Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Three o’clock?” Mia gulps. “That’s like…” I can see her mentally counting the hours being trapped in a fishing boat, her eyes darting from us to the boat. “Four hours.”
“I brought a book,” Juliet perkily announces, pulling it out of the back of her pants. She’s had it tucked into her waistband, grinning with the announcement.
Her friend groans. “Ugh, why didn’t I think of that?”
Juliet loops her arm through her friend’s. “You can sunbathe on that little sundeck thingy if you get bored. It’ll be the perfect weather for it.”
Sundeck thingy?
I think she’s referring to the bow, where the trolling motor is situated and where we can stand to cast.
But sundeck thingy works, too, I guess.
“Oh, good idea!”
The guide gets us all situated, showing us the bait, the rods, and giving us a quick overview of the control panels. Where everything is stored, safety features, life jackets and cushions, the whole shebang, before sending us on our way.
Off we go!
CHAPTER 3
Juliet
Fishing sucks.
Correction: I suck at fishing.
Fumbling with yet another worm (I refuse to use a leech as bait), I hold in a sour expression as the guts ooze out of it when I wrap it around the hook, listening as Thad coaches Mia on how to do it.
I copy the instructions, mimicking her movements—the only thing that isn’t the same is a strong pair of masculine arms wrapped around me as I complete the task.
Not that I care.
Pfft.
Nearby, Davis sits in the front—they’ve popped a chair up on the sundeck, or bow or whatever they insist on calling it (as if it were a yacht), so he can get a clear view of the water below, and at the same time lob back playful insults at his best friend.
They’re cute—much as I hate to admit it.
And Thad isn’t the worst, much as I hate to admit that, too. He seems genuinely interested in Mia and her happiness, doing his best to fuss over her while we’re out here on the water, baiting her hook and handing her the water bottle.
He even insisted she apply sunscreen, twice.
“You should do that, too, you know,” Davis had told me, butting into my business.
“Do what?”
“Put on sunscreen. You have really fair skin, you don’t want to burn it.”
I’d glanced up at the sun; it wasn’t hot, but it was warm, no cover or shade to hide behind—just this baseball cap to protect my skin.
“Fine.” Our fingers had brushed when he’d handed me the bottle and I’d shivered. Shivered, if you can believe it, for a guy that doesn’t even give me a lady boner!
I finally get the worm on my hook and pull back on the rod, holding it the way I’d been shown earlier, grasping it so just my thumb is on the reel, ready to release the bail.
I’ve cast the line a few times already—not that I’ve been overly successful at it. The line hasn’t gone out farther than fifteen feet—but practice makes perfect, and I am determined to impress my friends.
Determined to impress Davis.
I’m seated in the back of the boat, directly behind Davis, while Mia and Thad sit to my right, both blissfully unaware that I am attempting to maneuver my line. Blissfully unaware of the danger they’re in from my hook.
Paying close attention so that I don’t whack either of them with the rod, I repeat what I’d been told, uttering them as I go along. “Pull the rod tip back so the tip sweeps over your dominant shoulder. Then bring it forward swiftly and point the rod tip at your target.”
My target: the water.
This I can do—I’m literally surrounded by it, so what does it even matter where I aim it?
I release the line with my finger, the weight of the lure pulls the line off the reel, and truly: this is my worst nightmare.
Off the line goes.
My eyes scan the water, waiting for the plop and ripple the hook and bait should be making…any…second now…
“Fuck!” comes a loud, girly shout.
Thad jumps up out of his seat, falling toward the front of the boat and Davis, who is holding his lip.
“Don’t move! Juliet, don’t move.”
“What’s happening, babe?” Mia cranes her neck to see the action while I scan the water for my lure, twisting my body and the rod to the left.
“Mothereffer!” Another frantic shout from Davis and I shoot up, out of my seat.
“Oh my god, Juliet, you’ve hooked him in the freaking head!”
“What? No, I…” My head whips around, eyes frantically following the line of vision—not into the water, but to Davis’s ear, blood already trickling down his neck.
No.
No, no, no, no—this cannot be happening.
“Oh my god!” I cry, embarrassed and horrified. “Oh my god.”
My first reaction is to toss the fishing pole onto the floor of the boat, quickly remembering the end of it is latched onto a man’s face.