“Hold here,” Cole murmured, closing Ethan’s fingers around the grip. His hand was big, warm, callused. “Now, the trick isn’t to muscle it. It’s in the snap.”
Cole reached around, guiding Ethan’s elbow back, then forward in a smooth motion. The heat was immediate, the contact direct. Ethan had to fight the urge to lean into it, to push for more.
“Try it slow first,” Cole said, voice low and even.
Ethan did, mimicking the motion.
Cole pulled away after the third cast, but the warmth lingered. “Not bad,” he said, eyes catching Ethan’s with an unguarded flash before flicking away. “You learn fast.”
Ethan gripped the rod, breath shallow, adrenaline mixed with something else entirely. “Good teacher.”
Cole smiled, real and easy. “Keep at it. You’ll pull something in before you know it.”
He moved down the shoreline, setting up a second line for himself, the distance both relief and disappointment.
They both turned back to the water, where the sun caught the mist and scattered it in sharp prisms. Ethan felt a low, persistent hum in his chest, a want he didn’t have a name for yet.
Jack’s voice shattered the moment: “Yes! Fuck yes!” He stood at the far end of the pool, arms high, a fat trout wriggling from his line.
“Pay up,” Jack shouted, waving the fish for all to see. “Told you I’d out-fish the entire camp.”
Harper smirked from her post at the fire ring. “Only because Cole set you up in the deepest channel, you ass.”
Jack didn’t care. He grinned, teeth gleaming, then strode over, cradling his prize like a trophy. “You want to hold it, Riley?”
Riley shrugged. “I’m good.”
“I’ll smoke it for dinner. Just remember, first catch does the cleaning.” Said Harper
Jack’s bravado flickered. “Wait, you’re not kidding?”
“Not even a little,” Harper replied, already prepping a bucket with water and salt.
Jack grumbled but set to the task, making a show of grimacing at the guts, flinging the fish innards into the trees. Harper watched him, lips twitching, then looked over at Ethan and Riley.
“Who’s up for a swim?” Harper asked, standing and stretching her arms overhead. Her T-shirt rode up, exposing a plane of golden skin and a single, dark tattoo at her hip.
“Isn’t it cold?” Ethan said, more out of instinct than aversion.
“Of course it’s cold. That’s the point,” Harper replied, peeling off her shirt, revealing a sports bra that was working overtime to keep the contents underneath contained. “Come on boys, live a little.”
Riley was already out of his shoes, jeans rolled to his knees. “Last one in has to cook breakfast,” he declared, then waded into the stream, arms flailing.
Ethan hesitated, but the urge to keep pace overrode caution. He kicked off his boots, peeled off his shirt, and followed. The water was glacial, a perfect electric shock that lit up every nerve. He shouted with the cold, and Harper laughed, grabbing him by the wrist and hauling him deeper.
Cole appeared at the edge, watching them with arms folded, expression somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Don’t get hypothermic,” he called. “I’m not dragging anyone out today.”
Harper waded back to the rocks, splashing water at Cole’s boots. “Join us, coward.”
Cole shook his head, but there was a challenge in his gaze. “I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself,” Harper shot back.
Ethan glanced at Cole, the definition in Cole’s chest and shoulders was obscene—beyond any gym build, this was functional, worked muscle. Riley caught Ethan staring and grinned, conspiratorial.
“You’re not subtle, man,” Riley whispered, water beading on his lashes. “You’ve got it bad.”
Ethan wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t form. Instead, he ducked under the falls, letting the cold pummel his head clear.
