Page 26 of Catch and Release

First, there was The Overconfident Tourist. This was usually a man in his 40s or 50s who went fishing once and suddenly thought he knew how to line a rod or which bait worked best for redfish. When Shawn tried to help him with his selection, this man adopted the most condescending tone he could to explain to Shawn that he didn’t need any help. Shawn rarely saw these guys again—probably because they didn’t want to have to face him after squandering their time and money for a fishing trip that wasn’t successful.

Then, there was The Flirty Tourist. He didn’t mind the flirty men: they were nice and funny, and usually they had a pleasant conversation that led to them making a sizable purchase so they could do a photoshoot pretending to fish off their pontoon boat. But the women? They were sharks. They came in all ages, and they ruthlessly flirted, often touching Shawn’s forearm or pointedly checking him out or even leaving their number on the receipt. A few years ago, Shawn took advantage of every last one of them. No strings attached sex? Yes, please. But it got old, and boring, and, most of all, lonely. Now, it was just uncomfortable when women shamelessly hit on him, not picking up on his signals that he definitely was not interested. It was worse because he couldn’t ask them to stop without offending them and losing business. He’d tried.

And who could forget The Drunk Tourist? The ones who went on vacation so they had an excuse to start drinking the moment they woke up and chug their last beer before going to bed. Shawn loved a good time as much as the next guy, but those were the ones he worried about. They showed up with beer on their breath, looking for Shawn to take them on a booze cruise disguised as a chartered fishing trip, and how could he say no? They paid well, tipped even better, and he barely had to do any work besides babysit them to make sure nobody fell overboard.

His favorite customers—aside from locals, the regulars his grandfather had provided with shrimp and fishing line and lures before he took over the shop—were the families. He loved helping little kids find fishing rods they could use and watching them marvel over the shrimp tank and talking to the parents about best places to take their little ones.

But most of all, he loved taking the families on chartered fishing trips. Sure, he occasionally got big family groups—reunions, cousins getting together, and impromptu gatherings—wherein there’d be an undesirable tourist.

Maybe an uncle would be The Overconfident Tourist or an aunt would be The Flirty Tourist or some college-aged cousins would be The Drunk Tourists. But even when that happened, he always felt the happiest after those excursions. The fullest. Like what he did made a real difference. Like he was bringing people joy and helping kids create memories they’d never forget.

But today? Today, he exclusively worked with The Flirty Tourists. And they came in with a vengeance. He felt dirty and used—the way they drew their long fingernails up his arms without his consent making him want to shower. It was nonstop all day long, and he’d even let a Bachelorette Party rope him into taking them on a chartered fishing trip tomorrow. He’d charged twice his usual rate for it, but he was still dreading it with every fiber of his being.

As he parked his truck in the driveway, he leaned over the steering wheel and banged his head on top of it. He still had a long night ahead of him.

He’d promised Grams he’d go with her to Bingo, and he wouldn’t go back on his word. But the idea of spending his evening with a bunch of old ladies fawning over him wasn’t exactly how he’d like to wind down after a long day.

Tap, tap.

He lifted his head and looked out the window of his truck to find Willa staring at him with a curious and hesitant smile. The air was knocked out of Shawn as he took her in. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun with curls framing her face, and she was wearing a white sundress that tied together in the front, giving him just enough of a view of her tits that his mouth started to water.

As if he needed another reason to look at her lips, they were painted pink, and her tan and freckles shone brighter than normal, as if she’d spent the entirety of her time outside since she’d arrived.

The butterflies were back.

He tried to steady his thrumming heart.

Willa smirked and tapped her finger on the window again, and he realized she was waiting for him to respond. He opened the door of his car and stepped out, gruffly asking, “What are you doing here?”

He immediately kicked himself for his curt tone. Every time he was around her, everything came out his mouth like he was a caveman. He’d be apologizing to this woman for the rest of his life, but before he could say anything else, she responded.

“I’m here to go to Bingo with Ida,” she said. “If her keeper will let her out for the night, that is.”

“Nobody can tell Grams what to do. Not even me. Not even my grandfather.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

He grunted and started walking toward the house. Of course, Grams roped both of them into going to Bingo tonight. Of course, she just forgot to mention it to Shawn. Of course, Willa had to show up looking like that. If he could get through the night without getting a hard-on, it would be a freaking miracle.

“We’ll probably leave in a minute or two,” Shawn said without facing her.

“...we?” Willa asked, her voice coming out breathless.

So Grams hadn’t told Willa about their group outing, either.

Because of course she hadn’t.

Right as he was about to open the front door, Grams walked out wearing black pants and a white button down shirt, her purse in hand.

“Perfect timing, both of you,” she said. “Shawn, you’re driving.”

And without a second glance, she headed toward his truck and opened the back door.

“Ida,” Willa said, but a stern look from the woman in question had her backtracking. “Grams, I can sit in the back. You sit in the front with Shawn.”

“Nonsense,” Grams said, and Shawn hurried to help her climb into the back. “The front seat makes me dizzy anyway.”

Shawn bit his lip, trying to hold back laughter. His best friend, Tucker, got carsick easily and always sat in the front to combat it. He knew Grams was full of shit, but she clearly still had bright ideas about matchmaking, and he wasn’t about to try and call her out on her BS. He’d done that before and it never ended well for him.

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