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in the Hamptons he always had a stack of legal papers at his side and would end up on his cell phone talking strategy, barely noticing that there was an ocean in front of him. But it’s not like he’s boring or anything, he just takes his job very seriously. Because it is.
    But Jas’s dad, Seth, is standing there talking about how the ocean is all really high curl or swell or whatever, and watching them talk theyseem more like friends than father and son. Then Jas tells him that I just moved here from New York.
    So his dad goes, “Some of the best restaurants in the world are in New York.”
    I just smile, because people say that, but really, how would I know?
    “My dad owns a few restaurants in Newport and Laguna,” Jas tells me.
    And I go, “Oh.”
    Then his dad says it was nice meeting me and to have fun, and he disappears into another part of the house.
    Jas looks at me and goes, “So, you ready for your lesson?”
    “I don’t have anything to wear.”
    He shrugs. “I can lend you some shorts, a T-shirt, and one of my old wet suits. How tall are you?” He squints at me.
    “Almost five ten,” I admit, feeling kind of embarrassed.
    “I should have something.” He nods. “Follow me.”
     
    My first surf lesson was so not
Blue Crush.
I totally sucked. And even though Jas was really patient and nice about it (not to mention it being a good excuse to get him to put his arms around me and hold me steady), after wiping out on my third baby wave, and choking on salt water, it was pretty clear that I’m no surf Betty. So I called it quits, and swam to shore.
    I’m sitting on the sand watching Jas and I guess I never really noticed before (being from a place that worships Derek Jeter and not Kelly Slater), but surfing is like this incredibly beautiful sport. I mean, it’s almost poetic, like man and nature melding together in one perfect, seamless moment.
    I reach into my bag, pull out my camera, and take what I hope will be some really great photos of Jas in the middle of the curl (or whatever they call it). And then I get up and head over to the tide pools and take some close-ups of sea urchins, hermit crabs, and things like that.
    As I’m heading back, Jas is walking toward me with his board under his arm, and he looks so amazingly cute that I make sure I use my very last shot on that.
    “Hope you weren’t too bored,” he says, sticking his board in the sand, unzipping his wet suit, pulling it down to his trunks, and rubbing his hair with a towel.
    “No, it was great,” I tell him, trying not to drool over his tight, tan abs. “I think I got some good shots.”
    “So how’d you like your first lesson?” he asks, grabbing his board and leading me up the steps to his house.
    “I think I have a long way to go.”
    “It takes practice.” He nods. “I’ve been surfing since I was a little kid. My dad used to put me on his board with him.”
    The stairs lead right up to his backyard and when we get to the top, Jas stops, pulls off his wet suit, and drapes it over one of the lounge chairs we ate lunch on the other day. So I unzip and wriggle out of mine too, and I do it quickly since I’m on high alert for Holden the crotch-sniffer. But I don’t see him anywhere, so I relax and follow Jas through the sliding-glass doors, and into the kitchen.
    I’m standing next to the sink, and I feel really bad because the tank top and shorts I’m wearing are so wet that I’m dripping water all over the Spanish tile floor. So while Jas looks for something to drink, I drop my towel on the ground, and use my foot to kind of slide it around and dry it off. “Um, I’m dripping everywhere. I’m really sorry,” I tell him.
    “No worries,” he says, closing the fridge, and turning to hand me a bottle of beer.
    But when I go to take it from him I notice he’s looking at my chest, and his face is all red. And when I look down, I see why.
    Talk about a wet T-shirt contest!
    Ohmygod! Everything is on display! I