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Pete moved out west in the early summer of 1984, following his roommate from college, Nick, and his wife, Carole. At the time, he didn’t have much of a plan. He’d just completed a bachelor's in mechanical engineering and was still waffling about finding a master’s in aeronautical engineering for the spring semester of ‘85. Nick had just gotten a job at a firm in San Diego, so Pete figured that was as good a place as any to get into school. If not, there was always Los Angeles or even Arizona, and both were closer to Nick and Carole than he would be in Houston. In the meantime, he planned on making some money however he could to save up.
A few weeks into his job hunt, he met a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who was looking for lifeguards at La Jolla, and would Pete be interested? Pete was interested. In the money, mostly. But by his second week, he was starting to see the other benefits. One, he was getting a really nice tan.
And two, surfers were hot.
So, when the end of summer rolled around, it was pretty easy to mark his name down on the interest form for returning guards and that was that. When he wasn’t on shift, he’d been attending a few meetings for his master's, and by the time the summer rolled into fall he’d completed several applications and was simply waiting to hear back.
When he parked his bike in the La Jolla parking lot the following summer, he was one semester in to a graduate program and freshly broke.
It was that reason that made him start taking almost any shift he could get his hands on. And it was indirectly for that reason that he first met Faceplant Guy. Their first meeting had gone something as follows:
Pete: wow, that guy is beautiful. Wow, that wave is BIG. Wow, that beautiful guy might be drowning. Wow, this beautiful guy is strong and pulling me under with him. Wow, I’m so glad I saved Beautiful Guy from drowning, go me. Wow, why is Beautiful Guy looking at me like that. Wow, is he okay? The sound his face made when it hit the board was kind of funny though. Wow, Faceplant Guy’s ears sure are red. Oh. There he goes. Goodbye Faceplant Guy.
Tom: I can’t believe I just did that I can’t believe I just did that I can’t believe I just did that I can’t believe–
Little did Pete know, that would not be the first time he’d be giving Faceplant Guy a hand out of the water.
The first time he was saved by Abs-For-Days-Lifeguard really was an accident. The wave had come out of nowhere, catching him flat-footed and sweeping his board out from under his feet. And then there’d been water in his nose, and the current yanking him this way and that, and then arms under his armpit and around his waist pulling him up, and a calm face in front of his as he coughed up his lungs. And then, of course, as soon as they’d gotten on dry land he’d tangled his foot in the ankle bracelet connecting him to the surfboard and promptly fallen face first right on top of it.
Definitely not bad enough of a first impression that Tom had to run away. That was for other reasons. At least, that’s what he told Ron later that day.
When he went back two days later, this time earlier in the morning, Abs-For-Days-Lifeguard was there again, yawning slightly from the guard stand. The aforementioned abs were regretfully covered by a long-sleeved red lifeguard shirt. His short hair was ruffled from the morning breeze, and Tom could tell that even though he was tired, he was taking his job seriously, scanning the horizon behind his sunglasses. Tom was grateful to have such a diligent guard this early in the morning so he even lifted his hand in a brief wave as he walked by. Abs-For-Days-Lifeguard saluted back with a thermos but didn’t say anything, just watched him zip up his wetsuit and step into the waves.
It was partially cloudy that morning, which Tom was grateful for this early in the morning. It made it easier to keep his eyes on the waves. He chose his wave carefully, watching the breaks and making sure there wasn’t another surfer in his lane, and then paddled off. His first wave was good, he rode it down until it collapsed, but his legs were shaking a little too much and he just about took himself out anyway. He paddled back out with a huff, pushing his hair out of his face. His second wave, he misjudged the timing and only managed to ride for a few seconds before wobbling right off the board.
What felt like mere seconds after his body was submerged, there were arms encircling him again and pulling him up toward the surface, where he was met with a concerned Abs-For-Days (Tom really needed to find out his name).
“You okay?” Abs-For-Days asked.
“Wasn’t drowning this time,” Tom answered, not managing to keep the petulant out of his tone. He was a professional surfer, dang it. He’d taken a tumble or two in his career.
“Oh…” the concern flowed off Abs-For-Days’ face and was replaced with skepticism. “You sure?”
