Deep Blue (Blue Series) (4 page)

I search his expression, but he’s not looking at me. All I see are the tips of his lashes, a full bottom lip, and a square jawline framed by broad shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s making sure I’m going so Gen feels comfortable, or if he wants me there. Which is stupid. It doesn’t matter whether he wants me there or not. Gen’s the available one.

Why the hell am I thinking about this at all? I need to talk to Eric. “We get off at three. What time do you want to meet?”

Jaeger shoves his chips into his pocket, and I’m staring at the corded muscles along his forearms again. Dammit! Can the guy wear something other than flesh-baring T-shirts? What is this, a strip club?

“I’ll pick you up at the front entrance at three-thirty.”

I force my gaze up.

“Wear something comfortable.” His eyes dip, only for a moment—a glance that takes in my polyester uniform as if
it
were revealing. My uniform is the same one every dealer wears—unsexed—and it’s not attractive. But that glance was proprietary. And hot.

Jaeger merges with the crowd and my pit boss hands me a new stack of cards. I focus on my kickass riffle shuffle and not the beautiful man striding away from my table.

“Fishing? You’re taking us
fishing?”

In the time it took us to grab food before the “sunrise tradition,” the sky turned from black to dark blue. Four fishing poles glint like spears in the predawn light of Jaeger’s truck bed.

I scratch my head, trying to figure out what the hell these guys are thinking. This is not my idea of a good time. Was this Mason’s or Jaeger’s idea? I’m adjusting my assessment of their seduction skills.

It’s getting close to five in the morning and we’re on a beach north of Stateline I’ve never been to. Small rowboats are moored at a narrow dock.

Hello?
Anyone hear of boats with engines? What are we, in the sixteenth century?

My mood is pissy, but I’m freaking tired. And it’s cold out here.

Jaeger lifts a box I assume contains tackle and grabs the fishing poles. I’ve seen people fish. I understand the requisite accoutrements. I just never thought I’d be using them in this lifetime. There’s a time and place to acquire fish—laid out on ice in the meat section of the grocery store is my preference.

“Scared?” Mason raises a brow, his dimple in effect. He’s goading me?

I cross my arms. “How hard can it be?”

Jaeger is wholly focused on putting together the fishing gear. He’s not saying anything, but I think he’s aware I’m not excited about this. Could be the extreme animosity I’m giving off.

Jaeger was vague when he invited me, and the two of them have kept the details of our adventure a secret until now.
Sneaky.

They walk to the water’s edge and untie the twin drowning contraptions from the dock, dragging them to shore.

I glance at Gen, who’s watching intently. She looks at me, shrugs, and heads for the boats.

Great. How am I going to find her a good guy if she doesn’t have the natural instincts to know when she’s being properly wooed? The Last Stop for a quick bite and a fishing trip are not what I consider wining and dining.

“Have you done this before?” Gen asks after I reluctantly join her, her face alight with excitement.

Am I the only one who doesn’t find the idea of fishing at five in the morning the least bit entertaining? “No. You?”

She peers out longingly at the water. “I used to go with my grandfather when I was a kid, but I haven’t been in a long time. This is going to be fun.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes the blood from my limbs.

Oh God.
My headache is returning. I glance at the truck. Is it too late to back out? There’s something about luring innocent fish and then manhandling their slimy bodies until they die that makes me want to hide beneath a rock.

Mason turns around. “Gen, you and I are together. Hop in from here. It’s easier than from the dock.”

Wait, what? I’m going with Jaeger?
Alone?
“Shouldn’t Gen and I go together? She’s fished before. She can help me out.”

Mason shakes his head. “She told me a couple of days ago that she doesn’t have a fishing license.”

Gen shrugs and nods in agreement.

Wait, is this the reason we’re out here at five in the morning? Gen and Mason talked about fishing and now Mason’s taking her? Not exactly my idea of romantic, but if he was listening to something she wanted to do, I can’t argue.

“Technically, neither of you should fish without a license, but we can probably get away with it if we split up. These boats are too small to accommodate both me and Jaeger, and I don’t want to leave you girls alone.”

I could admire Mason’s protective nature if I wasn’t so panicked about being marooned with Jaeger. My stomach’s doing its version of the Harlem Shake, threatening to eject the large meal I just ate.

