one of those customs that’s crossed over. Bad
form even to lean against a desk here.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.” She flushed. “I’ve never heard that.
I hope I haven’t done it too much.”

“That’s why I thought I should tell you, because you
wouldn’t know. I was shocked, first time I went overseas. I remember seeing a
TV advert, a kid sitting on a kitchen bench. My roomie and I stared at each
other, couldn’t believe it. Sometimes we don’t realize what a small country we
are, how few people share our own customs.”

“A bench, though? Why would that be bad? Are there special
rules?”

“Bench. Where you prepare the food. The work surface,” he
explained.

“Oh. The light dawns. The kitchen counter. Yeah, I can see
if you had a rule about that, sitting on the counter would really be out of
line. Anything else like that I should know? You’re making me paranoid here.”

“Only one I can think of like that is, don’t sit on a
pillow. Because the head is tapu
.
Sacred. Same idea. Bums and heads.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember those.”

“No worries. Let me take a shower and get changed, and we’ll
go have lunch. There’s a good café here. It’s my shout.”

“You’re not buying me my whole lunch. We’re just taking
turns on the coffee.”

“Right, then. We’ll decide it a different way. We’ll do it
proportionally, by income. And what d’you reckon, I’m still buying.”

She had to laugh. “All right, big spender. My turn next
time, though. I’m hungry enough not to want to spend time arguing about it.”

“You eat pretty well for such a little person,” he observed
after they got their meals, watching her begin to put away a large sandwich.

“Hummingbird metabolism,” she agreed. “And Italian tastes.
Good combination.”

“Long as you don’t get fat later.”

“Never happen. My mom looks just like me. And there’s that
deadly charm again, talking about my getting fat.”

“I don’t know what it is,” he sighed. “It’s dangerous for me
to start being honest with a woman, maybe. Losing my touch. But that’s your
coloring, eh. Italian.”

“That’s it. That’s the temper, too,” she grinned. “Southern
Italian. Less than half, but it seems to be enough.”

“I’m not much more than half Maori myself,” he said. “And I
agree, that’s enough.”

“That’s what the tattoo is, right? Maori. Which I know
almost nothing about. Will you tell me? We’re fairly sheltered here. I can
block the glare of your beauty from your eager public.”

He rolled his eyes, but pulled up his sleeve obligingly to
reveal the intricate design that covered his skin like a sleeve from forearm to
shoulder. “It’s a bit like a family tree, you could say. It represents my whakapapa—my
ancestors, genealogy, from the bottom to the top. Here are my parents, my
sisters”—he pointed to his upper arm—“and my own journey, on the shoulder. Everything
on a ta moko has a meaning. Luckily, though, it’s all done with regular inked tattooing
now. It used to be done with chisels, on the face, the buttocks, the thighs.
And it was scarring, not just inking.”

“Ouch,” Kate winced. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Tell me about your pendant,” she continued, when she could
drag her eyes away from the sculpted muscles of his arm, the curving designs
following their shape. “It has a meaning too, right?”

“It’s greenstone—pounamu. New Zealand jade. There are different
shapes with different meanings, but you’ll see that most Maori wear them. Mine’s
a Hei Toki—an adze blade. A symbol of strength and control. My uncle gave it to
me when I went away to University, to remind me how to behave, I suppose.”

“Why’s it all so important? I don’t quite understand that.”

“Because Maori was an oral language. Nothing written down,
in the beginning. Which means our culture’s been carried on by songs and
legends over the years. Symbols, too. That’s why you’ll see the same symbols
used everywhere. Maori moko all have the curving shapes, for example, that you
see on mine. That’s the koru—the fiddlehead of the fern. Look around, and
you’ll see that all over. It symbolizes new life, new beginnings, the changes
in life. But all the symbols represent our connection to Maoritanga and our ancestors.
Which means if you disrespect them, you’re disrespecting our mana—our spiritual
power. And it matters. You need to be careful.”

“Wow. I’m lucky you’re still talking to me, I guess, after I
said what I did. This is me apologizing again now. I really didn’t mean any
disrespect. It’s just that you’re like some kind of walking fantasy.”

“Getting into deep waters again,” he smiled. “Can’t keep you
out of trouble for a minute.”

“Thanks for today,” he told her as he drove them back to
Takapuna. “It helped.”

“Me too. Like I said, a pretty lousy week, though not as bad
as yours. What’s the plan next week?”

“Since I won’t be playing,” he said with a grimace, “I have
more free time. Want to try surfing again on Saturday morning?”

