Infandous by Elana K. Arnold

through, and he handled the wave like he was shaping it, anticipating its motion, technical in his ride, carving hard into the surf, his arms almost still at his sides, like he was enjoying himself, sure, but like he was working too, honing a skill rather than screwing around.
    I saw him again later as I sat staring out at the sun getting ready to dip into the horizon. He paddled up next to me and straddled his board. We sat there awhile, side by side, not acknowledging each other but just watching the colors from the sunset blend in the water like paint on a palette. It was winter, but it was a really nice day. With the sun going down, though, it would cool fast.
    Finally, he spoke. “I didn’t see you catch anything today.”
    “That’s because I didn’t.” I turned to look at him, now that the sun was gone and the sky was that milky-rosy hue. Up close I saw that he was older than I’d figured him to be. Mid-thirties, maybe even older. Brown hair worn short, no gray yet; if he let it grow out, I’d bet it would curl. Hazel eyes, the kind that have lots of colors in them all mixed together, with creases around them when he smiled. Clearly strong but not overbuilt. Not tall, but not short. Too old for me.
    But I decided that I wanted him anyway, and so I shifted myself on the board so that the fading light was behind me and I used both hands to wind my hair at the base of my neck, knowing perfectly well that this gesture thrust my breasts out in front of me, pushing them against the sealskin of my black wetsuit, knowing from his gaze that he liked what he saw.
    “Sun’s down,” he said, smiling at me. “Can I buy you dinner?”
    We couldn’t go anywhere too fancy because all I had besides my bikini and my wetsuit was a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and two-dollar flip-flops.
    He was staying at a hotel not too far away, and we stashed our boards in his room before dinner. He rode an Al Merrick Remix, about six feet long. It was a clean board, pretty new, no dings or repairs. I stood my board next to his in the hotel room, and it looked shameful by comparison: there were about a half dozen yellowed ding repairs and a few more spots that needed attention, and the leash was frayed and tired-looking.
    “That board looks too big for you,” he said.
    “Yeah, thanks, the next time I have a few hundred extra dollars I’ll size down an inch or two.”
    He laughed a little. “Well, considering you spend most of your time out there just floating around, it doesn’t matter too much.”
    His name was Felix. I told him mine was Annie. I told him I was nineteen and finishing up my AA at Santa Monica Junior College. I told him that I lived with three other girls and that was why we couldn’t go back to my place. I told him I’d moved to California from Arizona with my friend Marissa who wanted to be an actress and that my job was to keep her from answering any Craigslist postings for “Young Actress Needed/Some Nudity Required” on the days she was feeling desperate.
    The only reason I mentioned Marissa at all was because she ran into us as we were heading to dinner. I introduced her as my roommate, and she shook hands solemnly, not giving me away. When we turned to leave, she hissed in my ear, “That guy’s an X all the way!”
    We had dinner.
    He bought a bottle of wine, and even though I might be able to pass for nineteen, I’m pretty sure I don’t look twenty-one, but the waitress brought two glasses anyway.
    Here’s the thing. I have nothing against girls who like to have sex with lots of random guys. That’s their prerogative. It’s never been my thing, but whatever.
    So I don’t know what it was that night—the sunset or the wine or Felix himself. But I did go back with him to his hotel, and not just to reclaim my surfboard. I did allow him to kiss me, across my neck and down my shoulder. I did stand still as he slid my jeans down around my feet, as he pulled the strings that held on my