He must’ve sensed he needed to rephrase. But the truth was, she couldn’t surf. Or paddleboard. Ethan was the athlete. She was the sideliner. He depended on her to be waiting for him, holding the gear or towel or whatever he needed. He was amused by her fear of the ocean but thus far hadn’t pushed her to overcome it.

“Thanks, but no. I’m just resting today,” she said. He was a big guy, but the sun at his back put his face in a shadow. From the sound of his voice, Quinn guessed him to be at least her age, if not older.

“Fine. Suit yourself,” he said, then walked toward the water. He was ankle deep when he turned and came back. “Just so you know, I usually do my thing solo. I’m not sure why I stopped and asked you. Just thought you looked like you might need to have some fun, but—” He paused. “Oh, never mind.”

She still couldn’t see his face clearly, and she hoped he couldn’t see hers under the wide brim of her hat, because she was sure it was flaming. Why hadn’t he just gone on and left her alone? Now he’d made it awkward.

“Well, okay. Thanks for asking.”

He nodded, then strode into the water, and when it was waist high, threw himself onto his board and paddled out.

Quinn watched him for a moment. He was far enough out now that she could look without fear of him catching her. From the distance, it was hard to tell much about him. She’d seen other surfers that morning wearing black wetsuits. Not him, though. It appeared that he sported only a pair of swim trunks. No shirt. His hair was dark. Cut short. His profile was strong—a defined nose and forehead, but the other features were still shadowed by the sun.

She could, however, barely make out some sort of tattoo snaking around one of his biceps. He moved gracefully, his form seeming to be one with the motion of the waves, as though confident they would carry him and not let him down. It must be an amazing feeling, but she wondered if he thought about sharks, or if being in their domain was thrilling enough to counteract the chances he took.

Ethan was that way—the kick of adrenaline was what made him tick. He’d bungee jumped off high bridges, skydived out of planes, and once on a dare had climbed out of a seventh-story window and Spider-Manned his way down to the ground. He always had to have a challenge, something to tame. Sometimes Quinn thought that was why he’d picked her. He saw through her facade of self-confidence to the girl who might shatter at any given moment.