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“Hold up,” she reached for my arm before I could get out of the truck. “Fishing licenses?”
“Why not?”
“Have you ever fished before?”
“No, but I read online that people catch their limit in thirty minutes or less around here.”
“That’s what people who know how to fish say.” She looked at me as if I’d turned into an alien.
“So? Are you afraid you won’t catch anything?”
“I’m afraid that I’m here with a man who bought an eighty-thousand-dollar SUV, who’s throwing caution to the wind on this trip?—”
“No better man to be doing shit like this with, I think,” I said with a flirty smile.
“No,” she corrected me. “You can’t just fly by the seat of your pants when you’re camping. If you do, your spoiled, pretty boy self will get hurt.”
I rolled my eyes, sighed deeply, and looked out my door window, searching for answers as to why I had to encounter any resistance whatsoever.
That caused a stifled laugh to come from where Mickie sat.
“Are you pissed off at me?” she said in a humorous voice, rubbing my arm.
The gesture felt amazing.
“Yes,” I said. I wasn’t really pissed. I was more annoyed than anything.
“Well, you’re going to have to get over it because I’m not going to pull a hook out of your ass when you try to cast your fishing line the way you saw someone do it on YouTube.”
I slowly looked over at her, “How would you know that I watched any fishing videos to try and?—”
“That’s the thing, I’m not sure,” she said. “But everything on this trip so far seems like the work of some rich boy who ran away from home and is trying to be normal and do things he’s never done before.”
“So?” I said, currently acting like the exact idiot she described.
She laughed again. “Well, I’m just trying to figure all this out.” She looked at me with a cute, sympathetic gaze and an adorable smile.
“Nothing to figure out, Mick. We’re going camping.” I reached over and softly pointed my index finger into her chest, “Just you and me,” I finished and turned to step out of the vehicle.
I handled the campsite check-ins and everything that went along with finding our tent site while I left Mickie quick to deal with the food shopping and anything extra we may need for the night.
When I walked over to the general store—a little saloon-like building that was the only gig in this one-horse town—I was turned on the moment I saw her again, even though she was laughing and joking with the young man behind the counter. Luckily, I was confident enough to brush away the little green jealousy monster trying to plant seeds of doubt. It was far too perfect of a day for silly insecurities, and as long as she didn’t have a fantasy about being with a ginger who looked like he belonged in Duck Dynasty, I didn’t need to worry.
“What’s the deal?” I asked, approaching Mickie from the side.
“A couple of things,” the dude behind the counter said from behind his chest-length beard. “First, if you want to fish, you’re going to need to purchase some licenses, and second, I’m fresh out of bait.”
“Fresh out of bait?” I mocked the guy playfully. As I did, Mickie’s eyes widened, and she stared at me as if I were embarrassing myself. “I mean,” I looked at Mickie, frustrated and confused, wondering if she was trying to give me shit because she was digging this guy, and I sounded like a dick. “What?” I tried not to snap, but I was pretty sure I failed.
She folded her arms and turned to the guy behind the counter. “You know what, Matthew,” she said, “it seems we won’t be fishing this trip. It turns out my partner is in too shitty of a mood to work up the patience for it, much less wait for a couple of fishing licenses.”
“He’s out of bait,” I said, looking at him. “You said that, right?”
“Fresh out,” he repeated the ridiculous line that’d gotten me busted with Mickie for reacting and mocking it.
“Fresh out, honey,” I said, feigning a fight.
“Bummer,” she eyed me. “I specifically told you that if I didn’t get to fish on this trip, you weren’t getting laid.”
