Page 86 of Flirting with 40

“Guilty as charged.” He flashes me a grin that screams mischief. “And yes, I am in fact helping you as we speak.”

“On your phone?”

“Yep.”

“Do you care to explain because texting is not helping me.”

“Yes it is.” He tosses his cell onto the cooler and leans back on his hands. “You should be catching a fish in about ten minutes.”

“What am I missing here?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me what you have planned for Heather?” he offers.

I’m not sure I like that trade.

“You’ll know when it happens.”

“Okay.” He lifts the bottle of beer to his lips and takes a long sip of it. “Then I guess I can’t tell you how you’re going to win the fishing contest today.”

I bark out a laugh. “Win? We’ve been sitting here for over an hour without a single bite on my line while we can hear others shriek in excitement when they catch one on whatever designated spot she gave them.”

“Exactly. This whole contest was rigged, which is what I figured would happen after going drinking with the boys the other day. Horrible Heather’s man was a little loose-lipped when he finally decided to join us. He kept talking about how she was picking everyone’s fishing spots.” He shrugs. “I may have done some reconnaissance on my morning jogs. I befriended a few locals who fish out here daily.”

“So, you’re saying . . .”

“I’m saying she gave you the one place in the entire lake where you have the worst chance of catching a fish. The waterbed here has some kind of algae in it the fish won’t eat, so they don’t bother with the area.”

“That bitch.”

“Yep.” He nods. “And according to Dan, she knows which location is affected by it.”

“It shouldn’t surprise me.”

“It shouldn’t, but what I’ve done to fix it should.” He looks over his shoulder. “And there he is. Right on time.”

“Slade?” I say as I rise to my feet when I hear someone whistling on the path that leads to our little beach. “Who’s that?”

“Impeccable timing,” Slade says to the man as he stands and jogs toward where the cutest little old man appears. He has on a bucket hat covered in hooks and lures and tufts of his gray hair are peeking out beneath its rim. He’s wearing dark green waders and is carrying a large bucket in one hand. “Ed. My man.”

The two shake hands as water sloshes over the side of the bucket. I stare, my jaw slack with shock because it’s easy enough to assume what’s in that water.

“Perfect,” Slade says and the two of them laugh over something before Slade pats him on the back and thanks him. Ed grants me a mischievous smile before giving me a mock salute and then turning to go back to wherever he came from.

“Slade Henderson. Who’s Ed? What is that?”

He offers me a devilish grin. “Ed is Ed and this is your winning catch.”

I look into the bucket and squeal at the fish swimming inside it. He’s brown and fat and huge by my fishing standards.

“How? What? That’s cheating!”

“Exactly.” He presses a kiss to my lips before swinging the bucket a bit too close to me and making me jump back. “And a little cheating when the game is already rigged won’t hurt anyone.”

“How in the hell did you . . .” I’m dumbfounded. I point in the direction of where Ed just was. “One of the locals?”

“Yep.” He looks into the bucket. “I may have stopped to chat a bit with him on my morning runs. We talked fishing. We discussed a mutual acquaintance we know at the hospital. And he was more than willing to help a nice guy like me to win a contest to impress a girl.” He winks at me.

And if Ed knows Slade was trying to impress a girl, then that means he was talking about me.