I lost half an arm and all my courage in a shark attack.
Now a broody swim coach wants me back out on the water.
Everyone else seems glad I’m too chicken to surf anymore–everyone except Coach Kane. He’s determined to get me back on my board. He swears it, a fist pressed to his perfect, toned chest.
Honestly, you have one measly panic attack in the campus pool, and then suddenly you’re a gorgeous man’s business. So weird.
It’s not like I could ever do it. Sure, surfing use...