Page 6 of Catch and Release Groom

“You do not,” he answered honestly. “Some of the tourists read up online about different types of flies and insist on using them, as if they’ll teachmea trick or two.”

“My internet search history is an insect-free zone. Although, for the record, I’m not saying I can’t teach you a trick or two.” The smile she flashed him this time was different. More genuine, and striking enough to send his pulse thrumming. “But I’m all ears and eyes and whatever other body parts are needed for this.”

Do not look at her breasts, donotlook at her breasts. That’s a whole different type of lure.

Easton reached into his pocket and withdrew the slim box that held close to a hundred premade flies, some from the local shop and several he’d tied himself. He opened it, and Imogen leaned closer to study the options.

“I know I just said I’d follow your instructions—”

A skeptical snort escaped. “You follow instructions? Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you’re a surly pessimist who snaps at people when they don’t speedily comply at six a.m.,” she replied without missing a beat.

In his head, he heard the guys go “Ooohhh” in that way they did whenever any of them burned one another. Thank God his friends weren’t here—Ford, Tucker, Addie, and Shep would get a kick over not only how quickly she’d pegged him, but also that she’d dared to call him out.

There was no use debating he had a stubborn streak a mile long. During his school days, it’d resulted in a lot of issues with authority and landed him in a heap of trouble. That batted up against his need to be in control—or perhaps one fueled the other.

Either way, Imogen had thrown down the gauntlet, and he was going to pick it up and take a sweet, sweet sip before he tossed it her way again. “Hmm. Maybe my tendency to snap is why my high school voted me as most likely to get arrested.”

“If you’re asking me to handcuff you, then I don’t have any of those in my bag either.”

…

Imogen froze as the blood in her veins crystalized and her face flushed hot. “I, uh… That came out wrong.”

“Sounded kinda right to me,” Easton said, and was he joking or not? Since the guy didn’t seem to know how to smile, it was impossible to tell. “In fact, I have a pair in the truck. I like to be prepared.”

“Explains all those pockets.” She stretched out her fingers and flicked the top flap of one of them.

“Gotta keep ’em full for all the tourists who come unprepared.” Easton dipped his head a couple of inches, and even without moving his feet, he felt so much closer that her heart pitter-pattered in her chest. “Wasn’t there something you were going to say? Sorry, I interrupted.”

Either this guy had a hell of a poker face, or his stony expression had stuck, just like their generation of parents warned them it might. Low in her belly, emotions shifted and churned, and surely that wasn’t intrigue taking the lead. She was a good girl who went for nice boys.

Yeah, and how’d that work out for you?

Imogen cleared her throat. “I was merely hoping I could use one of the pretty pink flies. If I were a fish, that’s what I’d want to eat.”

“Ah. Getting inside their heads.” Easton tapped a finger to his temple and removed the fuzzy pink creation she’d requested. “Perhaps you’ll make a good fisherwoman yet.”

Doubtful. But suddenly she was considering changing tactics, because she couldn’t get the idea of him praising her at the end of the lesson out of her deliciously depraved head.

Chapter Three

At the trill of her cell, Easton heaved an exasperated sigh, as if she’d planned to have someone call her in the name of ruininghisday.

“Wow, I’m surprised this even connected, considering the service is so spotty,” Imogen muttered as she lifted the phone to read the screen.

“Next up, you’ll be asking for the wifi password. I’ll save you some trouble—there isn’t one.”

Minutes ago, she thought they might be warming up to each other the tiniest bit. He’d gone over the types of fish in the stream, the bait they preferred, and each part of the rod and reel. But it’d all gone downhill once she “stomped too rough” while filming a video to send to her bestie, and that was going to scare away the fish, didn’t she know?

No, shedidn’t know, she’d answered honestly. Seeing as her curmudgeon of an instructor had the gall to roll his eyes, she was back to purposely pissing him off—call it the best bang for her buck, since she’d never ever go fishing again.

Movements wide, Imogen raised her voice, practically yelling as she answered the call. “Hey, Mal! I tried to send you a video, but it was taking for-freaking-ever to load, so I’ll have to try again later.”

Waves rippled out around her legs, sending the clumps of swamp grass bobbing faster. “No, I’m not doing anything important right now,” she said, despite her best friend not asking, and victory pinged at the disapproval furrowing Easton’s brow. It was almost too easy to rile him up, and by merely being herself at that. “I totally have time to chat.”

“You’ve got some real weird energy,” Mallory said. “How’re things out in the sticks? Are your rediscovering yourself or your need for modern comforts?”

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