He was still holding Tom by the upper arm as they treaded water. The longer they stayed like that, the more Tom was aware how warm Abs-For-Days’ hand was through his wetsuit. “Yes.” he said.
“Okay,” Abs-For-Days said. “Do you want to head back to shore?”
Tom shook his head, pulling the board closer to his body. He gently extracted his arm from the lifeguard’s hand and propped himself up on the board, turning around. “No, thanks.”
“Do you want me to stay out here? That’s twice now.”
Tom turned back around, dubiousness etched in every pore of his face, only to find Abs-For-Days smirking, all the while managing his place in the water easily, his arms floating at his sides.
“No, I certainly do not,” Tom answered.
“Suit yourself,” Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk Lifeguard grinned. He didn’t move, even as Tom pulled himself and the surfboard back into the waves.
Faceplant Guy’s ears really did turn red when he was embarrassed. Pete was glad he’d added the last goading sentence just to find out. It was worth staying in the frigid water just a tad bit longer too, just to notice that the red continued down the back of Faceplant Guy’s neck. He paddled back toward the shore, stripping his soaked long-sleeve shirt off once he could stand. He hoped he’d remembered to put a hoodie in the guard tower last time. If not, there was probably…
His train of thought was abruptly halted by a loud splash behind him, and he turned around to find Faceplant Guy underwater once again. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Pete said to himself, balling up his shirt and tossing it toward shore while his body was already diving back to the ocean.
Maybe it was time to call it a day, Tom mused, as Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk pulled him out of the water for the third time, second today. Especially if the sight of the other man’s toned back was all it took for him to lose his balance. Shame, the conditions today were really nearly perfect.
He went back two days later, as was his habit, to find the waves crowded with surfers. Tom was used to this, more and more surfers appeared as the summer went on. It looked like the guard station had also seen this coming, because Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk wasn’t posted alone. Tom waved as he walked by, and Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk hopped down off the stand to walk alongside him.
“There’s a more empty patch further this way, if you want. I don’t think I can save you if you get run over.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “You won’t need to.”
The lifeguard smirked and bumped their shoulders together. “We’ll see about that. So far your record doesn’t work in your favor. How long have you been surfing?”
“Longer than you’ve been our lifeguard.”
“Do you always come to this beach or am I just lucky?” Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk punctuated his question with a wink.
“This is my home beach. I live around here. But it all depends on the waves.”
“Well. I’ll count myself lucky anyway. Alright, here we are.”
Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk had been right, there really were fewer surfers around this area. And, thanks to it being so early, Tom only spotted one swimmer, but they were staying near the shore so it wouldn’t be too hard to avoid them. He noticed the lifeguard smiling at him out of the corner of his eye and nodded. “This is a good spot. Thanks.”
“Cool. Good luck, Faceplant Guy.”
Tom so did not consent to a stupid nickname. He ignored it, bending down to wrap the anklet around his leg. When he stood to zip his wetsuit, Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk was still standing there.
He grinned at Tom’s quirked eyebrow. “Figured I’d stick around over here, in case I’m needed.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Do as you like.” Without a second glance he ran into the waves.
When Faceplant Guy wasn’t doing his best to drown, he was pretty okay at surfing. Even to Pete’s untrained eye. Every move he made was practiced as he pushed the board through the waves, stood, and navigated the wave’s path. None of the waves got big enough for Faceplant Guy to tunnel under, but he did quite a bit of weaving over the tops of them. When the wave ended, he hopped off the board before he could flip off, and raked his hair back once he pushed back to the surface. He looked toward the shore, and even from the sand Pete caught his double-take at his continued presence. He smirked, lifting his hands above his head to clap. Faceplant Guy’s expression changed, and he turned around, pushing himself back up on the board to paddle for the next wave.
Pete wished he was closer so he could tell if the man was flushed again.
He decided it would be fine if he walked the beach a little, since after a couple more waves Faceplant Guy seemed to have a handle on it today. He nodded genially at his fellow guard on his way back past the guard tower and kept moving. As the morning ticked by, more and more families and swimmers arrived, making his job more and more important. There were a few times where he almost stepped into the water, but the situations seemed to resolve themselves. The danger was always that people would be swept out and weren’t able to get back in to shore, but his fellow guards in the towers were better positioned to notice them than he was, so he just kept an eye out on the kids and surfers closer in.
