“Morning, sleepyhead,” he laughs when I open the bedroom door a few minutes later. I grunt a reply, making my way to the one bathroom in this tiny cabin.
I slept like shit last night, my raging erection begging for some relief, but I didn’t dare risk making a sound in the quietness of the night. This morning isn’t much different. Sound travels in this house, evidenced by the quiet laughter I can hear through the walls while I try to do my business and keep my dick from springing up again. A feat I don’t generally struggle with, until last night.
Leon and Brielle are in the cabin’s small kitchen when I join them a minute later. “I have coffee and juice, if you want any. Stephen’s just finishing up, and then we’ll be ready to go.”
Right. Ice fishing with the guys. That’s what this is all about. Building that relationship, that rapport, with Leon and Pam. The last thing I want to do is spend hours on a freezing lake with a pole in the water, waiting for some slimy sea urchin to latch on, but at least it will be better than spending my day with Brielle.
I look at her now, still in her heart pajama pants, a sweater pulled over the silky tank, her hair loose and messy, with no hint of makeup on her face. “Are you going to be good here by yourself?” I ask.
“Of course. Pam, Courtney, Maggie, and I are going to have girls’ day.”
“Good.”
She smirks at me over the rim of her coffee mug. “Good.”
I catch Leon’s eyes bouncing between us and suddenly feel the need to put on a show for him. That’s my excuse anyway. Really, I just need to touch her again. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Brielle leans back into me like this is something we do all the time. I lean down and kiss the side of her cheek. It’s the most relationshippy thing I’ve ever done, holding her like this in the morning light, but I don’t hate it like I thought I would. Honestly, it feels kind of nice, even if it is all for show.
“I’d better go get ready,” I tell her.
“Okay.”
I’m still clinging to her, enjoying the familiarity of this feeling a lot more than I should. Then again, she’s still leaning back on me, too. I drop my arms, and she shifts her weight. I feel the loss of her in more than just a physical way.
It only takes me a few minutes to get changed and ready for the day. Based on my research, I choose thermal long johns under a pair of dark jeans, a long-sleeve wicking shirt, and my thick overcoat. I throw on a pair of wool socks with my boots and hope that it’ll be good enough.
Leon and Stephen are both silently staring at me when I rejoin them in the kitchen. Brielle’s lips tug up, and she tries to hide her smile behind her coffee cup.
“What?” I ask the room.
“Nothing,” Leon says at the same time Stephen asks, “Have you ever been ice fishing before?”
“First-timer,” I grudgingly admit. I’m starting to feel foolish. Leon and Stephen are both in thick winter coveralls. Stephen’s got a ski jacket over his, while Leon is wearing a hooded sweatshirt under his.
“Jeans aren’t really the best choice for this,” Leon explains. “The lake is frozen over, but it’ll still be wet out there. Once you get those wet, you’ll freeze for the rest of the day. Stephen—”
“On it,” he says without waiting for anything else. He comes back a few minutes later with an additional pair of coveralls. Black with a thick, deep pink stripe down the side. “These are a new prototype we’ve been developing. The material is water-resistant, but breathable. The lining is made entirely of sustainable materials, and the shell is eighty-percent sustainable. We’re working to get that number higher without compromising the integrity of the water resistance.”
“And keeping them affordable, of course,” Leon adds.
“These were for Court, so they’ll definitely be too short, but you’re… lean, so I think they’ll fit you okay.”
A choke comes from the other side of the room. Brielle is forcibly trying to contain her laughter, her eyes shining with amusement at my predicament.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I say quickly.
Stephen shakes his head at me. “You really won’t be. Trust me.”
“Leon, maybe you could add an attire guide to your tours for your future clients,” Brielle suggests.
Solid idea. If only we could have gotten that informationbeforewe came out here.
“Yes. Yes. I usually do. I thought you had said that he loved fishing. Figured you knew your way around a bit more than you do,” he laughs.
Fucking Brielle.
I take the offered coveralls from Stephen, my embarrassment at an all-time high. “Summer fishing,” I lie. I don’t do that either.
I change quickly, discarding my jeans and adding the coveralls over my thermals, right in the kitchen. A soft shutter sounds, and I glance up quickly. Brielle has her phone out, a shit-eating grin plastered across her face.
