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He’s right, damn it. He’s actually been a very good sport on the dates that I’ve taken him on. He’s made them fun. He’s chased off all the other girls who hit on him and paid attention to only me. The least I can do is play along.
Before I can protest any further, he grabs me, picks me up, and throws me over his shoulder.
“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater . . .” he chants.
“I do not eat pumpkins. Unhand me, you vagabond,” I shout. I stare down at the ground. Wow, is he tall.
The next thing I know, I’m being carried up the gangplank and deposited on the boat.
“Hey there! I’m Captain Santiago.” The captain, a handsome Hispanic man in his fifties, sticks his hand out and shakes my hand enthusiastically.
The boat lurches.
I make a gagging sound.
My choppy water tolerance definitely has not improved.
“Are you all right?” Captain Santiago asks me. He looks at Paxton. “Hello again, Mr. Saul. I’ve got the fishing tackle all set up for you, and also lunch has been ordered and is in the picnic cooler.”
I gag again.
“We’re going fishing,” I repeat. I’m going to be looking at fish guts today.
This will not end well.
No, it will. I will power through this. I am a woman who keeps her word, and we agreed that we would take turn picking out our date activities, and...
The boat rocks, and I stagger.
“She needs to get her sea legs,” Paxton tells Captain Santiago.
“You’ll do great; I can tell,” Captain Santiago assures me. “Ready to catch some bass?”
“Who isn’t?” I smile weakly. “I’m all about that bass. Sounds fantastic. Great. So great.”
“Now, let’s get that life jacket on her,” Paxton says. He leads me downstairs. “This is a big boat,” I say faintly.
“Yep, it’s got a cabin and everything.” He ducks into the cabin and fetches two bright orange life jackets, and helps me put mine on.
A few minutes later, we’re up on the deck and the boat is gliding away from the shore.
The wind whips my hair and rocks the boat. Not a good thing.
“I’m not so sure about this weather,” I say faintly.
“The weather’s gorgeous. The wind’s not that bad. Not a cloud in the sky,” Paxton points up at the endless blue overhead. It is a beautiful day indeed, or it would be if I weren’t about to heave up my guts.
Paxton drags me over to the back of the deck, where there are a couple of deck chairs. There’s a rack with fishing rods on it, and a tackle box sitting on the deck.
“Tell me there are no worms,” I beg him. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and my breakfast rises up in my throat.
“No worms.” He grins at me. “I thought about using live bait, believe me, but there is a limit to even my assholiness.”
“Assholiness. That’s a good word. Your royal holiness.”
My knees feel weak. I sink into my chair and stare down at my feet, desperately lying to my stomach that we’re still on land. The boat keeps rocking, and my stomach isn’t buying it.
“We’re going to catch us some striped bass, and I will clean them myself. You can watch, I won’t make you help.”