After walking the extent of the beach, he turned around, intent on heading back. He couldn’t tell from way over here if Faceplant Guy was still going, but he kind of hoped he’d have a chance to talk to him again, so he quickened his step on the way back. The weather was holding, so it’s not like surfing conditions would be getting worse. Maybe Faceplant Guy was having a good day today.
When he’d made it back to the other side of the beach, near the cove he’d shown Faceplant Guy, it was to see an increasingly familiar wetsuit-clad figure lying prone on the beach. His heart dropped, and he ran up to the lone man.
His surfboard was lying next to him, and Pete was glad to see it disconnected from his ankle (hopefully preventing further collisions of face and board). As he leaned over him, the man’s eyes blinked open.
To Pete’s concern, he immediately started laughing.
“Are you okay?” Pete asked. “Did you wash up?”
The surfer kept laughing, eventually sitting up and brushing the sand out of his hair. “No, man. I was just resting. I’m done for the day.”
Pete’s breath whooshed out of his lungs, and he dropped down to sit next to the surfer. “Oh, thank God. I thought you’d died.”
“I guess you shouldn’t leave me alone next time, then,” Faceplant Guy said, laughter petering out. His mouth was still twisted in a small smile when he looked over and met Pete’s eyes, but Pete only had a second to appreciate it before it dropped off his face and the blush reappeared. “Anyway, have a good shift. I have stuff to do. Bye.”
Pete sat there dumbfounded as Faceplant Guy collected his surfboard and hustled away through the sand. What had just happened?
Tom felt so stupid. It was like he’d been hit with lightning. Was all it took really just a cute face and a dimple and windswept hair? Apparently. He’d just bluescreened after basically coming on to that hot (probably straight) lifeguard and all he could think to do was leave? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
But then, as he was loading his surfboard into his truck, he was hit by a stroke of genius. He knew exactly what he had to do to get Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk’s attention. And it was dumb. Astronomical levels of dumb. But it might work. Ron would laugh himself silly.
Hence why he was not telling Ron.
He had a few interviews slated the next day, but the day after that he packed his board and headed back to the beach. Luckily for him and his plan, Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk was there on duty. They did their now-usual nod at each other, and thankfully the guard didn’t try to follow Tom. Instead, he set himself up in the water alone, purposefully choosing a wave he knew wouldn’t be the easiest to ride. When he flipped off the board, there were hands catching him only a few moments later.
“Easy there,” the guard soothed when Tom came up coughing. “Catch you by surprise?”
“Thanks,” Tom said, hoping his blush wasn’t too obvious.
“Anytime,” Beautiful-Annoying-Smirk said.
Tom hoped he meant it literally.
Pete had no idea what was up with Faceplant Guy. Even for a mediocre surfer, he seemed to be wiping out an alarming number of times. And always while Pete was the nearest guard to make sure he didn’t drown. At a certain point, he wondered if the guy was faking, but there was no way someone could be this bad at surfing. Granted, he’d never surfed a day in his life and had no intention of trying.
And yet, all evidence pointed toward Faceplant Guy being a well-intentioned try-hard, doing his best to surf but failing miserably. Pete could admit that every time he had to catch him, there was a strange thrill in it, the way Faceplant Guy would flush at the tips of his ears when he realized Pete had caught him once again. But still,at a certain point, he started really worrying for the guy.
When he told Nick and Carole about it, they were as confused as him. Nick seemed concerned for the guy’s mental sanity, trying so hard at a sport that could very well kill him, and not getting any better or taking lessons or anything. Carole was just as concerned, but also pretty amused at Pete’s predicament. There was a strange glint in her eye as she watched Nick and Pete talk about it, and a quirk to her lips that seemed almost like a smile. But Pete had no idea what she’d have to smile about, Faceplant Guy being determined to drown himself and all.
Their charade went on for a week. A week of Pete showing up to his shift and watching as the surfers arrived, Faceplant Guy dutifully among them, and as the latter dunked himself over and over for no discernible reason.
