Page 1 of Head Over Heels

Chapter 1

Chase

“How is fishing like sex?”

Brooks lowers his boat’s trolling motor, and we cast and slowly skim the surface of the lake. Jack and I settle back, ready for the long haul, and consider Brooks’s joke.

“When you’re done playing with your tackle, it’s time to take your rod in hand,” Jack suggests.

Brooks chuckles. “Good one, but no.”

I squint at him. “It’s not the fancy equipment, it’s the motion of the boat.”

Brooks smirks appreciatively but shakes his head. “The answer is, ‘The less you get, the more you lie, and if you don’t get any, you’re just playing with your rod.’ Chase, you shoulda got that one. Since that’s pretty much your life on both counts these days.”

I shove Brooks, hard, off his seat, almost tipping the boat, and he lands on his ass laughing. Jack says, ticked but not really, “I’m not bailing if you two losers swamp us.”

“Chase is just pissed because he knows it’s true,” Brooks says.

As if on cue, my rod twitches and jumps in my hand—crap, poor choice of words.

It’s a small sockeye salmon, but big enough to keep.

“Read it and weep,” I tell Brooks as I dispatch it and prep it for the ice. “How’s the fancy equipment working for you now?”

Brooks has a bug up his butt about these expensive lures he wants to stock in the store. I really don’t like selling people stuff they don’t need, so I bet him fifty bucks I could catch three sockeye with a lure hand-tied with yarn scraps before he could catch one with his expensive toy. Aside from the money on the line, if he wins the bet, we stock the lure; if not, we don’t.

“Son of abeast,” Brooks mutters less than an hour later, as I pack my third salmon into the ice chest. He pulls two twenties and a ten from his wallet and hands them over, then inspects his lure grimly. “Useless piece of shit. Do you have any more of that yarn?”

I hand him some, and he cuts the overpriced lure and sets to work tying a new one from the scraps.

“Why is it,” Jack muses, reaching for his coffee cup, “that if I’d gotten up at five for work, I’d be pissed, but out here I feel like I’ve won the lottery?”

It’s an excellent question. Here we are, three guys, awake at the ass crack of dawn, mainlining coffee to stay conscious, yet we’re happy as pigs in mud. I’m not a sentimental guy, but even I can appreciate how pretty the lake is this morning, surrounded by jagged Cascade peaks, including Mount Baker, the granddaddy of them all.

Of course, I have some good reasons to be grateful to be here. Not the least of which is taking my mind off the problems I have to solve at home.

Brooks recasts.

“Brooks.American Anglercalled. They want you for the cover.”

Jack snorts. Brooks flips me off, but it’s true—with his beard and his sportsman’s vest, he’s dressed for the part.

“Hey, I just remembered another fishing and sex joke,” Jack offers. “How is fishingbetterthan sex?”

“You can sleep while you’re doing it,” Brooks suggests.

“You can catch and release, so no commitment.”

Brooks hoots. “Nice one. But look who’s talking, Mr. Family Man.”

I just met Jack yesterday, but within a few minutes I could tell his four-year-old son, Gabe, was the center of his universe. Or one of two centers, anyway. There’s also Gabe’s mom, whose name is Maddie. Just mentioning her name makes Jack light up. I remember a time in my life when I could light up like that over a woman. Seems like areallylong time ago.

“You ever take your son fishing?” I ask Jack.

“Not yet, but it’s on my list. Fishing, backpacking, snowboarding—I’ve got big plans for him. Brooks says you have a daughter?”

“Yeah. Katie. She’s five. And you’ve got one on the way?”

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