Eric would do this—be a friend’s wingman and hang with a girl’s best friend so his buddy could get to know someone. That’s all this is. That’s all Jaeger’s doing too. He doesn’t care if he’s alone with me. Why should I?

Releasing the clamp on my airways, I breathe deeply and approach Jaeger’s boat.

The fishing poles are loaded, along with a tackle box and a small cooler. He reaches out and I take his hand. It’s padded with muscle, warm and firm, and it engulfs mine. A shock of heat rushes my chest. Previous dreams of that hand on my body dive-bomb any hope of rational thought. I stagger into the boat, my butt landing with a jarring drop.

Jaeger passes me a paddle and I brace myself against the side, digging my fingers into the metal. Fantasies aren’t cheating. Still, this has got to stop. Most hot guys drop about ten notches after I get to know them. I’ll ask Jaeger a few pointed questions. That should douse the ardor.

I dip my oar into the water and we attempt a rhythm, paddling out on the lake. Jaeger focuses on something in the distance and I follow his gaze.

“Head for the outcrop.” He points to the dark rock wall a quarter of a mile away.

We clumsily row to the peninsula. Okay, the clumsy part’s on me; I’m chopping and splashing, maneuvering my paddle like a hacksaw. The sky is sapphire blue with the rising sun, which has yet to crest Tahoe’s circular ridge of mountains.

“Why over here?” I ask as we near. “Shouldn’t we go deeper?”

“This is deep, and the fish like coves. It’s also closer to shore—less labor on our part.” He sets his oar down, his gaze intent on my face. For a moment, he doesn’t move, he simply stares, his jaw working as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to say something.

Gen and Mason are closer to shore than we are. Hushed conversation floats over from their direction, but nothing decipherable. Jaeger and I might as well be alone. I glance away and focus on the obsidian water.

Jaeger’s warm leg brushes my calf as he reaches for a pole. “You’ve never done this before?”

For a moment, I wonder what he’s talking about. The heat from his leg and the proximity of his body has me thinking of make-out sessions and cheating on boyfriends. Multiple yeses to the former—no to the latter.

Then I remember we’re supposed to be fishing. “No.”

“I’ll bait your hook.”

“Excuse me?” Why does everything he says sound like a pick-up line?

He raises an eyebrow and pulls a wiggling worm from a Styrofoam container. He spears the worm on the end of a hook the size of my pinky.

I throw up a little in my mouth. Why am I here again?

Gen’s boat drifts farther away. I can’t hear anything from them now.

“Here.” Jaeger holds out the fishing rod with the worm still wiggling on the end. “Press the button on the reel and drop the hook.”

I’m trying to concentrate on his words, but I can’t stop staring at the impaled worm. I gingerly take the reel, holding it so Mr. Worm doesn’t touch me, or get knocked against the side of the boat, adding insult to injury. Lowering the tip of the pole, I let him float on the lake’s surface. Maybe the little guy will get lucky and escape his torture device while Jaeger finishes his instructions.

“After you drop the line, press the release when I tell you.”

Bossy, are we? But I press the button and the line sinks, whistling as it descends. Now the worm is drowning. Fishing cannot be humane.

Jaeger gives the signal and I press the button to stop the reel. I grip the rod as if it were an ax and stare at the end, with no clue what I’m supposed to be waiting for.

Jaeger pulls another worm from the Styrofoam container and I look away. I know what’s about to happen. I can’t watch this one’s fate at the end of Jaeger’s hook.

Why does that bring to mind my own destiny?

At the sound of his line going into the water, I peer over. He locks his reel and reaches for a small cooler he loaded before we boarded. He pulls out a Budweiser and pops the top, passing it.

Cheap beer at five thirty in the morning? I will gladly take said beer and drink it like it is mother’s milk. The carbonation might settle my stomach. At the very least, a light buzz could dim the sexual tension and sense of doom in the air—or make it worse. Jesus, that’s all I need.

If I’m the only one with dirty thoughts, I can deal, but if Jaeger is attracted to me, too … we have a problem.

“How will I know when I’ve caught a fish?”

He shushes me and glances over like I’ve been naughty, which I have—in my mind. “You won’t catch a fish if you scare them away,” he whispers.

I lower my voice. “Are you going to tell me how this is done, or what?”