On one memorable Tuesday the next week, after Pete had pulled him out of the water on his third time under and declared he was on time out for the day, they sat next to each other in the sand as Pete continued to watch the waves. He decided he should finally ask.
“Hey, is everything…okay?”
Faceplant Guy looked confused.
Pete sighed, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “You know, mentally. Is there a reason you haven’t taken any surfing lessons or…”
Faceplant Guy’s ears went bright red, and he looked away from Pete, who rushed to take it back.
“Sorry, sorry, I know that’s probably not a tactful question, but you save a guy a few times and start to wonder you know–”
He was saved from further rambling by Faceplant Guy snorting loudly. “I think we should start over.”
“I would like that a lot,” Pete answered gratefully.
“I’m Tom.”
“Pete.”
Tom took a deep breath. “Thank you for saving me so many times. I have a competition next week, would you like to come watch?” He glanced over at Pete out of the corner of his eyes, mouth pinched.
Pete’s eyebrows furrowed. “A competition for?”
“Surfing,” Tom said, finally looking over at Pete. Figures that what made him get over his apparent shyness was Pete asking a stupid question.
“Oh. Um, I suppose. If I’m not already on shift.”
“It’s Wednesday. You shouldn’t be, they close out the whole beach for it and bring in competition guards and judges. Would you come?”
Oh, Pete had a sudden moment of clarity. Tom probably wanted someone familiar there that he knew would get to him if he dunked. Well, if Pete was the cure-all for whatever anxiety this guy had about the competition, the least he could do would be to go support him. “Sure, Tom. I’d be happy to.”
Tom’s answering grin was blinding, and if Pete hadn’t already made peace with the fact that Tom was a stunningly beautiful (probably straight) man, he would have had to call out of work for the rest of the day.
He didn’t see Tom for the rest of the week, but when he pulled up on Wednesday, the place was packed. There was a balloon arch proclaiming the 54th annual La Jolla Surfing Competition, and a check-in stand for participating surfers. On the sign next to it, he found the schedule for the day, Tom Kazansky surfing third. There weren’t any other surfers named Tom, so Pete figured that had to be his guy. He bought himself a beer at a drinks cart, and settled in to the risers that had been installed on the beach to watch. There was a pleasant atmosphere, kids running around, a beach volleyball net attracting all kinds. Pete was a little tempted by the volleyball, but without his best partner, Nick, around, it didn’t seem worth it. Plus, he’d gotten a nice seat and didn’t want to give it up.
Eventually, an announcer came over the PA system and started the competition with the first surfer in the order. He was fine, but Pete could tell he was new to it. Some of the regulars at the beach did better. The second surfer went, and he lasted a lot longer than the first guy had. There was more art to his moves, a showmanship, that rookies were missing.
And then, Pete spotted Tom’s unmistakable head of blond hair bobbing in the water, and he found it pretty hard to concentrate on the rest of the second competitor’s run after that. Tom was waiting his turn, and Pete thought he looked calm as the waves buffeted him. Though, he always looked calm, even when Pete was sure he was drowning, so he supposed it wasn’t exactly an indicator of how he would do.
Pete was so, so wrong. But more importantly, Tom was a liar of the third degree.
The way he cut his surfboard over the waves was a thing of beauty, his body lithe and in control, nothing hesitant in his stance. His arms were by his sides but they didn’t flail, not like Pete had gotten used to seeing. They hovered, keeping his balance, hands sweeping through the air like he was dancing. And he was, in a sort of way, dancing. Pete had sure seen people less graceful on land. He couldn’t even be mad about Tom lying because when the man turned his board around and Pete got a glimpse of his face, every betrayed emotion he’d been feeling crumbled.
Tom was having a blast. It was clear that this was what he was born to do and he loved it. His eyes were sparkling, reflecting the water, and he was grinning. Openly grinning. It cracked his whole face in half, made every single atom of his being shine.
Pete wanted to kiss him. Pete was going to kiss him.
Tom finished his surf, dropping off his board and then coming up from the water to roaring applause. The judges announced his score, awarded him the current lead, and he ran back on shore before the next surfer started, and headed toward the space to store his surfboard while the competition continued. Pete stood, following him.
