[Los Angeles, California]

The sun’s still burning my damn eyes even behind these shades. The salt’s in my lungs, my ribs feel like they got worked over by a freight train, and my ego’s probably floating somewhere off the coast. Great start to the week, right?

Wasn’t even a big wave. I’ve handled worse a hundred times—but somehow, somehow, I managed to eat it hard enough to black out. One second I’m riding clean, the next I’m upside down, board gone, lungs on fire. Everything went quiet real fast. Cold and quiet.

Next thing I know, I’m coughing up half the Pacific on the sand, hair plastered to my face, and this ridiculously gorgeous lifeguard in a red swimsuit is kneeling over me like she walked off a damn Baywatch reboot. Full lips. Freckles. Ocean eyes. And definitely the one who just gave me mouth-to-mouth.

She asked if I was okay—I think I grunted something halfway between “I’m fine” and “marry me.” Real smooth, I know.