We pull up to the campsite after a few of the guys have already arrived. Jasper has his fishing gear ready, and two of our teammates seem content to kick their feet up on a log while lounging in two old-ass lawn chairs with a cooler of beer between them.
“Thank God for girlfriends,” Renleigh says as she steps around to the front of my truck and ogles the two shirtless dudes now sunning with their cold beers clutched at their bellies. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be in tip-top shape?”
She gives me side-eyes, and I scoff before lifting my shirt and slapping my tight abs.
“Don’t look at me. It took a lot of sit-ups to get here. Brady’s a bullpen catcher, though. And Adler isn’t really motivated to get called back up. He’s trying to get traded,” I whisper.
“Not sure how many teams are in the market for beer-chugging slowpokes.” Renleigh makes her way to the back of the truck, so I follow behind.
“He’s not as slow as he looks. Besides, he’s a first baseman. He just has to hit bombs.”
I flip the tailgate down and snag Roddy’s tent and sleeping bag, which are tightly bound together in a hiking pack. Renleigh pulls out two fishing rods, along with a gear box. I don’t know how any of that stuff works, but she was excited about showing me, so I’m willing to wade in the cold stream for a few hours if it means we might have to sit close after to warm up.
“He ever hit a bomb off you?” She glances at the now snoring Adler, and I laugh and shake my head.
“Nobody on our squad hits home runs off me,” I scoff.
Renleigh’s eyes narrow, and I mentally replay my tone. This must be what Roddy means when he rips on my ego. Yeah, I hear it now.
“Not that hecouldn’t.We haven’t done that many live at bats,” I explain, image clean-up in full effect.
“Ooooh, was that you being humble?” Renleigh teases.
I drop the tent pack on the far corner of the campsite, far away from the lawn-chair boys. “I am humble; what do you mean?” I give her a crooked smile, and she laughs.
“Yeah, Mr. Modest. That’s you.”
Shit. Roddy is on to something.
I shrug nonetheless, and take one of the poles from her before following her lead toward the stream. We tread along a small trail cut through the rustling trees, and I give in to my most basic urges and study the smooth curves of her shoulders and her long, tempting neck. She’s wearing a tank top under denim overalls that she’s rolled up to her knees, and her shoes are a slightly beat-up pair of blue sneakers. Her dirty blonde hair is poked through the back of a white ballcap with a maroonS on the front. My guess is it’s from the high school and her dad’s team. She seems so comfortable in her own skin, and she’s right at home out here in nature’s playground. She’s completely unbothered when one of the legs of her overalls unravels enough to touch the water’s edge as she steps into the stream. She simply giggles and rolls it back up.
“It’s not that cold if you want to take your shoes off. I brought spares,” she explains.
I’m wearing slip-on sneakers and socks, and I wasn’t as thoughtful with my packing. I was too damn focused on getting a tent and a warm sleeping bag.
“Okay,” I say with a shrug before slipping my shoes off and tucking my socks inside. I tread into the water carefully, my toes flexing against the smooth, moss-covered stones. If I slip, I’m going to break my ass and get soaked head to toe. Rather than pushing my luck, I halt when I reach a wide flat rock, then look on while Renleigh ties a tiny fly to the end of my line. She hands it to me then steps back, as if she’s expecting me to . . .oh.
“I’ve never fished with a hook. Not sure why you think I know what to do here.” May as well build on this new humble, modest guy persona.
Renleigh chuckles, then maneuvers herself behind me, balancing her rod on an outcropping of rocks while sliding her palms along my biceps, then forearms. Her fingers wrap around my arms as she nestles in close.
“You want to make sure you have good balance, so unlock your knees.” She nudges her knee between mine. I feel a bit dominated, but I’m surprisingly okay with it. I do what she says, relaxing my legs. “Good,” she says, her breath tickling my the skin of my bare bicep and making goose bumps rise.
I glance to my left and find her close, her gaze flitting up to meet mine, her blue eyes mesmerizing me through the hood of her golden lashes. She’s a fucking angel.
“I respond well to praise.” My devilish smirk earns me another knock on my legs, this one less gentle. “Oww!” I play along, and she shakes her head at me. Her smile gives her away, though. We’re flirting. She can call this fishing all she wants. “Okay, okay. I’m listening.” I breathe in deep, then let out a heavy exhale, relaxing my arms under her touch.
“Have you ever skipped stones on water? You do have water in California, don’t you?”
Even her sarcasm is cute.
“Uh, does the Pacific count?”
“Right, that little body of water. Well, there aren’t waves here. The ripples are more subtle. But there’s a rhythm to them. You want to use that. Feel it when you cast your line.”
She glides her hand over my left one, unraveling a few feet of line with me, then adjusting my grip on the rod before guiding my right arm up and back.
“When I count to three, we’re going to flick the line forward a few times. You ready?” She’s basically driving my entire upper body, and still, I’m perfectly fine with that.
