Page 30 of Father Figure

I glared at his joke. “Would you be okay with that? Going back to normal afterward and pretending like it never happened?”

What even was normal anymore? I wasn't convinced I could touch him and pretend like it never happened, either. That would be impossible. He's so…

“I can if you can. I'll follow your example.”

Mine? I'm making terrible decisions. Hell, I'm the last person who should be setting an example.

“Nicky…” Nicky what? I was all out of rational words and thoughts.

Nicky reached out and slid his smaller hand over mine. I shouldn’t crave his touch this much. “It's done, Cass. Let's eat.”

The waiter served our fried fish sandwiches, and as I bit into the blackened grouper, I heard the last nail being pounded into my coffin. It might as well be done, because no part of me wanted to say no to him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As I boarded the Harlowe One, wearing a polo shirt that fit, unfortunately, my insulated cooler bag slung over my shoulder containing my lunch and water, Sam pulled me aside.

“Listen up, kid. This is gonna go real smooth today. Jack and Theo are longtime customers, and they’re pretty chill, but we’re gonna keep the bullshit to a minimum. Keep your clothes on, no flirting with the customers, and no drinking. You do what I say when I say it, and we'll have a good day. Understood?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

A hint of a smile shone through his stern expression. “I kind of like the sound of that.”

Oh God, he ruffled my hair like I was twelve.

Everything did go smoothly, just like he promised. The water here was much darker than in the Caribbean, a deep, dark blue. Almost like the color of my dark-wash jeans. We were anchored twenty-five miles offshore, where the water was more than a hundred feet deep. The boat rocked gently in the waves. It was peaceful out here, with the sun shining, and the strong wind, and no hint of shore in sight.

Jack and Theo sat in chairs anchored to the deck in the boat's stern. Their huge, thick fishing rods were belted around their waists in harnesses.

Sam stood nearby, ready to lend a hand, and I hovered behind Sam, curious, and a little excited. I loved fishing, though I rarely kept what I caught. I just enjoyed reeling them in, the fight, the thrill of the chase.

Closing my eyes, I turned my face up to the sun, comforted by the rays heating my skin, and I could hear the fishy song in my head.

“You’re not gonna catch any fish like that, Nicky. You’ve got to sing the fishing song.”

“The fishing song?” I asked, “what's that?”

“Every fisherman knows the fishing song. The sound of it attracts all the fish to your bait, so you can catch the biggest fish.”

“Teach me, Cass.”

He slung his arm around my shoulder, an easy smile on his lips.

“First, you have to start by calling them. ‘Here, fishy fishy, here fishy fishy.’”

I repeated everything he said, word for word, calling the fish. “What’s next?” I asked.

“Then you’ve got to sing.”

“I cast my line into the water, and I hope I don’t catch an otter.

The worm swims up, the worm swims down, bobbing along with a frown.

And here comes the fishy, hungry as can be, will he bite? Yes, sirree!”

I sang that song over and over until I memorized every word. It lived rent-free in my head for years. Did it actually help me catch any fish? Of course not, but ten-year-old me believed deeply in the power of the fishy song. Or maybe I just believed in Cass.

I smiled, remembering how good he used to be to me. Hell, he still was. Was I just a selfish brat for asking him to sleep with me? Was I ruining everything between us we’d taken years to build?

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