“I’m not?”
“Nope. Doesn’t seem like it. In my world, that’s a great job. UPS is union.” He immediately shook his head.
“The world might swallow my father up whole if he heard your excitement.” Dash slung the backpack over his shoulder. He had a way of easily unzipping it without placing it on the ground, probably because he used it so much. As expected, he pulled out a towel that he called a blanket and a packet of bug repellent wipes. Two water bottles had to be in there. He always toted them around, but we never drank from them. “Wanna try the boat first?”
“What? No. I have to show you how to fish first. It’s harder to balance and learn on the boat. It’s not really a fishing boat,” I explained, and he still paused before dropping the towel down.
“But the boat seems more romantic,” he said and hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
Ah, I was learning my guy too well. Maybe two weeks of spending every day together taught me a thing or two. I let my eyes roll and dropped down to the tackle box, flipping the clips up. “You’re just tryin’ to make out. It’s all you ever wanna do with me. I’m a piece of meat to you.”
Dash barked out a harsh sound, maybe a laugh, but he didn’t deny it.
Silence held between us as I pulled out the small tub of worms from my tackle box that I’d dug up this morning. We were going preschool learning today. Dash was getting a bobber. I decided on that approach because he was only here for me. Everything we did was for me, keeping me hidden away and safe from prying eyes. And secondly, I really liked the idea of making out with him too. If I gave in now, we’d be inside that boat, like I planned, floating around until we hit the ocean before we resurfaced.
The warmth that was all Dash spread through me, hugging my heart.
“You’re not listening to me,” he said. Not only was I not listening, I hadn’t even heard his approach. His tennis shoe covered feet came into my peripheral vision. I bent my head as far as it could go and still barely saw his face.
“You don’t know that,” I quipped. Man, my joking game was on point. I dipped my gaze, using my index finger to retrieve a single worm.
“Then what did I say?”
Of course, the obvious question to my question. Instead of answering, I did something to ensure Dash’s horror as I began setting a portion of the worm on the hook. From splitting it in half to threading it around the hook, Dash set off in a stream ofewwsanddisgustings.
“Did I tell you that I’m the Mobile County skipping rock champion two years running?”
“No. That’s why you’re always picking up rocks and throwing them.”
“Yep, I’ll thread the hook until you’re ready to try…” I said. Dash took a giant step away.
“I’ll watch you fish,” he shot back and took a couple more steps backward.
“No. You’ll like it. I promise,” I said and followed him. “Put the stuff down. We’ll use it on the boat. Come try.” When he was still hesitant, I decided to show him with a first cast. I threw the line, letting it go until it landed in the water about where I wanted it to.
The bobber sank then popped out of the water. About a minute later, the angler began to move. Since I was at one with every fishing pole ever created, I knew the feel and quickly jerked the rod backward, setting the hook. I had it and began to reel the fish in. The excitement drew Dash to stand right beside me.
“Get the net.” I didn’t really need it, but I wanted his involvement. Strangely, he stayed quiet and was back in a second. “Here, you take the rod. It feels like a nice size.”
He did, holding the rod in a death grip.
“It’s probably a cat. Be careful with your line. There’s a balance you have to find, you need enough drag but not…” The fish jumped out of the water, showing its size. Dash gave a holler in excitement. I took a backseat and let him go. He had it from there.
“Don’t you lie to me,” he teased. “This boat’s awfully clean to be abandoned here like this. Know anything about that?”
My grin grew bigger, yeah, I knew plenty about it. My hand trailed under the hem of Dash’s shirt, giving my fingertips the skin on skin contact they craved. How we’d managed to stretch out over the bottom of a handmade canoe, made about forty years ago, spoke more toward our willingness to be on top of each other than anything else.
“We’re just lucky I guess.” For me, I lay with my face toward the sun, my other arm tucked under my head, where my wadded-up T-shirt was too. A vintage AM radio played quietly from an old local country music station. The twang relaxing as the boat gently rocked.
“Really?” Dash laid at an angle on the side of my body, his cheek on my chest, a knee positioned between my parted legs. His thigh casually brushed against my hard as heck length. I no longer even attempted to hide my desire. I’m not sure he ever did. But we hadn’t gotten much past a hot and heavy make out session.
I lost the question he asked when his fingertip lightly caressed my nipple. Dang, he made it so sensitive. The bud tightened with tingles of desire shooting from my nipple all across my body.
“I’ll take your silence as an acceptance of my discovery.”
“Mmm,” I said and closed my eyes. The visions of Dash were right there waiting. I gave a small smile remembering his excitement of reeling in one fish after another. And his frustration when I’d let them go back in the river. Whether he liked it or not, my guy was a natural fisherman to his core.
“I like when you smile like that. I like to think you’re thinking of me,” Dash murmured. I dropped my chin and cracked my lids to see him staring down at me. He rose enough to place a series of small kisses on my lips. The boat rocked at the disruption of our balance. I didn’t care in the least, but he did. He lifted and stayed still until it stopped moving.
