“Don’t worry, I made an offering of a breakfast burrito earlier today,” he says, playing along, his voice pitching even lower and deeper. The tension’s eased again, thankfully.
I snort and nudge him, readying my rod. Jerri’s been pretty quiet so far, usually a sign that we’re on the right track. She believes in letting the magic happen when it’s there. The truth is, with Flint at my side, it’s hard to make the magic stop.
Stop thinking about magic. And Flint McKay. Focus on fishing, and keeping the blood circulating in your feet. I stamp up and down, still eyeing Flint. That’s right, focus on staying warm. Do not focus on watching him reel the line back in, his arms rippling with muscle, the spray of the river dampening his shirt so that it clings to his chiseled physique, the…you know, maybe I love fishing after all. A little too much, perhaps.
This whole expedition is becoming dangerous.
“I think I should head back up,” I tell him, turning around to wade away in my, well, waders. But Scott, one of the cameramen, gestures for me to get back in the water.
“No, stay there. You two are hilarious together,” he calls, grinning.
“Besides, you haven’t cast yet,” Flint tells me. He moves closer. “Can I help you?” He’s asking to touch me, and he doesn’t want me to flinch again. Taking a deep breath, I force a smile.
“Sure thing.”
Flint puts a hand on the small of my back to guide me next to him. Wouldn’t you know it; my shivering all but disappears. The cold water isn’t a factor anymore. My numb feet don’t bother me.
I bait my hook, pull back, and whip my arm forward, releasing the line too early. Instead of sailing elegantly through the air, it erupts into a startled kind of squiggle, tangling instantly. I nearly get poor Scott through the lip, which would mean a very awkward emergency trip to the hospital.
“Sorry!” I cry, wincing as I pull the line back. Scott waves, but also takes a few steps back.
“You’ve got to keep your wrist loose, but your arm straight,” Flint says, putting his rod down and getting behind me. I’m pressed up against him, and my cheeks flush. I can’t have him touching me without being reminded of his hands on my waist, steadying me as I rode his body. His eyes burning into me, pupils dilating as he came close to—
“We’re running out of battery!” Jerri calls. Damn, I think I’ve been drooling.
“Here we go,” Flint says. He helps my line of motion, helps me throw the line out in a clear, sweet movement. “There. You’re a natural,” he says, leaning down to my ear.
“Yep. Au naturale, that’s how I do,” I say, stepping away so fast I trip on a river rock and nearly collapse. But I find my balance.
I try again, solo this time. The line whips forward, perfectly thrown, and the bait hits the water. The little red and white plastic bobbing thing bobs along. Aw, so cute.
“Nice. Now reel it in, slowly,” Flint says, clapping his hands. I start, watching the line cut through the water. But then I hit some resistance. Huh. Weird. Maybe it got caught on a submerged tree branch or something. Or maybe it’s…
“I think I caught a fish!” I sound a little like an excited kid, shrieking gleefully as I start to reel it in, but c’mon. I caught a fish! I’m a fisherwoman! The fisher queen!
“Great job,” Flint says, whooping excitedly. “Okay, keep it steady. Slowly reel. Slowly.” I forget all about our tension, my inhibitions, everything. Right now, my whole world is fishing. The Tao of Being Awesome at Everything by Laurel Young.
“This is so easy,” I tell Flint. Feeling a little full of myself, I even look over my shoulder at the camera. Yeah, check me out, America. I’m a goddess. “If I’d known it’d be like this, I’d have—”
I don’t get to finish that thought, because the stupid fish at the end of the line decides to make one last great lunge for freedom, and takes me with him. I stumble forward, pull back hard on the line…which snaps. And he’s gone, swimming off to some fishy riverside bar for a stiff drink and a story about how he cheated death today, trying to impress all the lady flounders.
Oh damn. I feel myself tilting, tilting. I flap my arms, but it does no good. I fall backwards, splashing fantastically, and wind up sitting on my ass in the freezing water. Now it’s not just my feet that are numb. My teeth chatter. It’s cold! And wet! And watery! Why are rivers full of cold water? And why is my crew laughing at me?
“Are you okay?” Flint splashes to me and reaches down to help me up. Shaking so hard I nearly start vibrating, I nod.
“Great. At least this part’s going on the cutting room floor,” I say with some relief as he pulls me to my feet and we rush for dry land.
“Oh, don’t bet on it,” Jerri yells, practically rubbing her hands with glee. “This is a killer promotional shot.”
Huzzah. I think I’ll go join the fish for a drink.
17