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“I’m not,” she answered.
“I’m perfectly happy to bait the hook.”
“Good.” She flashed a relieved smile.
I handed the pole back to her. “Trade,” I said again.
She handed me my own rod, and I checked the line, made sure the hook was attached, and slipped another worm on. When I was done, I sealed up the can of worms and put it back in the tackle box. I led her gently to the water’s edge and demonstrated how to cast the line. It took her a couple of tries, and each time she laughed at her own misfortune.
“It’s just like you on the dance floor,” she said, winding up again.
“Yeah, but luckily I didn’t have a pointy thing on a stick when I was trying to dance,” I responded.
She cast out again, and this time, she got it. The bait settled far enough from the shore that she had a good chance of success. I set my rod down in the dirt, in a hole that someone else had left, and came around behind her to check the ground for a second hole. I found one not too far away, and together, we pulled up on the rod to make it fit. Once that was done, both of our poles stood on their own, lines lazily drifting in the current.
Tammy and I sat down on the blanket to wait. “What did you get?” She reached for the takeout bag.
“Tacos,” I said. I didn’t want to mention that I had been too shy to return to the diner after falling so hard for her. I told Polly that I didn’t want to date anyone and immediately began seeing Tammy. Not that I had been unkind or dishonest, but I felt like the truth might hurt Polly’s feelings. So I had opted for tacos instead of cheeseburgers, and I hoped Tammy would approve.
She dug into the bag with delight. “There was a taco stand across the street from my apartment building in Austin,” she said.
I nodded, pleased with my choice. We munched on tacos and watched the fishing poles. My pole rattled, and I leapt to my feet, leaving half of my dinner balled up in the tin foil. Tammy followed me, excited as I grabbed the rod and began to reel my catch in. At the same time, Tammy’s pole began to bounce, and I shouted for her to pick it up. Her face came alive with joy as she focused on her task.
“Easy, easy,” I cautioned.
She took my advice, frowning in concentration as she pulled on her line. My attention was torn. I wanted to watch her reel in her first catch, but my own fish demanded focus. I rocked my head back and forth as if I were watching a tennis match. A six-inch trout broke the surface of the water, dangling on my line. Tammy reeled hers back, fighting against a much bigger catch. I pulled my fish in, holding out a hand to steady its movements. With deft hands, I unhooked the barb from my fish’s mouth and tossed it back.
“What are you doing?” Tammy gasped, obviously watching my progress just as I had been watching hers.
I set my rod down on the blanket and went to help her. Standing behind her, I wrapped my arms around her arms to help draw the mystery catch in. The rod jumped in predictable ways, jerking in her hands as the fish struggled for dominance. I helped Tammy work with it, reeling in when the fish rested, letting out when it struggled. Together, we battled the rod and worked the line in until it lifted the beast from the water.
“Oh my gosh!” Tammy squealed, jumping in my arms. The fish was large, at least a foot long. She dropped the rod, letting me handle it, and twisted to look up at me. “Can we keep it?”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Eat it, duh.” she said.
“I’d have to bring a cooler, I wasn’t planning on keeping any of them.” I said apologetically.
She pouted, twisting around in my arms to take up the line again. My cock responded to the movement, to the friction between us. I stifled a groan. She doubled down on the torture by wiggling her hips as she reached for the fish. I had to detach my arms from around her body or risk tangling the fishing line in a mad rush to get her naked.
Forcing myself to concentrate, I twisted the hook from the fish’s mouth and threw it back. We each cast again, setting the rods back in their divots, and sat down to finish our dinner.
“You said your dad taught you?” she asked, eyeing me over the sour cream and lettuce.
“Yeah, he used to take me down to this spot.”
“This exact spot?”
“Well, not this spot,” I backpedaled. “This spot is a little more private.”
“I noticed,” she purred.
“What did you do with your dad, if you didn’t go fishing?” I asked, finishing my meal.
“We used to go to baseball games,” she said.
“Did you play?”