“Hey.” By now, Tom could recognize that voice. He propped his board up, and then turned around, smiling.
“Hey, Pete. What did you think?”
Pete’s answering smile widened, and he stalked toward Tom. “I think…someone’s been lying to me.”
Tom blushed. He was never going to get used to how easily Pete made that happen. “Well. It was a stupid scheme, but once I was in it I couldn’t get out. Seemed like the easiest way to get here.”
“So…you didn’t come to the beach this week, because?” Pete was now right in front of him, and Tom had to look down at the other man to keep their eye contact.
“I needed to go somewhere and actually practice. I couldn’t do that at the usual beach without you finding out.”
The other man’s grin turned sharp. “And, say. Would that be because something about you finds me attractive and you wanted to impress me?”
Tom’s heart just about stopped. He was sure he was gaping like a fish, frozen like he’d just gotten out of the water in the spring.
“Because,” Pete continued. “If that was the case. Color me impressed. And I’d say it’s pretty mutual, hotshot.”
Tom’s every joint unlocked. “What are you going to do about it?” He was not proud of the way his throat clicked and he stumbled over the sentence, but then it was out there, and he was allowed to look as Pete’s eyes crinkled at the corners, as his mouth softened, as his tongue darted out and as he finally, finally leaned up to press his lips to Tom’s, right there against Tom’s surfboard.
“If this is the prize for first place, I’ll win every time,” Tom whispered when they parted.
“Only if that means I can stop saving you every day. Seriously, I thought you might be the worst surfer on this planet.”
Tom chuckled. “Wasn’t exactly my brightest of ideas.”
“Not in the slightest. But it got us here, so that’s worth something.”
“Is it worth ice cream and a date?” Tom asked, playfully nudging Pete’s foot with his own.
“I think for winners, ice cream can definitely be arranged.”
Tom sealed the deal with another kiss.
10 months later…
“I’m heading out soon,” Tom murmured, pressing a kiss to Pete’s shoulder. He got a sleepy grumble back, but Pete’s brow furrowed enough that Tom knew he was contemplating getting up. “You don’t have to come with, you’ve been working so hard. I know how tired you are.”
“‘W’na go,” Pete mumbled, face still pressed in the pillow. “G’me f’ve.”
Tom had at least ten minutes budgeted before they had to leave, so he ran his hand through Pete’s hair once and then turned to the kitchen. He hoped the smell of coffee would get his workaholic boyfriend out of bed, and sure enough, four minutes later, there he was.
The evidence of his looming publishing deadline was visible in the bags under his eyes and the scattered papers and blueprints across the coffee table and even the floor, but Pete had already changed out of pajamas and accepted the coffee in a travel mug gamely. Tom had loaded the surfboard into the trunk the night before, so Pete dropped a backpack containing some notes and a textbook into the cab and they were off, the smell of coffee and the salt of the sea melding and wafting through the air as they got closer to the beach from Tom’s condo.
They settled onto their usual spot at the beach, Pete laying out a towel and dropping his backpack. He normally would get right to it and pull out his textbook, but this time, when Tom went in for his customary pre-surf kiss, Pete still hadn’t pulled out his work. He smiled into the kiss instead, and watched Tom run off into the waves. When Tom was far enough out and on the board, he turned to look at the beach and found Pete still focused on him. He smirked, an idea dawning.
The next wave he saw, he got up, surfed it, and then dramatically lost his balance, flailing his arms and flopping backward into the wave. It took him a minute to get his bearings, but when he pushed back up to the surface, breathing deep, it was to find two strong arms cutting through the water toward him.
Tom could do nothing but pull his surfboard toward himself and wait. When Pete lifted his head out of the water to find Tom floating placidly, smiling a little meanly at him, the concern on his face dropped, replaced by the disappointed look he usually saved for his students’ stupid discussion responses.
All Tom could do was laugh. “Once a lifeguard, always a lifeguard, eh Pete?”
“You really had me worried there! That’s not fair, Tom!”
Tom kicked toward Pete, offering him the board to rest on. “And what if my goal was just to get you out here?”
“Then I’d say you better at least kiss me, Kazansky. To make it all worthwhile.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” There was nothing Tom would rather do.
Make it worthwhile, indeed.