Page 12 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

“You scared of fish?”

I laughed. “No, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No imposition.” Chester reeled in his line. “We’ve caught plenty already. We’re just out here, uh…”

“Chewing the fat,” said Rex. “Sunning our bald spots.”

“Well, if you don’t mind…” I took the pole from Chester. It was lighter than the one I’d had as a kid, kind of hi-tech looking. “How do I cast this thing without snagging my butt?”

“Like this,” said Rex, and showed me with his rod. “Flip the reel open, then one fluid motion. Step back and—” He sent the line flying. It plopped into the water and he smiled, satisfied.

“Okay. Here goes nothing.” I pulled out my line like I’d seen Rex do, then took a step back and cast. And stood blinking stupidly. “Where, uh, where’s?—”

Chester held up his arm. I glanced at my sleeve. I’d hooked it nicely, right through the cuff. The fishermen chuckled as I worked the hook free.

Chester winked at me. “Happens to the best of us.”

Rex rolled his eyes at him. “Speak for yourself.”

I got my hook free and stepped back again, and this time when I cast my line, it sailed straight and true. “So now I just stand here and wait for a fish?”

“You can jiggle your lure some, but not too much. You want to make it jerky. Don’t stick to one rhythm. Fish look for that, that sort of?—”

“Prey dance,” Rex cut in. “Like a small fish in distress. Tiny jerks and tremors to make your lure dance.” He worked his reel to show what he meant. I tried the same thing, not expecting much luck. But a couple of jiggles and something tugged back. I almost dropped my rod.

“Oh! Something’s biting! I got a bite.”

“Is it just nibbling, or is it hooked?”

That subtle tug came again. “How would I know?”

“You’ll know,” said Chester. “Trust me. You’ll know.”

“It goes from little wiggles to?—”

My rod jerked. “Whoa!”

“Oh, yeah, he’s got one.” Chester shaded his eyes. “Let it play out some, wear itself out.”

“Yeah, you work with the fish, or you’ll snap your line.”

I let their advice wash over me, their eager coaching. But no way could I try all their tips at once. Instead, I relaxed and went by feel. The rod was responsive. It trembled and shook. I could feel the fish flailing, the tension in the line. Then it stopped, rested, and I worked the reel. That scared the fish again and it went streaking, dragging my bobber way out to sea.

“Not too far,” said Chester. “Tease it, tease it.”

I had no idea what he meant by that, but I jigged the reel gently. Eased the fish closer by slow degrees. It felt like a big one, healthy and strong. I wondered what Dad would think if he could see this, then pushed the thought away. Enough of Dad. This was my fish, my big adventure. I reeled it in some more, paused, let it struggle. I could practically see it there, caught but defiant, fighting the hook every inch of the way.

“Yeah, yeah, you got him. Look at him go.”

The fish was thrashing now, churning up water. Flashes of silver just under the waves. I tried to make out the shape of him through the sun on the water.

“This is the tricky part, when you think you’ve got him. Don’t get too cocky. Don’t?—”

My phone went again, not a chirp but a ring. Somebody calling. I forgot the fish. Lana.

Rex leaned over the water. “He’s getting away!”

I held the reel steady and tucked the rod under my arm, trying to hold it there while I groped for my phone. Chester made a squawking sound.

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