“It’s actually kind of nice.” I relax into him with a smile on my face as he drives us across the lake toward a small island with a handful of trees sticking out of it.
When we reach the edge, he circles around to the far side of the island and shuts down the engine. “I’m going to set up our poles.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing yet.” He moves away from me, and I look over the edge into the dark water but don’t see any fish close to the surface, and then I tip my head back toward the sky and the sun, which is high above us now. Knowing how quickly I’ll burn if I don’t have on sunblock, I take the tube I brought with me from my pocket, then slip off my hoodie and start applying it. Once I’m done, I focus on what Calvin is doing and become instantly entranced as I watch him work.
No other guy I’ve dated has been what you would call “outdoorsy,” and I wouldn’t have trusted any of them to take care of me if we’d gotten stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire. But I’m starting to see Calvin is nothing like any guy I’ve ever known. He’s not some hipster pretending to be all manly because it’s cool, and that is a serious turn-on.
“You okay?”
I lift my eyes off his hands, which are hooking a fuzzy, bright-colored lure to the line, and meet his gaze. “I really want to kiss you right now.” I hold his stare, then my breath, as he gets up and looms over me.
“I’m good with you kissing me anytime you get that urge.”
“Good to know,” I breathe, leaning up to press my mouth to his as he bends toward me.
The kiss is deep and wet and over far too quickly. When he pulls away, I have the desire to drag him back for more. I start to do just that, but the boat rocks, scaring me.
“I’m definitely good with you wanting to kiss me,” I tell him, and he grins as I gasp in surprise as the boat rocks again. “That said, I think we should wait until we’re on solid ground.”
“Good idea,” he murmurs, making me laugh, and he smiles, then holds out his hand.
“You want me to stand up?”
“I’m going to teach you to cast. It’s easier if you’re standing.”
I stand up and watch him go through the steps of casting out the line, then take the pole and try myself.
“I did it!” I fight the urge to jump around when I get it right on the first try.
“Good job, baby.”
“Now what?” I watch the bobber a few feet from the boat, floating on top of the water.
“Now, you wait.” He kisses the side of my head, then grabs his pole and casts out his line.
“Why don’t you have one of the bobber things on yours?”
“I don’t need it.” He takes a seat next to me. “After I bring you out here a few times, you won’t need one either.”
I look around at the beauty surrounding us, feeling his leg and arm pressed against mine, and even though I’m enjoying this moment, I’m looking forward to more days spent just like this with the man sitting next to me.
Suggestion 8
DON’T BELIEVE WHAT YOU HEAR
CALVIN
I look over the crime scene photos on my desk, trying to figure out what I’m missing. The place where I grew up has had its fair share of crime, and there have been more than a few murders in the area over the years. But none of them have gone cold as quickly as the two cases that have recently hit my desk.
I pick up the photo of Chris Davis, a student from Ohio who was here with his girlfriend and a few of their college friends on vacation. His body was found near the beach, with lacerations around his wrists and neck, but no rope was found in the area, meaning whoever committed the crime had taken it with them when they left. His girlfriend and friends said they had been out the night before, partying at the clubs in the area, and around two in the morning, he told his girlfriend he was going outside to smoke but never returned. No other physical evidence was left at the crime scene due to the rain that had fallen the morning his body was found by a woman walking her dog. The surveillance cameras in the area never caught a clear picture of him, and no one witnessed him coming or going from the club.
I drop Chris’s photo and pick up the one of Mike Hurl, a bartender whose body was found last night by a runner in one of the local parks. Where Chris died of strangulation, Mike died from blunt-force trauma to the back of his skull, and the weapon—a hammer—was left at the scene. I drop Mike’s photo and look at both men side by side. Both of them were around the same age, attractive, and fit, and both were murdered in the last month. The two cases have nothing else in common, but still my gut is telling me they’re linked. I just don’t know how.