“If you want to take a picture or anything, now’s the time to do it,” Jack says.
And yet again, his offer only reminds me how utterly normal all of this is to him. If I were a tourist looking for a few days of fishing, of course I’d want a picture, and that’s exactly how Jack is treating me. I want to bathe in his disinterest, and the desire makes me wonder if being Damian Marshall has been worth it all these years. I got the career I wanted but had to become someone else to do it. The question leaves me uncomfortable.
“I think I left my phone at the hotel,” I say.
The fish is alongside the boat, its giant fin rippling just at the water’s surface.
“Hold on to that rod,” Jack says as he pushes me gently to one side and leans over to the water. He’s got a pair of solid-looking bolt cutters, and he grabs hold of the long hook extending from the fish’s mouth with a confident hand while he cuts the fish free.
We stand quietly for a minute, watching the dark shape slowly descend back into the ocean. I’m still breathing hard, and I really would love nothing more than a massage right now. I’m about to make a crack about whether or not that’s part of Jack’s job description when, very softly, he says, “Look.”
I glance up, and at the edge of the forest ahead of us, a rock moves. Except it’s not a rock. It’s a hump of brown fur the size of a compact car, until it raises its head, showing off two round ears and a square snout, and I swear I can hear the thing grunt even though we’re more than a hundred yards away.
“Whoa,” I say as the bear makes its way through the tall grasses.
“Looking for a snack,” Jack says.
I glance at him, but his face is perfectly neutral, so I bite down the joke about how I’d let the right bear eat me up any day.
“Shouldn’t it be hibernating or something?” I ask.
“You really do think it’s winter twelve months of the year up here, don’t you?” His eyes positively twinkle, and it really isn’t fair for him to have a skill like that while I’m trying to behave myself.
“No.” I fidget, trying to think of a comeback. If only Vin could see me now. I’m practically scuffing my feet on the deck like a teenager with a crush. I don’t know if he’d tell me he’s proud of me or be too embarrassed to associate with me ever again.
“They don’t have bears in North Dakota?” Jack asks. Does he take a step closer to me, or is it the motion of the boat bringing us together? On the shore, the bear lumbers back into the woods.
“Oh, they have bears,” I say, fighting not to lick my lips and give the game away. “Big ones.” My dad had one skinned and laid out in the living room. A couple others were more like baby bear cubs in training who let me suck their dicks behind the bleachers after wrestling practice.
Speaking of lips, have Jack’s always been that pouty? Is he doing something different? Does he even know he’s doing it?
His knuckles graze mine, and part of me feels the thrill of excitement that comes when I know someone wants to kiss me. The other part of me tells me to behave myself, because whether he knows it or not, I’m the guest, and Jack is the employee, and if one of us winds up wearing the fallout from any shenanigans we get up to, it’s him. But that part is being drowned out by the first, which is arguing very loudly that we’re hours from the hotel, so who would know if fishing leads to kissing?
“David,” Jack says, and his voice has gone rough.
“Uh-huh,” I say, and it’s so weird and so good to hear him use that name. My real name. I close my eyes.
Then he spits on me.
“Wha—” I start to say as my lids fly open again. Another drop of water splashes on my nose. Then another. And another. None of them are coming from Jack. All of them are coming from the sky. And about a million more follow immediately, descending with a sound like deafening static.
“Oh no,” Jack says, and I can’t tell if he’s disappointed Mother Nature ruined our first kiss or pissed at the way the water is running down the insides of his jeans like I am, because trust me, it is not a fun feeling.
The moment’s gone. We run back into the cabin, feet slipping on the deck as the water pummels us. We’re laughing, and I’m shivering, and I’m so glad Vin’s not here, because his cashmere would be toast by now.
“Here.” Jack opens a cabinet and pulls out a fluffy towel with the hotel’s logo monogrammed on it. He takes one for himself, burying his face in it, which leaves me a moment to admire the way his clothes cling to his body—arms, shoulders, thighs—before I have to wipe my face off too or he’ll catch me staring.
As I come up for air—marginally dryer than I was a second ago—I have to project to be heard over the downpour going on around us.
“Do you think it’ll rain long?”
Jack’s squinting through the window. The mountains and the shore have disappeared. Everything is gray.
“Probably long enough. We should head back to the lodge.” He goes to the magic cupboard again and this time, instead of towels, pulls out a couple of gray sweatshirts and passes one to me. “I can’t do anything about your pants, but a dry shirt will help. And I’ve got dry socks around here somewhere. Sorry the rest of our trip was ruined.”
“No, it’s fine. It was great. We saw a giant fish and a bear. It was totally worth it for—” The end of my sentence gets cut off when Jack tugs his soaking wet sweater and the shirt underneath off and over his head.
Yup. Totally worth it for the bear.