“My shoulders might have recovered by then. They’re awfully
sore right now.”

“Want a massage?” he grinned.

“No, thanks, Mr. Irresistible. I’ll settle for a bath.”

“Can I watch?”

“No!” she laughed. “You really are terrible. Besides, I’m
not your type, remember?”

“I may be changing my mind,” he mused.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Hannah’s your dream girl. I
haven’t forgotten that. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m nothing like her. In
looks or personality. Not to mention that I’m more than a foot shorter than you
are, which would be impossible.”

“Impossible? How? Interesting, maybe. Because there are ways
around that,” he said, with another sideways grin. “I’ll give it some thought.
Maybe you should, too.”

Kate resolutely put aside the image that conjured up. “We
are not having this discussion,” she told him firmly. “Unless you want to wear
that pink hoodie. Let’s make a plan for Saturday.”

“Unless you have a date with your new girlfriend.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groaned. “You’re more likely to have
a date with yours, anyway.”

“Don’t have one. I’m not dating anyone just now.”

“Excuse me? What about that woman a few weeks ago? When I
was running,” she clarified as he looked blank.

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Not a girlfriend. Just a . . . an
acquaintance.”

“Right,” she said dryly. “Gotcha. Not dating anyone, just .
. . acquainting yourself. If anyone’s extra-cute, that is.”

“It happens,” he agreed cheerfully. “When I don’t have a
girlfriend. But not just anyone. I’ve been a footballer a fair few years now. Got
that out of my system a while ago.”

“And that’s a tasteful image too.” She shook her head. “I’m
changing the subject once again. I seem to do that a lot. How many years have
you been playing?”

“Professionally? This is my fifth. For the Chiefs in
Hamilton, the first year. Then I went to England for two years. For the money,
mostly. I missed New Zealand, though. My family, my mates, the sea. The land,
for that matter. Everything, really. And I wanted to be an All Black. Wanted
that most of all. So I came back. This is my second season with the Blues.”

“And next time,” he told her, pulling into the carpark again
and helping her shift her gear to her own car, “we’re talking about you. Don’t
know why I always end up giving you an earbashing.”     

“Because you’re not so focused on doing other things, is
why. I’ll bet you don’t normally sit around talking to women.”

“I could do both,” he argued. “I can multitask.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve seen where your mind goes, the
minute I give it a chance. See you next week, then.”

He was grinning again as he drove away, the image of her
smile staying with him. He found himself trying to make her laugh these days,
just to see her face light up like that. She made him laugh too, though. He
didn’t know why she amused him so much. That outsized feistiness, maybe, and
the fierce resolve she had shown today during their surfing lesson, packed into
that tiny body. Packed in so well, too. Even in a wetsuit, he liked looking at
her. Everything might be small, but she was so curvy. That tiny waist got him,
every time. He was beginning to be obsessed with putting his hands around it.  

What would it feel like to be inside all that fizzing life
force? One way or another, he decided, he was going to find out. She might
pretend she wasn’t interested, but he hadn’t missed how her gaze had lingered
on his arm when he was showing her his tattoo. He had to admit, he was enjoying
being her friend more than he’d thought possible. But he had a feeling he was
going to enjoy being her lover even more.

Kate looked out the office window and swore to herself. No
question, winter had arrived, now that they were into June. She’d been told
that the city received a lot of rain, but she hadn’t fully grasped what that meant.
The sun still shone fairly often, but rain appeared for at least part of most
days as well. And it wasn’t just rain. This part of the country was so narrow,
only a few kilometers wide, that it sometimes felt more like being on a ship at
sea than living on dry land. Especially at times like this, when they were
being battered by a gale sweeping up from Antarctica. The walk to the bus stop
wasn’t looking a bit attractive right now.

By the time she had left the building and run a block
towards her stop, her hair was soaked, the cold rain dribbling down her neck.
What a day to have forgotten her umbrella. She swore again as a car drove
through a puddle next to the curb, splashing her boots with water. The car
pulled in ahead of her, taillights glowing in the evening dusk. She belatedly
recognized the sporty model even as she saw Koti stepping out of the driver’s
side.

“Get in. I’ll give you a lift,” he called.

Gratefully, she climbed in out of the driving rain. Ah, heated
leather seats. That was better.

“Pissing down out there,” he commiserated. “Better bring
your umbrella tomorrow.”

“Thank you for the tip, Captain Obvious. I’m planning on
it.”