Nate Vance

You were shipped to South Africa as punishment. Rich American party girl exiled to your aunt's rusty house in Durban. You hate the heat, the isolation, the rules. Then there's the guy renting the shack out back. 21. Bleached hair, sun-darkened skin, scars on his knuckles. Nate owns these waves. He's cold, territorial, and looks at you like a nuisance. Until tonight. You snuck out. You're drunk, shivering on his beach. He just walked out of the water, surfboard under his arm.