Like the Back of My Halo

Sometimes you just have to ride the wave you're given.

Brady Samson just wants to surf, eat, and surf some more. Nothing feels quite like the freedom of being out on the open water, chasing one more perfect break. He missed his chance at the last woman he was interested in. Now, he's content riding solo. His entire world exists in the curl.

Until Lo Fredericks.

Lo is fearless, funny, and one of the best athletes Brady has ever met. Her passion for surfing rivals his own and Brady finds himself intoxicated by her thirst to learn and inability to back down. (It doesn't hurt that her kisses are outrageously perfect as well.)

Lo only needs three things in life to be happy: sunshine, surf, and tacos. Then Brady crashes into her life and takes her on an adventure so addicting and so inspiring, it turns her dreams on their head.

They travel the globe on a dare with only passports and surfboards — a journey of discovery about their sport, themselves, and each other.

CHAPTER ONE

BRADY

Was Brady Samson willing to die for tacos?
No.
Actually, he was not.
As evidenced by the fact he was hauling ass up the beach to Bo's truck, the loose arms of his wetsuit slapping against his legs.
It wasn't a situation he had ever considered facing. But when his brother had brought him the best tacos he'd ever had for breakfast that morning, he should've really anticipated the catch that came with it.
“C'mon!” Bo shouted. “Leave the board!”
Brady let go of the surfboard under his arm. It clattered to the gravel of their large driveway and he ground his teeth together as he swung into the passenger seat of his brother's brand new Dodge Ram truck.
They were fleeing. From their home.
Or, at least, the private beach which was basically their home's backyard.
Here's what he should've been asking: Was Brady finally going to die because of his brother's misguided life choices?
Now there was a question he was afraid to have answered.
“What the hell, Bo?” he asked, as Bo backed out of his parking spot, gravel flying. Brady gripped the open window of the truck as it spun around. His eyes collided with angry blue ones and amused green ones—their pursuers, and the reason he'd run like his ass was on fire.
His gaze darted to the empty windows of the two story beach house. Kip and Steve were at work and therefore missing everything. What Brady wouldn't give to be at work right now.
Bo's wicked laugh brought Brady around to glare at his younger brother.
“What do I need to know about the tacos, Bo?” Brady asked quietly, his stomach pausing in its digestive efforts.
Bo wagged his head back and forth and glanced in the rear view again.
Brady closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “What does that mean?”
“I'm not sure who made them. Exactly.”
Brady took in a slow, deep breath. He wasn't supposed to punch his brother anymore. They weren't fourteen, they were adults. They handled things like grownups now. He chose his next words carefully, saying them with as little inflection as he could manage.
“Where did you get them?”
Bo shrugged. “I found them.”
“Found them.”
Bo pressed his lips together as he rethought his story, still not looking at Brady. “I promised you breakfast, but I'd slept in. So, I was headed out to get some donuts or something quick and I...” He paused, cleared his throat. “Found a bag of tacos.”
Worst case scenarios raced through Brady's head and his stomach spasmed painfully.
“I knew it. I knew my death would ultimately be your fault.”
Bo turned to him and scoffed. “C'mon. It's not like I found them in a dumpster. They were fresh. For sure. Nothing to fear.” He was completely unconcerned with their possibly drug, botulism, and AIDS laced status. Why else would people be chasing them down?
“How can you be so sure?” Brady asked, sweat beading along his neck. Was it suddenly a lot hotter? No, it must be the fever. Did drugs give you a fever?
Bo rolled his eyes. “Trust me.”
Brady didn't want to trust Bo. Trusting Bo usually meant he was going to get violently ill or get his ass kicked. He was about to point that out when Bo shrugged one shoulder and a mysterious smile curled the corners of his mouth.
“Remember in high school, the girl who hated me?” Bo asked.
A memory activated in Brady's mind. Those insanely angry blue eyes they had fled moments before.
“I remember you terrorizing a girl in your class because she had a different kind of a name,” Brady said, feeling the panic subside and heavy disappointment in his brother settle in his stomach beside the tacos.
Bo rejected that memory with a sneer. “Uh, no. She terrorized me.”
“That is not how I remember it,” Brady said, pulling at the seat belt and realizing that if the tacos didn't kill him, his brother's driving was going to.
“Whatever. She had a stupid name. Spencer Clementine? What kind of a name is that?”
Yep. The angry blue eyes had a name. One he hadn't heard in a few years but came with a heavy history. “Bo, why was Spencer Clementine chasing us off our own property?”
“Because I stole her tacos.”
“Of course, you did,” Brady said, no longer holding back his sarcasm. “You're a twenty-nine year old man, why wouldn't you steal tacos from a girl you hate?”
“I don't hate her!” Bo protested. “She hates me! There's a difference.”
“You stole her tacos!”
“Yes, I did.” Bo grinned and Brady (again) wanted to hit him.
Brady ran a hand over his short hair. “You're unbelievable. You do realize that she knows where you live now, don't you?”
Bo's grin died and he stared out the windshield. “She doesn't know that. I could have been at a friend's house.”
“Dude, you are such a dick.” Brady closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “And you know what's really bothering me? I'll never find out where she got those tacos from.”
Bo checked the rear view mirror again and slid his sunglasses onto his face. “Damn, those were tasty tacos.”
Unfortunately, he was right.
Best damn tacos Brady had ever had.