“Let her rip,” I say.
“One . . . two . . .three!” she whisper-shouts, urging my arm forward and back as the line stretches out across the water. The tiny fly splatters across the surface, then quickly sinks under the current.
“Is that what you mean? About the ripples and that rhythm stuff?” I squint one eye as I glance at her. She’s tucked close to my arm, and it’s tempting to throw the rod into the water and swoop my arm around her, but there’s this proud glimmer in her eyes as she smiles up at me that makes me want to keep the lesson going a little while longer.
“That’sexactlywhat I mean.” Her gaze settles on mine for a quiet moment, and it’s strange, but I feel oddly proud of myself. I also feel like maybe, just maybe, I understand RenleighBlackwood a little more than I did before we stepped into this freezing cold water.
“Let’s go again,” she prompts.
I chuckle through my shivers and nod.
“Okay.”
We repeat the steps, and while her touch isn’t as firm, it’s still there. In fact, the graze of her fingertips along my forearms as I whip the rod through the air is somehow better. It’s doing things to my chest, to my heart. Fuck me, I’m full of nerves.
“You know that move is usually the other way around, rookie,” Jasper says, breaking our quiet little solace with his wisecrack.
“Ha ha,” I say over my shoulder. Renleigh takes a step back and her hands fall away, and I consider slapping Jasper in the neck with my rod for being such a cock blocker.
“This your first time?” he asks.
I nod, still a little pissed that he didn’t read the room before wading in near us.
“Don’t be mad if you don’t catch shit. It takes a while.”
No sooner did the words leave his mouth than there was a slight tug in my line.
“Holy shit!” I pull the rod toward my body on instinct, but my gaze zips to Renleigh for help. Her eyes widen, and she steps to my side, grabbing the rod with me and pulling up the line in fast swoops.
“What is it?” I don’t even know what types of fish are in these waters, but something is floundering near the surface as Renleigh and I tug at the line.
“Trout,” she says, a grin plastered on her cheeks so wide her dimples have quotation marks around them.
“Is that good?”
I’m clueless, which amuses Jasper, who laughs and says, “It’s amazing you caught anything your first time. You’re one lucky fucker, Hunter!”
With a final jerk on the line, a tiny fish pops out of the water, swirling through the air as it struggles to break free. Renleigh grabs hold of it within half a second, and without pause, she pulls it free and releases it back into the water.
“Wait! We’re not eating that?”
I’m kind of bummed I didn’t get a photo with it, at least.
Renleigh’s palm flattens on my back, drawing my attention back to her pink lips and blue eyes.
“That was the size of a pet, Hunter. I don’t even know if there would be food left after we skinned it and put it on the fire. But . . . nice work. You can officially say you’ve caught a fish.”
I stand taller and grin like a stupid fool, but damn it . . . I am proud. And I’m going to tell every person I know that I caught a fish, and it was massive.
We spent a solid three-and-a-half hours flinging line over the water and came back to camp with nothing to show for it. Renleigh did catch another trout, and hers was bigger than mine, but we decided it wasn’t worth the effort to cook a single fish. Especially when Jasper told us Adler brought up a kettle of his famous chili.
Dinner is nearly ready, in fact, when we get back to camp. And everyone’s finally arrived. I don’t know many of the guys well, but I recognize everyone. We buzz through introductions around the campfire, and Renleigh is surprisingly at ease—even more so than the two girlfriends who are clinging to the guys who brought them.
Once dinner is dished out, everyone starts sharing war stories from their time in the minors. Jake and I are the only true rookies, so the only stories I have to share are from my days at Pacific Coastal. I have the benefit of having played on national TV a few months ago, and the guys are interested in my tales from our play-off run. Though even those don’t quite measure up to their stories of late-night travel bus drives through Missouri or Kansas.
“Dude, hope you know we don’t get first class from Sweetwater,” Jasper jokes.
“Youfools don’t. They’re picking me up in one of those ride-share jets,” I joke. Jake pulls one of his shoes off and tosses it at me before jokingly calling me an asshole. I promptly toss it into the woods, which earns me a less gentlefucking prick.It does make everyone else laugh their asses off, though, so worth it.