His mouth twitches. Without looking at me, he says, “They nibble.”

A tingle shoots down my chest and past my thighs. I squeeze my legs together. Again with the dirty fishing talk!

“It will feel like a vibration, maybe a few quick tugs. Don’t react right away. Let the fish take a nice bite, then jerk your hook. If you feel more movement, you’ve caught something.”

He pops open a beer for himself and we sit in silence, me chugging my beer and waiting to be nibbled, he as still as a stone two feet away.

After a few minutes, I hold out my hand for another beer and my line vibrates. I don’t react right away, but my rod has all my attention. Taking the second beer he hands me, I wait, sipping carefully and white-knuckling my pole.

Another small jerk and rattle. With his gaze on his own line, Jaeger doesn’t seem to notice.

The next tug from the mysterious creature below the surface has my rod slipping a fraction from my fingers. I lurch the pole up and wind the reel a couple of times to take up the slack. The end jerks like crazy. I’ve caught something for sure.

Spinning the reel with quick, uncontrolled strokes, I fight to bring in the wild animal, my adrenaline kicking up a notch. I’m getting this fishing business now. Woman versus beast!

What exactly is down there? Are there freshwater sharks? Because I think I caught one. This fish is a wily bugger. I’m straining and not making much progress.

Jaeger scoots closer, our arms brushing. I sense when he sets his pole down, his gaze on me. “Need help?”

Before I can answer, the boat dips and my grip loosens on the pole to correct my balance. Jaeger sinks behind me on the bench I’m straddling, his front to my back.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Figured you wanted to know how to reel it in.” His deep voice, the light cologne he’s wearing, and the feel of his body against mine has me frozen in place.

I choke. “I think I know how that’s done.”

His hands cover mine and I instantly release the pole, putting my hands in my lap. He draws in the line with quick, efficient strokes, and the fish breaches the surface of the water.

It’s the size of a minnow.

What the hell? I had a
dolphin
on the end of that line.

I scoot to Jaeger’s previous position as he makes a grab for Mr. Slimy and gently unhooks my fish’s lip. He tosses the minnow overboard, and the little guy arcs and swims away.

“Why’d you throw him back?” I worked hard for that fish, and Mr. Worm sacrificed his life.

“Catch and release. We’re not keeping them, even if you had caught one big enough to eat.” His mouth curves.

Sounds like a guy’s dating motto. “Hey, now. I don’t see a fish on the end of your hook. I guess it takes a delicate touch.”

His eyes dart to my lap and my fingers curled there. A tingly sensation runs down my back, warming my belly. He looks me in the eye. “Feel free to exhibit your delicate touch anytime you like.”

It’s official. Jaeger’s brain is in the gutter too.

Now
I’m in trouble.

He re-baits my hook and hands me my line.

Time to nip this attraction in the bud. “So whatever happened to you? I thought you were a star athlete. Skiing, wasn’t it?”

A beat passes. He stares at the water. “Downhill.”

I wait for him to continue. He seems relaxed, but too still, like I’ve hit on something important.

“I don’t ski anymore,” he says, and adjusts his feet into a wider stance on the boat’s metal bottom, elbows braced on his knees. “A bad injury took me out of competitive sports.”

Definitely a sore spot, though he appears calm enough. According to my brother, Jaeger was an amazing athlete. He was on track for the Olympics, from what I recall. That’s a big deal in a small town. It’s also one reason I never thought he noticed me. I was Tyler’s skinny little sister. Jaeger had a serious girlfriend and barely glanced my way when he visited.

“What do you do now?”

He takes a swig of the beer he’s been nursing since we rowed out. “I carve wood.”

An image of logs with bear heads etched into them and wooden totem poles on the side of Highway 89 flashes through my mind. Wow, this poor guy’s life has seriously declined since high school.

“What about you?” He looks over, studying my face. “You just graduated. What’s your next step? I’m assuming the casino gig is short-term.”

God, if it wasn’t, my mom would kill me. She busted her ass at the casinos for twenty-two years to keep us afloat. I have one of those deadbeat dads who calls a couple of times a year, and despite his brilliant brain, can barely hold down a job long enough to cover his expenses, let alone pay child support. Dad’s never had his shit together, which meant my mom had to be the adult and raise Tyler and me. She gave up asking Dad for help long before they separated when I was two.